We're post 6 - Tara is trying therapy. She would have chickened out even before her first session if it wasn't for Sam and how proud she is that Tara is finally trying. The first few sessions go ok-ish. The guy lets her talk about whatever. She mainly focuses on retelling the events of 6. Only retelling, tho, never diving into her feelings about stuff. He eventually starts asking about Woodsboro. She deflects. She talks about her mom. A bit about her dad. Maybe even about Sam leaving her. It makes her tear up just enough. Therapists love childhood trauma, right? She can give him that. But he keeps pushing. He wants her to talk about THE attack. But she cannot do that. She cannot go anywhere near that night with her thoughts... she just can't. She can't think about it. She definitely can't talk about it. She would have to relive it; she would have to relive it knowing who was behind the attack. Tara erased the night from her memories. And the following weeks, no, months, are a blur, too. But she knows they'll come back to her if she so much as thinks about thinking about that night. She can't do it. But he keeps asking about it. And then he mentions Amber and Tara is out of the office. She doesn't come back. But she also doesn't tell Sam because Sam is still so proud of her! So she lets Sam drop her off at the building once a week, waves at her with a smile, and watchs her drive away. Then she bolts. If Sam insists on picking her up, she'll actually go into the building a few minutes before her time is up, lingering in the entryway. She doesn't want to disappoint Sam. She can't. Cause Sam might leave if she realizes Tara isn't even trying anymore. So Tara will play this game for the rest of her life if she has to. As long as she doesn't have to talk about, you know...
I've been trying to find a response to this for days. I just love what you've said so much, I'm struggling to find a way to add to it, to build on it. I think I'm just going to have to share it instead.
Tara can't confess the truth about Amber, about what they were to each other. She keeps it to herself. She can't confess that there were moments where she saw a glint in her eye, when she was a little too rough, when Amber had made a joke a little too morbid. How can she admit that she could have seen it coming, if she had just put it all together. How could anyone look at her with pride and affection and love ever again, if they know she could have stopped it, prevented it.
Sometimes she thinks if she'd just died that first night, then maybe nobody else would have been killed. Maybe Sam would have been fine. She would never have come back to Woodsboro, she only came back because Tara was still alive, she would never have put herself in danger. She would be living her life back in Modesto, not stuck here in New York babysitting Tara and being hated by the public. Tara will stare at the mirror and take in her scars, rub her thumb against her palm, stand on her weak leg, and wish she hadn't fought back quite so hard. The days she wakes up in pain feel deserved, like a punishment, for letting Amber do this to her, to them, to Sam.
So Tara can't talk about Amber. She continues to pretend to go to therapy, continues to pretend she's fine. She smiles and doesn't drink too much and gets nervous when someone brings up a party, knowing Sam won't like it. She does everything she can to make Sam think she's fine. She doesn't want to lose her. She can't lose her. She has to be fine.
One day, months later, Sam walks her to the building but doesn't leave. Tara fiddles with the door, not wanting to go through with actually entering. Not wanting to face the receptionist who always gives her a sad, knowing smile.
"Tara..." Sam sounds a little sad herself, her name sounds uncertain on her lips, like they've been forced out. "Where do you go?"
The question makes her turn around, confused, a pit forming in her stomach. "What?"
"Where do you go when I drop you off here?"
Sam knows.
She knows sheknowssheknows. Tara can feel herself spiralling and starts to giggle nervously. "What- what do you mean?"
"Tara."
She doesn't even realise she's started crying until Sam steps forward and wipes the tears from her face.
"Sam," she cries, and it feels so pathetic. She's been lying to Sam, to the others, for so long, and here Sam is, wrapping her arms around her and telling her it's ok.
But it's not ok, it's never going to be ok again.











