Alcohol and Childhood Trauma: Nicole’s Breakdown

Is There Really a Link Between Alcohol and Childhood Trauma?
“Ali, do you think alcohol and childhood trauma are connected?”

“Yes, Soline, they’re practically siblings. Everything that happens in childhood eventually produces a result in later years. Alcohol, withdrawal, excessive fear, anger outbursts — it can lead to so many things, depending on the trauma.“

I’m Soline, also known as the Bride of Shadows. This is the story of my American friend from university, Nicole.

“I’m not drunk, leave me alone, I want to drink,” Nicole kept saying. But the men at the bar waited like drooling jackals — hunting for a drunk woman to drag to bed.

Oh, Nicole, what’s happening to you? This morning she had no problems at all. She was perfectly happy.

We were all cheerful that morning. Lea, Chloe, Nicole, Liv, and Camille — all my university friends, visiting me in İzmir.

Camille had been floating with happiness ever since she saw her late mother in a dream, with Ali’s help. Her joy had finally come back. She had carried those painful childhood years inside her for so long; opening up to Ali had brought her relief. Ali had felt almost like a therapist to her.

Since Ali had gone home for the evening, we girls decided to have some fun.

The Night That Started at the Bar

Alcohol and childhood trauma would reveal their connection unmistakably that night in Alsancak. We went out together to walk around. After wandering a bit, Nicole wanted to go to a bar; Lea and Chloe agreed to go too.

I drank occasionally, but I’d stopped completely months earlier — after that attack from those entities. Camille never drank at all. Liv had quit, just like me.

When Nicole insisted, I took them to a place in İnciraltı. Chloe and Lea didn’t drink much, but Nicole was drinking at an abnormal level. Camille and Liv sat chatting while looking out at the sea.

Nicole got completely drunk. We couldn’t control her, but we couldn’t stop her from drinking either.

Men lurked around like hungry wolves. The scene is the same everywhere in the world — the same expectations, the same patterns of behavior in places like this. Since we were all blonde and spoke French, they assumed we were tourists.

Wealthy young men, practically drooling as they watched, discussed among themselves which girl had caught their eye and how they’d get her into bed. One of them tried to take advantage of Nicole’s drunkenness and get close to her. But the moment I spoke Turkish, everything changed — they realized we weren’t tourists.

“Ugh, this isn’t going to end well, we’re going to be in trouble,” I thought. Calling Ali was the best option. I told Camille, and she nodded in agreement.

I enjoy annoying Ali — I called him over and over, and he finally picked up.

“My dark-haired love, why aren’t you answering your phone? We’re in trouble, we need your help,” I said.

Even his irritation was sweet. “I’m coming right now, send me the location,” he said.

Camille laughed and shook her head. “What do you want from that man, you’re winding him up. And calling him ‘my dark-haired love’? Anyone listening would think you two were together.“

“He’s my great love, my everything,” I said with a smile.

The “Yenge” Joke and the Bodyguards

Then two enormous bodyguards showed up beside us. They grabbed the man who’d been trying to sit next to Nicole and tossed him aside, warning off the other men too. Then they stood there, hands folded in front, like sentries on watch.

I asked a question — no answer. Finally one of them spoke: “Yenge (a friend’s wife),we’ll protect you, enjoy yourselves, no one will bother you.“

Me, his yenge?

Camille and Liv burst out laughing. “Yenge! Yenge! Soline, yenge!” they teased. I’m not even married — I suddenly felt years older.

Eventually Ali arrived. Once he showed up, the bodyguards backed off.

“Ali, who are these guys?” I asked.

“The owner here is an old client of mine, from a completely different line of work. I called, asked him a favor, and he sent his bodyguards until I could get here,” he said.

“So why do they keep calling me ‘yenge’?“

“Didn’t you call me ‘my dark-haired love’? So I told him, ‘my wife is sitting there with her friends, keep an eye on them’ — and described you.”

Camille burst into laughter, doubled over. “If you call a man ‘my dark-haired love,’ he’s going to introduce you to everyone as his wife,” she said.

I was furious, but I couldn’t say a word — I’d brought it on myself.

Nicole’s Bold Proposal

Nicole couldn’t stand on her own and didn’t want to leave. As we walked out, the owner came to see us off — and what a send-off! Two bodyguards, two waiters, and the owner himself, lined up in a row.

All together: “yenge! Come back and see us again!“

Camille and Liv could barely hold in their laughter. Lea and Chloe weren’t drunk, but they had no idea what “yenge” meant in this context. I got so annoyed I shouted: “I am not his wife!“

Everyone laughed, then said “You’re right, yenge” again anyway. I was losing my mind!

Ali came over to me. “You kept calling me ‘my dark-haired love,’ did you learn your lesson? Because of you, girls won’t even look at me anymore, everyone thinks we’re together. Is that enough of a lesson for you?” he said.

“Okay, okay, I won’t do it again,” I said — otherwise he’d keep teasing me.

Nicole still couldn’t stand, swaying on her feet. Ali struggled to hold her up. “Let’s go home,” Ali said. Nicole refused.

Then she said something none of us expected, and we were all stunned:

“Ali, I’ll come home, but tonight you’re mine,” Nicole said.

Before our shock had even passed, she added: “I want to be with you tonight.“

Before we could even process what she’d said, she pressed her lips to Ali’s and kissed him — Ali, of all people! This girl must have lost her mind, I’m burning with rage!

The reaction that came next surprised me most — Camille slapped Nicole.

Ali wasn’t angry, but he was clearly uncomfortable. Then he answered: “Okay, fine, Nicole, tonight I’m yours. Look, I’ve got you in my arms now, let’s go home.“

Ali’s answer shocked me — but I immediately realized he only said it to get Nicole to agree to go home, without hurting her feelings. He carried her all the way to the car.

Coming Home and Beatrice’s Tenderness

We settled into the garden, sitting on the sofas. Nicole, still seated, kept clinging to Ali. My mother Beatrice came out and was saddened by Nicole’s state.

Ali gestured to her: “Don’t worry, go back to bed, I’ll keep an eye on all of them,” he said.

It was summer, and the night was already warm. Nicole, still wrapped around Ali, tried to pull off her own clothes right there on the sofa.

“Nicole, wait, there’s still time, no need to rush undressing,” Ali said. After that, Nicole passed out.

“Ali, you hate alcohol, you never go to places like that — how do you know the owner?” I asked.

“A very old client of mine. He had a housing development project, I did all the work for him. He’d mentioned opening a place like that before, but I’d forgotten. When you said the name of the place, it came back to me,” he said.

“Then I called ahead so he’d keep an eye on you all. But I also wanted them to keep calling you ‘yenge,’ just to get back at you,” he added.

“Ali, how are you even like this, making a joke out of a situation like that?” I said.

“Not a joke — a lesson for you. What’s with ‘my dark-haired love’? You’ve become a real headache. Go find yourself a husband, get married already. Am I supposed to spend my whole life looking after you?” he said, laughing.

Camille smiled and joined in: “I really admire whatever this arrangement between you two is. Anyone who doesn’t know better would think you’re a couple. One of you is a French citizen with Turkish nationality, the other’s the real thing.“

Ali replied warmly: “Soline, the light of my eyes,” he said.

Midnight Screams and Saint Michael

Alcohol and childhood trauma would take their most striking form as the night went on. Camille asked Ali why Nicole drank so much. We were all still angry at her.

“Don’t judge her, everyone carries some pain from their past. She has her own trauma too, from childhood,” Ali said. The five of us — Chloe, Lea, Liv, Camille, and me — exchanged glances. How did Ali know something we didn’t?

“What trauma? Nicole never mentioned anything like that to us,” I said.

Ali said calmly: “There are things that happened in her childhood. But it wouldn’t be right for me to say — it’s her private matter,” he said.

“Did she tell you this secret?” I asked.

“No, she never told me anything. I understood it from her eyes. The past leaves heavy marks, deep wounds. That’s why she drinks so much. In short, she’s punishing herself — that’s why she tried to offer herself to me,” he said. “If she wants to tell you herself, she will. But I won’t say it, out of respect for her,” he added.

Suddenly Nicole started screaming: “Don’t come near me, stay away, Mom, save me!” At the same time, she covered her chest with her arms, then curled into a fetal position — as if trying to protect both her chest and her most intimate self.

She wouldn’t wake up; her screams echoed through the neighborhood.

Ali calmly touched her face and did something none of us could have predicted:

“Don’t be afraid, child, I’m Saint Michael, you’re safe, I’m here to protect you,” he said.

Nicole suddenly fell silent, calming down. She wrapped her arms around Ali and fell into a deep sleep. Peace settled over her face.

Ali was Muslim — so why had he said something like that to calm Nicole down? Unable to hold back, I asked:

“Ali, why did you say you were ‘Saint Michael‘?“

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