by Calia Read
Victim. Reagan spits the word out like it’s poison.
I can’t take it anymore and whip my body around. “Shut up.”
Reagan smiles and jumps out of her chair. She stands behind another patient. “Talks to her hand. Doesn’t know the days. Crazy.”
She runs to the next table, slides into an open seat, and points to a woman staring at the clock. “She thinks the year is 1993. Kurt Cobain is still singing and Clinton is president. She’s a goner.”
Then she slowly stands and looks me in the eyes. “But you? You see you. You speak. You are here. Yet you cower to everyone around you. A single challenge becomes a roadblock and you give up. All you do is carry that stupid baby around—”
Reagan is crazy. Reagan is loud, always making jokes and pointing out the problems with everyone else just so no one will look at her and take notice of her issues. I know all this and yet I rush back over to where she stands. I’ve taken the bait.
“Shut up!”
“You can change her stupid fucking diaper. You can feed her and sing her all the nursery rhymes you want. But it won’t change a thing. You want to know why?” She leans in close. “Because you’re a bad mom.”
Xander swears under his breath. He’s not laughing. Susan is in the nurses’ station but she stands slowly from her chair, watching Reagan with a critical eye. Alice smiles.
Do not take the bait, I tell myself. It’s a trap.
But I can’t. Two words keep echoing in my head: Bad mom. Bad mom. Bad mom. They become louder until it feels like they’re being shouted into my ear with a megaphone.
Reagan sees my turmoil. She laughs, slowly at first, and soon she’s clutching her gut, tears streaming down her face she’s laughing so hard.
The color red leaks into my vision. It’s all I can see. The anger inside me, which has been simmering for days, finally comes to the surface. It bursts so abruptly that I have no time to think about my actions.
I climb over the table and tackle Reagan to the floor. I’ve taken her off guard and knock the wind out of her. I use it to my advantage.
Shouts and screams echo around me. Chairs scrape against the floor. There’s the shuffle of people moving. Yet I don’t stop. My hands wrap around her throat and I squeeze as hard as I can.
“What about you, Reagan?” I pant. “Tell me your fucked-up story.”
Her face is turning blue. I keep squeezing, even when I see the fear in her eyes. I press my thumbs deeper into her skin.
“Tell me what you’re running from,” I demand.
I’m going to let go. I swear. I just want to show her that she’s gone too far. But someone’s hands land on my shoulders. “Victoria!” Sinclair shouts behind me. Where did he come from? “Let go.”
He tries to pry my hands away from her, but I have the strength of twenty men.
“Tell me!” I scream at her. Reagan weakly slaps at my hands. Her legs kick beneath me.
It takes him two more tries before Sinclair finally pulls me back. He holds my wrists together, behind my back, like I’m a criminal.
My heart is pounding against my ribs. I can’t catch my breath, and you know what? It feels good.
“You know nothing about me, you stupid bitch!” I yell.
Reagan sits up with the help of two nurses. Color slowly comes back into her face. She greedily sucks up all the air she can and then starts laughing uncontrollably. “Bravo! You’ve come alive, Victoria.”
“You are a fucking psychopath.”
Reagan looks wounded by my words. I smile breathlessly and open my mouth to say more. I have hundreds of insults lined up, just waiting to be said. Who knew I have so much pent-up anger?
I’m ripped out of Sinclair’s grasp. Two nurses drag me farther away from Reagan. I kick my legs, trying to fight them. Sinclair stares at me with pain in his eyes and I know it’s because of me. I brought that pain to him. I start to panic. He’s seen me snap. He’ll never come back. I’ll be alone when I’m just now seeing what we were.
“Sinclair,” I say. He says nothing. “Sinclair. I’m sorry.”
The nurses push me down the hall, toward the women’s ward.
“Sinclair, I’m sorry!” I scream.
The doors open, and with all my strength I turn to escape the nurses’ grasp. But they have a firm hold on me. The doors slam shut and Sinclair’s face is gone.
I go limp and let the nurses drag me into my room. They put me on the bed and I stare up at the ceiling. I feel numb.
Before the door shuts, one of the nurses tentatively asks, “Do you want Evelyn?”
I turn my head.
There should be a desperate urge inside me to see my child, there should, but there isn’t. I picture holding her and every time I look down at her face, there’s nothing there. What if she was there during the fight? In my dark haze of anger would I have still protected her? I want to say yes. But something holds me back. I’ve never had anger that strong and powerful that I become a completely different person.
Maybe I did the right thing by handing her over to the nurse. That’s the only silver lining in this entire ordeal.
“No.”
The door shuts behind the nurse and I curl into a ball.
I feel myself coming apart at the seams.
I still want to hurt something…someone. Anything I can get my hands on. At some point in the afternoon, the nurse brings Evelyn into the room.
She’s been crying nonstop. I walk over to her bassinet. And stare down at her.
Bad mom, bad mom, bad mom…
I cover my ears, so desperate to get Reagan’s voice to stop. I will take the medication the nurses give.
I’ll do anything.
I start to pace the room, carefully counting my steps. My room is small. I never make it to twenty-four steps. I scared everyone in the dayroom. I know it. Angry outbursts are a dime a dozen, but they’re never caused by me. If the others could just slip into my skin and feel the fear running through me, they’d understand.
“What did you do?” a voice says behind me.
I whirl around and find Wes sitting in my rocking chair. As he moves back and forth it creaks ominously. This is the last thing I need right now. I still feel like I’m back in the dayroom, reliving Reagan’s words. I’m close to losing my mind and Wes might just take me over the edge.
I can’t escape him. No matter where I go or what I do, he’s there, always watching me. Always.
“Oh God,” I groan and drop my face into my hands. “Leave me alone,” I whisper over and over and over.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
I lift my head. “How did you get in here?”
Wes stops rocking and stands up to his full height. He’s not smiling. “How do you think?”
My fingers curl into my palms. I keep pressing, until I feel my nails digging into my skin. I don’t back down when Wes looms over me. “You made me come here.”
I take four steps backward. I close my eyes and remind myself to breathe. “No, I didn’t,” I say.
Suddenly Wes is in front of me. His hands are on my shoulders. “Yes, you did. Why do you think I come here?”
If someone came into my room right now, they would see a man in love. A man concerned and worried. But it’s a role that Wes is playing. Trust me, you can’t believe him. It’s an act.
“You’re messing with me again,” I say.
“Why would I do that, Victoria?”
Too many words and voices are being thrown my way. And not one at a time. It’s all at once and I can’t think.
“I love you, Victoria.”
I jerk his arms off me and hurry to the other side of the room. Wes doesn’t follow me. He looks hurt that I want to get away from him.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Victoria.”
“Stop saying my name!” I yell. I’m losing my composure. Quick. “You’re trying to make me look crazy.” I point a finger at him. “But you’re the crazy one here. Not me.”
At first he doesn’t respond, just stares at me with those empty eyes. And then he walks toward me. My body stiffens. I take a step back and another until my shoulders hit the wall. He keeps his eyes on me the whole time and doesn’t stop until we’re a hairsbreadth apart. No one else would cut through my personal space like this.
No one else but him.
He places his hands behind me. He ducks his head and leans in so we’re eye to eye. “There’s your side, my side, and the truth.” He lifts a single brow and smirks. “Which one do you think your nurses and doctors will believe?”
I hate him. I hate him for being right.
“Why did you attack that girl?”
“You saw that?”
“Of course. She said you were a bad mom.” His lips twitch and I know he’s going to say more.
I can’t bear it. I cover my ears.
Wes yanks my hands away. “I’m talking to you! Listen.”
“You think I’m a bad mom too, don’t you?” I whisper.
“Did I say that, Victoria?”
“No. But you’re thinking it.”
“I think you’re losing it and you’re lashing out at me.” I open my mouth and Wes covers it with his hand. I instantly freeze up. “Victoria, I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he says. I don’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth. All of it is mind games.
He moves toward Evelyn’s bassinet. I try to intercept him but he’s too quick. He peers into her bassinet and smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“What are you doing? Leave her alone.”
Wes ignores me and picks up a book from my nightstand. Goodnight Moon. It’s Evelyn’s favorite and always makes her fall fast asleep. Well, it used to. Back when she used to love me.
But still, I don’t like Wes holding the book. It feels like he’s trying to slip into a memory he has no business being in.
He opens the book and flips through the pages, reading aloud.
Goodnight…goodnight…goodnight…
He stops and smiles at Evelyn. “Goodnight nobody.” His words hang in the air, swarming around my head, ready to choke me.
I snatch the book out of his hands. I’m shaking so badly I can barely move. “You need to go,” I whisper darkly. “Now.”
Wes doesn’t move.
“Go.” My voice gets louder. “Before I scream for the nurse to come.”
Maybe he can see it in my eyes that I mean every word I’m saying; he takes a step back from me. “God offers to every mind its choice between truth and repose. Take which you please; you can never have both. Remember that, Emerson’s words.”
I flinch.
“I’ll see you later,” Wes says. But my eyes are closed, hands over my ears. The damage is done, though, and all my mind replays is: “Take which you please; you can never have both.”
I slide down the wall, my knees curled close to my chest. Beside me Evelyn cries and cries and cries in her bassinet.
I can’t make it stop and cry out in frustration, covering my ears. Soon my cries turn into groans.
Slowly but surely I feel myself splitting apart at the seams. I can’t keep doing this. Staying here. Listening to Wes. Hearing my daughter wail.
It’s all too much.
Doubt is starting to creep into my brain. It wants to take up residency. It wants to build a little town and invite all its friends: fear, paranoia, sadness, pain. I start to hum loudly.
This is how crazy begins. It creeps up on you very slowly, tapping your shoulder. It makes you turn around in fear. And then, when you think you’re in the clear, it attacks. It grabs ahold of you and drags you down, down, down….
“Knock, knock.”
I lift my head just as Dr. Calloway walks into the room. She carries in a tray with food. Dinner. On the tray, in the corner, is a white paper cup with my medicine.
She gives me a tentative smile as she places the tray on the small end table next to my bed. I glance between her and the food, waiting for what she wants to say, but she doesn’t say a word. Just sits on the edge of my bed.
The silence is going to drive me crazy. I want to shake her and ask: “Why are you here?”
I should tell her that Wes was in here, but I’m afraid I’m pushing it. I’m bracing myself for my “punishment,” which could be anything from staying in my room, to taking away my points, or banning me from having visitors. But I’m ready to fight back. I didn’t do anything wrong. I reacted just like any other person would.
Evelyn finally fell asleep. Her cries still rang in my ears. My nerves were shot and to the point of falling apart.
But all I can think about right now is where Reagan is. It seems unfair to me that I suffer in silence while she gets off scot-free. So I ask Dr. Calloway.
“Reagan’s in her room too. The fight wasn’t one sided. But—”
“But I’m the one who touched her first,” I cut in.
Dr. Calloway nods and looks at me with concern. “Exactly.”
“So am I in trouble?”
Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.
“Well, I’m not thrilled at what you did. Judging from the look on your face, I’d say neither are you. So you’ll lose a few points.”
I lift my head and when she says nothing else I lift a single brow.
“Library and outdoor time will be revoked for a week.”
She and I both know that she’s letting me off easy. I can’t remember the last time I willingly went to the library.
“You’ll still receive visitors and be able to go to the rec room.”
My eyes blink fast. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that’s it. I think my disbelief is written across my face because Dr. Calloway quickly speaks up.
“If I thought you were a danger to yourself or anyone else, I wouldn’t be this lenient.”
“My life is dislocated,” I confess. “Memories are ripped apart and scattered. I’m so scared that you might not be able to fix me.”
“The second you let your pain become your identity is the moment you should be scared. What I saw in the rec room was not a broken person. But maybe you’re right. Maybe I really can’t fix you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying. Victoria, I can’t think of a single person in this world not crushed beneath the weight of life. You’re going to be just fine. I know it.”
It’s so incredibly easy in this place to feel locked up and alone, but I finally feel as if I have someone on my side. I swallow back my tears. “Thank you,” I whisper.
She smiles and shrugs and points to the tray. “You should eat up. Dinnertime ends in fifteen minutes.”
I devour everything on the tray. I don’t even look at what I’m eating; it’s just the action of it. So normal and routine. The whole time, Dr. Calloway remains seated. All that’s left is the pills. I don’t take them, and I hope Dr. Calloway doesn’t notice it.
I know she’s not sitting here because she wants to. She has something else she needs to say. I drop my spoon onto the now-empty tray and stare at her expectantly.
“Before I leave I wanted to know if you’d like to see more photos.” My mouth opens but Dr. Calloway quickly adds, “You don’t have to say yes. If you’re not comfortable because of what just happened…I understand.”
I answer without a second thought. “Yes.”
After what just happened, this might be a really bad idea. My mind is already being stretched and pulled apart. My emotions are at an all-time high. My relationship with my daughter seems to weaken by the day. I should probably stop right now.
Stop it all.
But this, seeing my past, is like a drug to me. Very slowly, I’m feeling the ties between Young Victoria and the Present Victoria tightening, bringing us closer together.
Dr. Calloway pulls out another stack of photos and my pulse picks up. It’s part fear and part excitement. I wasn’t expecting this at all. There’s no time to brace myself.
August 2014
There’s no handbook or
guide on how to leave your husband. No tips. No “Five Easy Steps.” I felt like a fish out of water, floundering and lost, but I couldn’t give up. If I left this marriage, I’d be leaving with my eyes wide open, prepared and ready for anything that he might shoot my way.
Wes wouldn’t lie down and play dead.
He’d fight. Hard.
So I started out slowly telling myself three important things.
I have to be careful.
I have to outwit him.
I have to survive.
And now it was time for step one.
Barefoot, I padded toward Wes’s office and stared down at the keypad directly above the doorknob. When we moved in Wes was adamant about installing cameras and a security system. The cameras were angled toward the backyard and the front door, with another leading toward the garage. Every time the front doors opened or closed, a beep would ring out once. When the doors were unlocked, you had twenty seconds to put in the key code or else the alarm would go off.
I punched in the code for the front and back doors: 049319.
It didn’t work.
I tried the same code two more times. After the third failed attempt, the screen went blank. Then four black dots flashed across it and the alarm went off. It was so loud my ears started to ring.
The only time I’d heard the alarm was when the security system was installed. The man who set it up explained that the second it went off, the security company would call either Wes or me. Right now, Wes was in court. His phone was off and all calls were being forwarded to his secretary.
I waited. Twenty seconds went by. Then a minute. Soon I started to doubt whether the company would even call, then finally my phone lit up. I answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
A cheerful woman named Terri told me they had a security alert on 4376 Bellamy Road. Was everything okay?
“Yes, that was me. Everything’s fine, everything’s fine. I’m Mrs. Donovan. My husband is at work and he needed me to pick up some papers in his office. I thought I knew the security code, but clearly I got it wrong. I’m so sorry,” I said in my most sincere voice.
