Silenced 2: The Overtaking (Silenced Series)

by RaeBeth McGee-Buda

  “Do you want to go with me on Sunday?”

  “I will have to see. I'm really interested in this and what better way to understand more?”

  “I like the way you're thinking.”

  “Thank you once again for helping me through my urge.”

  “Not a problem. I was there once, and know how hard it is.”

  “I better go now. Thanks for talking with me. I want to write down what happened and call Landon back. I can't go to bed angry at him.”

  “Okay, it was nice talking to you. If you need me again, don’t be afraid to call. I don't care what time it is. We can get through whatever together. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  I think a nice hot shower is in order. I grab some clean clothes, open my door, and step into the hallway. I feel more relaxed than what I did only an hour ago. Flashes of me sneaking down the hall to cut come to mind.

  As I close the bathroom door, I remember I still have the razor hidden in the wall. I crouch down and pull the tile out. The razor sits perfect in the little cubby. I pull it out and study it.

  The feeling of darkness lingers around me, but I’m not going to give in. I throw the razor in the trash, pull out the bag, and tie it. I want to get rid of it because having it within reach doesn't do any good for my main goal. I open the bathroom door slightly, and toss the bag into the hall. Closing the door again, I feel a sense of relief wash over me.

  I turn on the water and adjust it until it is almost too hot. After undressing, I open the shower curtain to double check the temperature by allowing a bit of water to hit my foot. Perfect. After stepping the rest of the way into the shower, I let the warm water fall against my skin, relaxing me.

  The day caused some tension, and as the warm water hits my shoulders it seems to loosen me up a bit. My thoughts drift to Landon and his reactions. He hasn't treated me like this before. I hope he can tough it out, because I'm seriously trying to get over cutting. His actions aren't helping at all. I love him dearly and it’ll break me, if he leaves over my selfishness.

  I know how damaging cutting is, but it's my way of life...well used to be anyway. I feel so lost, and at times I feel like my life is spiraling out of control. When I saw Sarah lying in the casket, it woke me up. I don't want to end up like she did. It was an unfortunate mistake on her part, and I'd be tainting her memory if I don't change my ways.

  I realize within the past week how egotistical I was being. I wasn't thinking of my mom or Landon. I wasn't thinking about what it’d do to them if they had to bury me. The ache of losing Sarah is enough for a lifetime. I couldn’t imagine putting my family through it.

  If only I could tell Landon and he'd understand. I get the feeling he isn't going to be as understanding as he was before.

  I wonder what Casey and Patrick think. They probably hate me too and don’t want to be around a loser who turns to cutting. I saw the way they made fun of people in school, and how mean Casey was. Who knows if they're going to be understanding with me?

  All the thoughts running through my mind cause me to worry when I hear Kristen in the back of my mind. I remember her saying she prays about her worries, and she hands them over to Christ. I wonder if I can do this when I haven't asked for forgiveness.

  Instead of wondering, I think I made up my mind. I want to try to live my life with purpose and direction. Giving my heart to Christ sounds tempting, but what will others think? Will it give them another reason to make fun of me or push me around?

  I have too many questions that need to be answered before I can do something as extreme as this.

  Pulling myself away from my thoughts, I wash myself and get out of the shower. As I open the bathroom door, I remember the garbage bag I tossed in the hall and pick it up. As I head downstairs to throw it out, my mom stops me.

  “What's that?”

  “The bathroom garbage.”

  “Why are you throwing it out? It's barely full.”

  “I threw away a razor and don't want easy access to it.”

  “Hand it to me and I'll take care of it. I'll put it out where you won't find it so easily.”

  “Thanks,” I say handing her the bag and smiling.

  It's great to see my mom supporting me. She was my main concern when I thought about people finding out. Instead of going downstairs, I turn and make my way back to my bedroom. Calling Landon is weighing heavily on my mind. I need to work things out with him. I hate arguing, and detest when we’re upset with each other.

  “It's me. You still mad at me?” I ask, worried.

  “I wasn't mad at you. I’m angry that you’re hurting and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I didn't even recognize it. What kind of person am I? You’re hurting so bad, you're to the point where cutting yourself seems like the only answer.”

  “I cut before I moved here. This isn't your fault.”

  “It partly is. If I would’ve done things differently, you could’ve stopped before it went as far as it did. I could’ve been there for you more, therefore making you feel you could absolutely trust me. I didn't even know you were hurting. Why didn't you talk to me?”

  “It's not that simple. I feel lost, and alone. I figured if I told you, things would have ended badly for us. I honestly thought you’d leave me and still do.”

  “That's crazy. If I leave you which I'm not, I might as well take the razor to you myself. It’d not only hurt you, but it would hurt me. Amber, I love you, and I don't want to see you hurting. I wish I could take everything away and make it all better.”

  “I'm working on it. It's my battle, not yours. I've always let someone battle for me. That's why I ended up the way I did. I began to rely on this artificial thing that doesn't help me. At first it seemed like it did, but in the long run, you're left with horrible looking scars and people look at you differently. They look at you like you are crazy.”

  “Who does that? I'll take care of that.” He says, in an angry voice.

  “No, you won't. I know how to handle it.”

  “How?”

  “Jesus. He might be my answer. A girl in my group Kristen told me about how she gave her heart to Him and is living her life the right way. She says she puts all of her reservations in His hands, and He takes care of them. She told me he helped her through cutting and recovery.”

  I decide not to say any more until I hear his reply. After a few moments, he doesn't say anything.

  “Are you still there?” I ask thinking he may have dropped the call or something.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Kristen and what she had to say.”

  “I don't know. If that's what you feel you need to do, then that's your choice.”

  “I was actually thinking that maybe both of us could try it.”

  “Nah that stuff isn’t for me; I'm more of a physics and scientific type of a guy. You know...evolution.”

  “Well, whatever floats your boat, but at least think about it?”

  “I will. I'm heading off to bed. Love you.”

  “Okay, love you too,” I reply knowing he only wants to run away from where the conversation’s going.

  I recline on my bed thinking about how nice the life Kristen described would be. I wish I had someone within my family to do this with me. It’d be awesome to have someone else I know walk this journey with me. We could use each other as support and make sure we stay on track. Being happy and not cutting inspires me. The anticipation begins to get the best of me, and I have to talk to someone about it.

  “Hey Mom, do you have a minute?” I ask looking around the room seeing what she's up to.

  “Sure,” she says as she places her book on the stand.

  “I've been thinking about something since this afternoon. I'm not really sure about it,” I explain, leaning up against the door frame, “Kristen, a girl in group, told me about Jesus today and how He's helped her. I think I want to follow Him too.” I finish smiling
, hopeful.

  “That's great, honey. It seems maybe Kristen is a great influence on you.”

  “I like her. But do you really think what she’s saying is true?” I ask, feeling my heart flutter.

  “I gave myself to Him when I was younger. Although I've been backsliding, I still agree with what she’s said.” She replies.

  I feel a jolt of happiness flood my body. “Would you want to do this walk with me if I decide to try it?”

  “I think I would.”

  That’s awesome! Happiness and delight surge through me, causing my body to feel shaky and tears escape my eyes. I skip over to mom and give her a hug.

  For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling the happiness I once felt and I hope it lasts forever. We let our arms fall down to our sides and look at one another, while silence takes over between us.

  I can understand everything my mom’s feeling because I’m feeling it too. I feel at ease with the world.

  It occurs to me that it would take us to the next level if Landon decides to join as well.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Welcome back Amber,” Lily says as I sit in a chair getting comfortable, “glad to see you return.”

  “Thanks,” I smile at her.

  “It's great to see you smile. This is our third session. We have ten more to go. I think things are progressing well. Have you had any urges to cut lately?”

  “Yes,” I say without hesitating.

  “Did you give in?”

  “No, I didn't. I met someone at group. When I felt I couldn't beat it myself I called her.”

  “Good job. Did you write it down in the notebook?”

  “I did. Although I was too angry to write it at that moment, I did end up writing it down later, after Kristen calmed me down.”

  “That's fine. Keep up with writing, and eventually you’ll learn your triggers. Afterward, you’ll be able to avoid them.”

  “Oh, something occurred to me the other night regarding the doctors in North Carolina. They weren't all that positive on their diagnosis. One told me I have bi-polar, and the other claimed I have depression. Which is it?”

  “Let me look at their notes. Perhaps they figured it out and didn't tell you,” she says, picking up a file folder from the side table.

  I watch her flip through the pages while skimming the notes. She comes to an abrupt stop and her attention focuses on the page in front of her. I watch patiently while she does her research, hoping she’ll come back with an answer. Not knowing the exact disorder I have confuses me. How could it be hard to see if someone is happy or sad?

  “I see where you're confused,” she finally answers. “The physician noted bi-polar and the psychologist noted depression. I can do some tests. I'll ask more questions about your personal and family history. I’ll compare the symptoms we find to the guidelines. We can focus on that now. I’m wondering if they prescribed you the right type of medication. What medication did they put you on?”

  “Prozac and Klonopin.”

  Lily stands up, puts the papers on the dark oak stand, and walks over to the gray file cabinet. “Okay, let’s get started on the tests.” She says, pulling a few forms out.

  Grabbing the forms, I notice it’s the same questionnaire I filled out in the hospital. I grab a pen and begin answering them again. Ten minutes later, I hand them back.

  “I need to do a few lab tests. I’ll get the referral paper ready for the lab. Go down and hand it to the receptionist. They’ll take care of you. I’m going to call the hospital and talk to the doctors.”

  “Okay. What are the tests for?”

  “Help us rule out other causes for your mood swings. We’ll examine them to be sure everything is all right before we move to the next step.”

  “How long will it take to get the tests back?”

  “It shouldn’t take more than about forty minutes. Is this going to cause a problem?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Okay.”

  ****

  My hearts racing as I make my way to the lab. The waiting room isn't hectic. There are two people sitting in the corner to my right. A television plays loudly while they watch. It’s a good distraction for me because I hate getting blood drawn. A huge neon sign hangs above a wooden desk, instantly grabbing my attention. “Sign in Here and Have a Seat”, it flashes in blue, pink, and purple colors. I look under the sign and a touch screen computer sits directly below.

  Tapping lightly, I fill out the information and submit it. Suddenly a loud printer sound goes off and the small black box beside the screen spits out a slip of paper. “Patient number 867”.

  Looking around the room, I notice a number displayed in bright red, 865. It looks like my wait isn't going to be as long as I thought.

  Walking towards the waiting area to take may seat, I notice several chairs have something on the cushions. Changing my mind, I walk to the opposite side of the room and find a clean chair. The guy in the corner whispers to the woman beside him, and they both glance at me. In response, I begin drumming my foot against the floor in anticipation for my number to be called.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the couple continue to whisper. Each time they glance at me, I feel panic raise, causing me to check my makeup and hair in the mirror. I am thinking the wind or something messed up my hair. Everything looks fine. My dark eyeliner is in place and not one strand of hair has escaped my ponytail.

  As I close my pocket mirror, the bandage on my wrist catches my eyes. This must be what they are looking at. The gauze is beginning to show bits of blood here and there. Instantly, I pull my sleeve down to cover it and the couple looks away.

  The ting of the door bell pulls my attention to the door. A woman with three kids comes in. The kids begin fighting and pulling each other’s hair, while their mom yells at them to stop.

  They sign in, and take a seat directly across from me. The kids continue to glare around the room yelling and carrying on. Seeming annoyed, the woman pulls out her cell phone and begins playing with it. The boys take off towards the magazine rack, pulling them out of their little cubby, and throwing them on the floor. The third sits quietly beside her mother watching every move the younger ones make while yanking on her moms shirt. The woman doesn't glance up to settle her kids.

  I shuffle in my seat and lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. The kids continue to be loud which is giving me a headache. I catch myself taking glances at them to make sure they aren't coming in my direction. I take a deep breath and hold it in. After a few seconds, I slowly let it out hoping my number would appear on the small square box hung on the wall.

  The loud speaker beeps and a man’s voice fills the room. “Now taking number 866 in the lab!” The sign changes the number. A small wave of relief washes over me. I'm next. I glance up and catch the little girl staring at me. Looking up at her, I fake a short smile. She begins babbling like she's trying to talk to me. I nod like I understand while impatiently waiting for my number to be called.

  The two stray boys running around in a circle catch their sister talking to me. They run over and plop in chairs to my left and right. I pull my purse closer to my chest as they begin asking me questions.

  “What's your name? What are you doing here? Why is your makeup so dark? Are you getting blood taken, too?”

  I open my mouth, preparing to answer when a beep fills the room. “Now taking number 867 in the lab!” I jump up and rush through the double doors marked LAB. Whoa, that was close. As soon as the doors close, I take a breath of relief.

  “May I help you?” I hear someone ask to my left.

  I shuffle over to the counter. “Yes, I’m here for some blood work.” I say not waiting another minute for this to drag on.

  “Name?”

  I give him my name and verify my information, “Please follow the hallway into the main room. Take a seat in an empty chair. They’ll be with you shortly.”

  This chair isn't as comfortable as the last. The arms widen
and the other rests in an upright position. A pleasantly plump woman comes waddling into the room.

  “Hey Hun, I'll be right with you. Let me grab my kit.” She says as she rushes into a small room that sits adjacent to this one. A moment later she waddles back over while pulling a small stool on wheels. Seeing the blood kit, I begin to feel panic strike once more.

  “My, my are you a pale one, or are you worried about the blood?” She asks, concerned.

  “Both,” I say taking another deep breath and letting it go loudly.

  “You'll be fine. Don't hold your breath and focus on taking deep breaths in and out.”

  She grabs a huge rubber band and wraps it around my arm, causing it to begin tingling. I can feel my muscles tighten up and my stomach drops. The woman grabs a needle. I look away feeling my heart racing and hear pounding in my ears. My mouth goes dry and I become dizzy feeling like I’m about to pass out.

  “Done. You made it. I'll get you an orange juice. Sit tight and I'll be right back.” She says, gathering up the trash and throwing it in the bin beside us.

  A few seconds later she waddles back in. “Here’s your orange juice. You’re free to go.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, grabbing the cup.

  ****

  The results take forever. I sit in the same chair I normally do, flipping through the same magazine. If I don't get moving soon, I may fall asleep. I glance up occasionally watching each person that comes into the room hoping it’s the doctor with the results. Time seems to pass by slower than a turtle while waiting. I hate waiting.

  Forty minutes into my wait, the receptionist yells my name, forcing my attention in her direction. “I have your paperwork here. You can leave now.”

  “Do I take it back to Dr. McKinley?”

  “Yes.”

  I grab the paper and head to my shrink. I don't wait for the receptionist to allow me back; I walk right through her office door.

  “I finally got the paper work. It felt like it took forever.” I say wanting to get this over with.

  “Okay, let me finish up with this patient and we will continue.” She replies, nodding towards the door.