by N. K. Smith
“Elliott?” He lifted his head and looked at me. “Why do you let Chris treat you like that?”
His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and his jaw jutted out. Then his breathing sped up, causing his chest to rise and fall rapidly. He looked like he was going to get sick as he tried to form words.
“Sophia!”
I turned toward the open door and stood up. “That’s Tom. I guess it’s time to go home.” I returned the book to the shelf and walked to the door. “I like your room. See you Monday.”
Very quickly, I found myself back downstairs and rolled my eyes as I saw Tom talking to Jason. “And you’re staying out of trouble?”
“Yes, sir.”
I couldn’t help but smile behind Tom’s back, earning a pointed look from Jason. “Tom? You ready or are you here for therapy too?” I got out of there quickly and waited in the car until he joined me.
“You survived, huh?” I folded my arms over my chest and stared out the window. I might have to live with him, but I didn’t have to talk to him. “Look, Sophie, I’m—”
“Whatever, Tom. Can we just go now?”
I barricaded myself in my room for the rest of the night while Tom sat in his recliner watching some sporting event and drinking beer after beer. Around midnight I snuck downstairs for something to eat and found him passed out. Just perfect. I’d be happy when he had to sleep at the station.
Morning came quickly and I found myself waiting for Tom to leave. Finally, at a quarter to eight, he stumbled out to his car and took off. I wasted no time getting ready: Showering, brushing my teeth, dressing, checking my blood sugar, getting my insulin ready, eating, and packing a few things to eat just in case. By the time Jason arrived, I was bored out of my mind.
“It’s about time,” I said as I slipped into the passenger seat.
“Not my fault. Jerry wanted to have some kind of heart-to-heart talk with me this morning.”
“About what?”
He smiled widely. “He knows you and I are…doing whatever it is we’re doing.”
“And?”
He licked his lips. “I’m not to get you pregnant and under no circumstances am I to sell you drugs.”
I laughed. “Well, I agree about the pregnant thing, but I think the last part needs to be amended. How about we go with ‘under no circumstances are you to sell me drugs and get caught?’”
“I like it. Oh, and he wants to know how many times you wash your hands a day.”
“What?” I asked with a laugh.
“Yeah, it’s his messed up OCD way of figuring out if you’re worthy of his only son.”
“Jeez. How do you stand that? Does he count how many times you wash your hands?”
“Yeah, he has a chart. He also stands next to me half the time, reminding me how long to wash, how to properly get under my nails, and how even if I washed, I still need to sanitize right after just to be sure. Oh! And he goes nuts if I touch the handles of the faucet without using towel.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. You get used to it after a while. The color-coded towels and washcloths are annoying though. I always forget which is which and it puts his whole day into a tailspin.”
“How can he go hiking or rock climbing with all those phobias?”
“He can’t anymore. He hasn’t been outside of the house in years. The doctor visits him at home along with a social worker who asks me a bunch of idiotic questions about how my dad’s OCD makes me ‘feel.’ If his friends want to see him, they come over. As long as he’s on his meds, he’s okay, but we still have to clean and disinfect for hours after someone’s visited.”
“So the other day when I was over, he was hiding in his room because he was afraid I’d infect him. Did you have to clean after I left?”
“Yep,” he answered, his face conveying how tedious he found it all. “But since you were mainly in my bedroom, it wasn’t that bad. He never goes in my room.”
I was uncomfortable with learning anymore about Jason and his dad, so I remained silent. It only took a few minutes to drive to where we’d be hiking. I didn’t care how long it took because I was with Jason, and being with him held the promise of certain things that I really, really wanted right now.
We’d only been walking a few minutes before he asked, “So what did you think of the thing last night?”
“What? The Damascus Friday Night Screw-Up Club?” I rolled my eyes. “It was super awesome.”
“How was your alone-time with Robin?”
“Who?” I pretended I didn’t understand. “Oh, you mean ‘Bitch Wallace?’”
“Guess that sums it up, doesn’t it?” He looked around and then copped a squat next to a tree. I mirrored his actions and watched as he pulled out his little sack of green and plucked a paper from the pack. “Just a word of advice; the more you tell her, lies or not, the less likely she’ll out you in front of everyone.”
I sighed heavily, but felt marginally better when he passed me the joint. “The whole thing’s so dumb.”
“Yeah, but you have to do it.”
I quirked an eyebrow and tried to keep the hit in for as long as I possibly could. “So why are you there?” I exhaled slowly.
“Tom,” he said quickly. “He knows how dependent Jerry is on me, so he makes nice with the police on my behalf. Jesus, what the hell would my old man do if I wasn’t there to wash his clothes, cook him dinner, or keep his house clean? Just because he’s OCD doesn’t mean he can do all of the cleaning he has to do to feel comfortable. That would mean touching the toilet and dirty silverware. I could just imagine Jerry lying on the floor after one of his benders and not being able to pick his sorry ass up, freaking out about the creepy-crawly flesh-eating germs covering his body from our obviously-infected linoleum.”
So Jerry was a drinker too. I wondered how alcohol affected his already heavily-medicated body. Perhaps he and Tom have old-guy keg parties. Then I realized that together they were “Tom and Jerry.” I stifled a laugh.
Jason said nothing, so we sat in silence, finishing the joint. It wasn’t until he’d sprawled out on the dirty, leaf-covered ground that he asked, “So how was your time with Dalton?” His voice was light, as if he thought it was funny that Rusty Dalton was my partner.
“He’s all right.” Jason snickered. “What?” He opened his eyes and gave me a disbelieving look. Despite my numbing high, my body tensed in preparation for him to say some negative shit about the boy with the stutter. I actually kind of liked him. He was unassuming and it was obvious that the cards he’d been dealt sucked beyond the telling.
“It’s just that…Never mind.”
“What?”
“He’s fucking weird, Sophie.”
“So are you, but I still hang out with your dirty ass.”
“My ass is not dirty. Elliott’s all socially stupid and shit. I mean, the kid never talks and when he does, it’s all da-da-da and ma-ma-ma and I-I-I-I c-c-c-c-can’t taaaaaalk l-l-l-like a n-n-n-n-normal human being.”
Okay, so I totally wasn’t impressed with Jason’s capacity for compassion. “Wow. I didn’t know you were such a prick, Jace.”
He sat up and shot me a dirty look. “I’m not being a prick; I’m simply stating the facts. When they first got here, you should have seen him. One time, I swear to God, the teacher found him hiding under his desk.”
I had no idea about the hiding thing, but it was ridiculous for Jason to be so mean because he had a stutter. “Maybe he has a hard time talking because he knows dickheads like you judge him for something he can’t help. Who cares about any of that anyway? He’s still a person. He has a mind and soul, and deserves to be treated like a human instead of some—”
Jason laughed. “Oh my God! Sophie, you’re in love with the retarded Dalton kid, aren’t you?”
I shot him a glare. Of course I wasn’t in love with him, but it pissed me off that Jason would call him retarded just because he stuttered. “Fuck you.”
I stood up, but he grabbed my wrist and roughly yanked me back down. Just as I hit the ground, he ensnared me in his arms, pulling me down and pressing me against him. I tensed for a moment, but worked to relax. I straddled him, his hold on me unrelenting.
“Don’t be mad, Sophie. Feel free to make fun of me about having to spend time with Olivia. If you want to get to know a true Damascus Screw-Up, spend some time with her. She can’t even kill herself properly. Like she didn’t know in order to bleed out quickly, you have to hit an artery.” He looked disgusted, but stopped talking.
“Don’t be mean, Jason.”
“Don’t be bossy, Sophie.” Then his mouth was on my neck. “Don’t I owe you some good forest sex?”
She had been in my room. She’d touched my books and we had what could have been considered an actual conversation, especially for me. I’d been proud of myself for not being a complete freak about it, but then she just looked at me and, much to my horror, asked me why I let Anderson treat me like he did. As if I had a choice.
I agonized over that question for the rest of the night. After everyone left, Robin thought it would be a good time for us to have our official session. We were in Stephen’s study just like every Friday night. It was incredibly unfair that I had to have a session every week when nobody else did. She and Stephen must have thought I was pretty far gone.
“So, Sophie’s nice, isn’t she?” Of course she’d want to talk about Sophie. I nodded. “I noticed that you two didn’t stay downstairs.” I shook my head. I supposed she got those keen observational skills from her many years in college. “Did you show her your bedroom?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Th-th-the door wwwas o-open th-the entire t-t-time.” I had done that intentionally, even though a closed door would have made me much more comfortable.
She smiled. “Thank you, but I’m not really worried about that. It’s your house and you’re allowed to have guests in your room if you wish. I’m just surprised. From what Stephen tells me, you don’t allow people in your room.”
“S-sh-she likes b-b-books,” I said, by way of explanation.
“That’s wonderful. Did you two have a nice conversation?” I blatantly rolled my eyes and motioned to my mouth and throat. Obviously I didn’t have a good conversation with her, due to my inability to actually talk like a normal person.
“Elliott,” Robin said, “there will come a point in your life when you can’t blame your speech impediment for everything.” She used that soft motherly tone that reminded me why I probably never got anywhere in therapy. We were too close and too comfortable with one another.
Usually my emotions were held very squarely in check to avoid my blowing up and subsequently sounding like a moron when I couldn’t manage to have a proper tirade. However, right now I was about to explode. How could this woman sit here and tell me I couldn’t blame my stuttering for not being able to communicate effectively? She had no idea what it was like to have a million thoughts you wanted to share, but couldn’t because of some physiological or mental glitch. My hands balled into fists and I pressed them into my thighs.
I tried to let Tchaikovsky’s Song Without Words run through my mind to soothe me, but how could she think that I wouldn’t want to have a normal conversation with a pretty girl my age? How could she imply that I didn’t even make an attempt? She knew I sat up every night reading children’s books aloud, trying to harness my voice and get rid of my impediment. Why did she have to keep pulling and tugging at me so much? David and Rebecca were most likely having sex right now, Trent was probably in the midst of doing something far more reproachable to Jane than I could even think about, and yet here she was telling me that I use my stuttering as a crutch to avoid people.
“I-I-I d-d-d-doooon’t b-b-bl-bl-blame…” I couldn’t manage to get the rest of my words out. They were blocked.
She cocked her head and looked at me like I was a four-year-old. “Elliott, I’m sorry if I upset you. That wasn’t my intention. I know and understand your stuttering is something that’s not your fault and you can’t control it. However, please understand that I also know your history and I’m aware that with or without your stuttering, you would still avoid building relationships with people.”
I kept my hands clenched. I would not be talking about all of this again tonight. Wasn’t it enough that I’d let Sophie into my room and at least tried to talk with her?
“It took you a very long time to form a bond with David and Stephen.”
“Th-they’re d-dif-different. W-w-with J-J-JJJane, I—”
“Yes. I understand the difference, but even though you’ve finally accepted them as family, you still don’t allow them to touch your things or enter your room. You still keep them at a distance.”
I was feeling defiant, so I shrugged. “M-m-maybe I just dddon’t l-l-like them.”
Much to my dismay, Robin smiled at me. “I know you like them, but you refuse to allow yourself to grow any closer to them because you have a fear that everyone you love will either leave you or hurt you.”
“Th-that’s n-not t-t-t-t…” I stopped and sighed. I usually didn’t argue with adults. I was raised to respect authority figures and not talk back, but in my sessions, I realized the rules had changed. Robin wanted me to express myself.
“If it’s not true, Elliott, let’s talk about your mother.”
“N-no!” Now I was sorry I opened my mouth at all.
“What about your father? Would you care to talk about him?” My whole body felt so tight, I thought it would snap at any moment and break. I tried to keep the emotions down, but the tears burned my eyes, though I refused to let them fall. I shook my head. “So you still don’t want to talk about your mom and you don’t want to talk about your father. Should we talk about Joseph?”
My chest tightened and my lungs seized. “D-d-don’t,” I begged, unable to keep my tears back now. I didn’t understand why she was being so cruel. Instinctively, I drew my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I couldn’t breathe and fought hard against the instinct to crawl under a table. My heart felt like it was going to thump right out of my chest. “P-p-please, d-d-dddon’t.”
“I know this is difficult, Elliott. I can see that it causes you an extreme amount of stress and anxiety, but you cannot let this rule your life. You keep so much of yourself hidden that it will only fester inside and break you. You’ve never said anything about him in all our…” I started to feel lightheaded and my body began to tingle. She was still speaking, but I was only vaguely aware of her coming over and putting one hand on my arm, and the other on my forehead. “You need to relax, Elliott. No one is going to hurt you here.”
At some point, Stephen came into the room. I could barely focus on anything, but somehow through the haze of panic, I recognized his gray-speckled dark hair. Being around men when I was in this state never really helped anything. My panic attacks always seemed less intense when men weren’t around. Then I felt something sharp jab into my arm and slowly began to realize, as my body relaxed, that he’d given me a sedative. Finally, I was able to breathe and the tears drained from my eyes.
There was no way to measure how long it had been from the onset of the attack to the point where I was finally able to stand up by myself, but I had a feeling it had been a good chunk of time. I licked my lips and moved to the door. “I-I’m gggggoooing to sssleeeep now.”
My legs shook and I wobbled. Stephen offered me assistance, holding out his arm to steady me, but instead I placed my hand on the wall and waited until I felt sturdier.
Very, very slowly, I went into the hallway, too sedated to care much that David, Rebecca, Jane, and Trent were there too. I hadn’t realized I’d made enough noise to alert them
. Using the wall as a guide, I kept my eyes on the floor as I walked to my room. Once inside, I locked the door and grabbed my iPod. I flopped down onto my bed, put the ear buds in, and found my Classical playlist as I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing. In and out. In and out.
But as I lay there, my body nearly helplessly sedated, my mind moved back to Sophie’s question about Anderson. The answer was inextricably linked to what just happened in Stephen’s study.
I was unbelievably thankful when sleep finally overtook me, rescuing me from my wandering mind.
On Saturday, I was awakened by soft knocks on my door. My head hurt and my body felt heavy as I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door. Jane waited on the other side, giving me a small smile. “It’s noon and Stephen said you need to eat something.”
“I-I’m not h-hungry.” I sounded tired, even to myself.
Jane nodded. “I told him you’d say that, but you have to come out sometime. He’s going to leave for the hospital soon, so make an appearance, eat something, and then you’ll be free to lie around until Monday morning. If you don’t, he’ll just call Robin.” I sighed as I came out and closed the door. Her smile faltered and she reached up to run a hand through my hair. “It’ll be okay, Elliott.”
That was what she said all the time. But we both knew that wasn’t true, because “okay” wasn’t something people like us ever got to be.
Reluctantly, I went downstairs and had lunch with my family, but not before Stephen looked me over. There were times when it was really useful to have a doctor in the house. Like the time Jane “accidentally” cut herself while attempting to recreate a Bobby Flay dish, or when David dislocated his shoulder playing football with his jock friends in the backyard, or when I was sick with the flu, even though I hated the medicine he made me take.
