When the pain meds began to wear off, I felt every fingerprint that had bruised my skin, every cut and wound on every inch of body, and worst of all wasn’t even that I wasn’t allowed to move out of fear that that the damage to my spine was so bad as to leave me paralyzed. The worst was the feeling of rawness between my legs and how I could still feel him inside me. For weeks after that I was catatonic. I wouldn’t eat, I couldn’t talk for fear of screaming, I couldn’t sleep without being drugged, and no matter how many showers I took, I couldn’t wash away the feeling of being violated.
It was only after Katia was brought in and put in the same room as me on Doctor Fleur’s orders that the numbness had slowly began to recede. She’d been assaulted like me and I couldn’t stay hidden away in the safe recesses of my mind when she needed me more. We shared each other’s pain and fears, we knew each other’s boundaries, and we knew when to leave each other alone when the other was hurting and needed solace.
“You guys both need to leave,” Katia said while getting out of her bed.
“You have no right to say that,” my mother spat out.
I took a deep breath in trying to control my nervous system, but I couldn’t quite manage it. My breathing was becoming choppier and shallower with every second that passed.
“She’s getting worse—leave, Cressida!” my father commanded as he pressed the button for the nurses.
“I’m telling you, she needs space, you’re crowding her in,” Katia urged.
The door smacked open against the wall and two nurses entered, one roughly turned me on my side, while the other hitched up my gown. I cried out as I felt a needle head piercing my hip. Everything faded, turning black.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE my daughter’s in a psych ward, she’s not a crazy lunatic who deserves to be holed up in a mental institution,” my mother growled with frustration.
Her voice penetrated through the foggy silence in my mind, waking me up from my deep sleep.
“That isn’t why she’s here, Mrs. Monsoon, and being in a mental institution isn’t something to be ashamed of. This is the best place for her recovery. Even as a trained psychologist myself, I can’t even try to unlock her memory to discover what happened to her that night, it’s too dangerous. I can help her with her fear of being touched but going any further than that could worsen her trauma. She needs to feel safe in order to heal and keeping her here allows her to feel that way,” Doctor Fleur replied.
“Don’t you think taking her home would be better?” My dad asked with a weary sigh.
“No, she isn’t ready for that yet,” Doctor Fleur answered in a calm tone. “She’s not who she used to be anymore. She thinks, feels, and acts differently from how she did before she was assaulted. If you take her home, rather than feeling comfortable, she would be overwhelmed with all the expectations and feelings associated with her old self. She has to learn how to feel comfortable with how she’s changed, but more importantly, she has to face the fact that she may never recover her memory. I honestly can’t say when—or if—she will get better; her mind is a ticking time bomb that might go off at any minute. I need to make sure that if it does, that she’s well equipped to deal with it, otherwise her mind might implode and I might not ever be able to draw her out of her own body.”
“My God,” my mother gasped in horror.
“I know it’s difficult to hear what I’m telling you, but I also need you both to be prepared. There’s no easy fix, or correct method, for recovery. It’s scary, but I’m here to help you all through this,” Doctor Fleur soothed.
“Thank you, Doctor Fleur, we both can’t thank you enough. I don’t know how to be close to Emerson anymore. I try but she just pushes me away,” Dad replied, sounding like a man with a broken soul, tugging on my heartstrings.
“I completely understand. Emerson likes to hide and numb herself from those she has strong feelings about. Right now, feeling any strong emotion is too much for her. Imagine someone who was once blind, and by some miracle, being able to see again. Going from being surrounded by blackness to a world full of color would be overwhelming. Likewise, Emerson has shut herself off, in a way, turned her humanity off because she’s found it easier to not deal with her own feelings and emotions. So, when she senses yours, it triggers her own and in self-preservation she instinctively shuts down. Her fear of being touched also obviously has the same effect which is why she had a panic attack,” Doctor Fleur elaborated.
“I’m so sorry I triggered it,” Mother sobbed.
“Cressie, you couldn’t have known that trying to touch her hand would have that effect. Emerson’s not like a normal teenager, it’s not your fault,” Dad murmured gently. Guilt filled me, I hated the way I was, but I didn’t know how to get better. The only way I knew how to feel safe was to protect myself from anything or anyone who could possibly make me feel pain.
“He’s right, Mrs. Monsoon. No one in this room is responsible for what has happened to Emerson. She doesn’t ice you out because she hates you or because you scare her. Hold onto that thought every time she flinches or draws away from you,” Doctor Fleur instructed.
“I can’t express how grateful we are that you’re helping us through this. With you here we know that Emerson will come out on the other side stronger, regardless of whether she regains her memory. Should we stay or will she be out for only a little while longer?” Dad asked.
“It’s late, and I doubt she’ll be in a good mood after being injected with a strong sedative. I’m sure you’re both exhausted, I’ll tell her you waited for her to wake up,” Doctor Fleur advised.
I sighed once the door clicked closed, relishing the silence. Then it hit me . . . Doctor Fleur had referred to my mother as Mrs. Monsoon . . . were my parents still married or was it an oversight? Surely if it was, my dad would have corrected her immediately. If they were still married, then maybe my dad only pretended to hate her, because if he really did then he would have taken the final step to cut any ties between them years ago. I really, really hoped he didn’t still love her, both for his sake and mine.
“I know you’re awake, Emerson,” Doctor Fleur’s cool voice cut through my thoughts.
I opened my eyes, realizing that she’d stayed behind. “Did you really mean what you said—about me possibly never remembering what happened to me?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“I meant every word that I said,” she replied.
That was all the more reason for me to get out of here as soon as possible.
“I don’t want to stay here anymore,” I murmured tiredly.
“I’m sorry, Emerson, but that’s not for you to decide. Until you turn eighteen, you’re under your father’s care, and he has the authority to keep you here until he sees fit to take you home. And I’m afraid that won’t be until you get better. I’m here to help make that happen—I’m not the enemy,” she prodded gently.
“I honestly appreciate all that you’ve done for me, but not everything can be fixed by medicine and an endless supply of drugs,” I replied with annoyance.
“I get what you’re trying to do, you’re trying to test my patience, get me angry enough to think that you’re not worth the effort so I’ll give up trying to help you. I won’t, but that’s fine, you can keep on trying, but every time you push me away, you’re hurting yourself—not me. I’m not the one who can’t bear to me touched, and I’m not the one who is controlled by fear. I can tell that there’s no use trying to talk to you while you’re in this mood. Meet me in my office tomorrow at 10 a.m. and we can try this all over again, but hopefully you’ll have a better attitude. Goodnight, Emerson,” Doctor Fleur smiled serenely and left, not waiting for a reply.
“Wow, she is either seriously delusional or she actually believes the bullshit she spouts,” I heard Katia chuckle from somewhere.
“Where are you?” I whispered back in bemusement, my eyes sweeping across my room, finding it empty save for the cabinet in the corner, but surely there’s no way she’d be hiding o
ut in there.
“I’m in the room next door, your mother complained to Doctor Fleur saying that I was inhibiting your progress. Ironically, there’s a hole in the wall, so I can still communicate with you,” she replied and I knew that if I looked at her face she would be smirking.
“You made that hole, didn’t you?” I shrewdly guessed.
“Yep,” she replied unabashedly.
“Not even a shred of remorse for your actions,” I commented, “I don’t feel any on your behalf either; this is why we make such great friends,” I laughed.
“Do you think what Doctor Fleur said is true?” Katia asked, all traces of humor gone.
“Which part?”
“All of it,” she sighed.
“I have no clue, I’m sick of being psychoanalyzed. I mean I can’t deny that there’s a certain point in which medicine gets you better, but I think we’ve reached that point. The antidepressants don’t solve anything, they just make me numb and I feel like I’m an outsider in my own body. I need to breathe, I need to let out all this pent-up anger, there’s no outlet for it here. I want to remember what it’s like to be in love with life. I want to feel free and careless again. I need to remember what it’s like to be happy for just a second, otherwise what’s the point of fighting?” I philosophized.
“You’re completely right. We’re not going to get better being stuck in here. As a ward of the state I’m also stuck in here until I’m eighteen, but I don’t think I can last that long either.” She paused and I waited, knowing there was more that she wasn’t saying.
“To be honest, while I’m scared of being in here, I’m also kind of scared of being outside, too. They haven’t caught the person or people who hurt either one of us. All we know is that they were two isolated incidents in two different locations. What if they are never found or what if when we get out they come for us again?” she broke off, her voice hitching.
“Katia, stop—and take a deep breath,” I ordered. I waited until she took one, and then continued, “Good, now close your eyes. Do you remember the plan? We’re going to both get scholarships to Thorne University together. You’ll be studying Business Management majoring in Finance and Accounting and I’ll be studying Psychology and Social Work. We’re going to have a new start and completely wipe the slate clean. No one will know us there; we’ll be free from everything holding us back. Hold onto the plan! Do you remember what else we said?”
“Yep, further down the track, once we both graduate, I’ll eventually end up being a zillionaire with my own company while you’ll be a poor, social worker ridding the world of evil one case at a time,” Katia replied with her usual forceful energy, palpable even through the wall. “Thanks, I needed that reminder,” she added as an afterthought.
“Anytime. You know the drill—whenever we’re finding it tough . . .”
“Tell the other,” Katia finished.
“Exactly. And I’m pretty sure that we’ll hear back about our applications soon.”
“Whatever happens, if one of us doesn’t get a scholarship, then we’ll keep applying to other universities until we both get one,” Katia promised stoically.
“Yep, we’re in it together. But I know we’ll both get into Thorne.
“I know, I was just trying to be modest,” Katia affirmed confidently as if it were a foregone conclusion.
LYING AWAKE, UNWILLING to close my eyes I stared at the white wall opposite me needing to make sure that I exhausted myself so that when I finally fell asleep I’d dream of nothing. Too bad Katia had fallen asleep about two hours ago.
I turned on my side and slowly heaved myself out of bed and made my way into the bathroom. I shied away from the mirror taking care not to look at myself. If I did I knew what I would see—two dead looking eyes with bruised rings around them, limp, brown hair, pale skin, and two scars. One was just above my larynx that the doctors said I was very lucky wasn’t half an inch lower, because if it was, then my ability to speak could have been compromised, and the other one that was three inches long spanned across my right jawbone. The red, raised flesh had healed but the scars would never completely disappear. I had tried to think up some reasonable excuses to account for the scars for my anticipated foray back into civilization but I’d come up with nothing more credible than a car accident.
I was worried though if I started lying then I wouldn’t be able to stop. It would be so easy to fabricate a life discounting my assault, like it had never happened, but the scars would be a constant reminder. I sighed, turning on the tap and cupped my hands underneath it making sure it was as cold as possible before lifting the well of water to my face, the ice coldness keeping away the cobwebs of sleepiness.
Closing the tap, I paused, hearing a cry that sounded like a wounded animal. I clambered my way next to the wall, and pressed my ear to the wall. I could just make out the sound of Katia’s whimpers. Crap, crap, crap!
I looked through the glass pane of my door, making sure no one was in sight, and quickly made my way over to her room.
Katia was asleep in her bed, writhing from side to side, her body fighting some unknown predator. “Please . . . no . . . don’t . . . don’t . . . God, it hurts!” she cried, tears dropping down onto her cheeks.
“Katia,” I whispered urgently, not wanting to wake up any other patients in case they brought the nurses running here. If they saw her like this, they’d immediately say she was relapsing and then they’d send her to isolation and I couldn’t let that happen.
“Katia,” I repeated louder, “You need to wake up, please, before someone hears you!”
“No more . . . Please, I can’t take . . . no more,” Katia sobbed her voice echoing in the room.
Crap, someone was going to hear. Knowing the worst thing would be to touch her and give credence to her nightmares, I grabbed the jug of water sitting on her bedside table and poured some of it around her neck and some on her face.
Immediately her eyes opened and she sprang up, her hands wrapping around her body in self-defense.
“God, Katia, I’m sorry, you were crying out, I tried to wake you but I couldn’t reach you. What can I do? I thought it would be better if I didn’t call one of the nurses. Did you want me to?” I asked, now that the shock had fully set in, I realized I was partially shaking. I quickly hid my hands behind my back; I couldn’t be weak right now when she needed me to be strong for her.
Although Katia was awake, she stared right through me like I wasn’t there and hadn’t moved her hands away from her defensive stance.
“Katia, did you hear what I said? Do you want me to get someone?” I repeated in a forceful voice needing to get a response from her. She was really starting to scare me.
Her head jerked and I saw some of the life restoring in her eyes. “Sorry, no, no, don’t get anybody . . . I just need to be alone,” she whispered shakily.
“I don’t think you should be alone right now,” I said worriedly.
“I’ll tell you everything, I swear, but I need some space. I don’t know if what I just saw was a nightmare . . . or if it was real . . . because if it is . . . I . . . Please, I just need a little bit of time to mull it over, alone, before I can even think of talking it over with you. I haven’t gone insane,” Katia poured out in a rush.
I swallowed, “Do you think you remember what happened to you?” I questioned.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Katia uttered brokenly, her body curling in a fetal position.
“I should definitely stay then. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to leave you like this,” I replied with concern.
“Please, Em, I know you want to help and I love you for that, but I don’t want to talk about it right now. I need some space,” she implored.
I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood. “Okay, I understand, take all the time you need, if you need me I’ll be in my room,” I conceded. “But, if it gets to be too much, I need you to promise that you’ll come and get me. I know we swore we’d stop taking the a
ntidepressants but if you need one to cope . . .”
“No, no drugs!” Katia wailed. “I’m okay. And, yes, I promise I’ll come to you if I can’t handle it. You can trust me, thank you for understanding.”
I nodded, trying to smile reassuringly, but I knew it was anything but. It didn’t matter anyway; Katia was looking away, rocking back and forth mulling over whatever she’d seen. I hated leaving her like that but I had to respect what she wanted. I’d give her thirty minutes, and then I’d go and check on her.
I counted the minutes down, consumed with anxiety, and when the time was finally up I all but ran to her room. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, but she wasn’t lying where I’d left her. My heart began to beat faster. I pushed open her bathroom door and didn’t see her there either. Icy sweat began to bead on my brow.
Where the hell could she have gone?
Everything slowed down, and all I could hear was my rising heartbeat. I had to make a choice, try and find her myself or alert someone she was missing . . .
I had to at least try to find her myself, the thought of the consequences of her not being in her room made me shudder. I left her room and searched up and down the hallways, and didn’t find any trace of her. Fear began to set in. I leaned against the wall and slid down, falling to the floor. I needed to think.
“What are you doing outside of your room?” a nurse asked, all the while eyeing me with derision.
“I don’t know where Katia went, she was in her room before, then she . . . she got upset . . . I was going to check on her and she’s not there now,” I breathed out, needing to make her understand.
“Which patient is Katia? Have you taken your meds or are you hallucinating? That’s all I need right now after having to deal with a patient who tried to bite one of the other nurses,” the nurse replied tiredly.
“She’s patient 104. Please, I need you to listen. She’s not in her room…she’s missing,” I stressed, pushing myself back up using the wall. My legs trembled and I felt my panic begin to spin out of control. She wasn’t listening!
The Leverager Page 2
