The Leverager

by C. L Masonite

  “Thanks, Jaxson, but this isn’t goodnight, it’s goodbye. I hope you and Liliana are happy together,” I responded tiredly, but truthfully.

  “I know you’re not happy right now, Em, but you will be someday real soon,” Jaxson replied sincerely as I unlocked the door and shut it behind me. I hoped he was right, because right now all I felt was darkness surrounding me. My demons were shadowing me, blacking out any possibility for future happiness.

  “SO TELL ME, Emerson, how are you?” Doctor Fleur asked, taking a seat opposite me. She was very direct with her questions, and she never held anything back. I liked her no bullshit approach, but I liked being a closed off, bundle of enigma more.

  “I’m doing pretty good,” I replied.

  “Emerson, I’m not asking because I have to, I’m asking because I genuinely care. I’ve had a hard day, give me a break, will you?” Doctor Fleur begged. I saw that under her perfect mask she was really tired. I understood how that felt.

  “Fine, I’m exhausted,” I relented.

  “You haven’t been taking your pills, have you?” Doctor Fleur eyed me critically.

  “No, I don’t like feeling like a zombie.”

  “You know you don’t make it easy on yourself, Emerson,” she said, shaking her head in disapproval. “I guess that means we’re going to have to work through why you’re having your nightmares.”

  “They’ve never stopped,” I replied morosely. “In them I wake up because a voice is calling me. I don’t want to wake up because I feel unsafe, but eventually I can’t ignore the voice any longer. When I open my eyes all I see is red. Blood red. I wait for the voice to speak again but no one talks. I don’t understand why I’m still having these visions,” I admit with confusion. “Why won’t they stop?”

  “They are figments of your imagination cultivated from your fear of the unknown. You can’t remember what happened to you so your brain is imagining the worst-case scenario. You have to deal with what happened, otherwise the nightmare will just keep reoccurring,” she delivered with expertise.

  “How can I deal with it when I bear the physical proof of what happened to me?” I cried, showing her my scars. “I have to know what happened, can’t you try hypnotherapy or something?” I asked, desperately.

  “The brain is a fragile thing. It’s stored away the memory of that night in a place beyond your reach for a reason, Emerson. Maybe you should leave it alone,” she advised seriously, warning me off.

  “You said I might never get it back, but Katia was beginning to,” I protested.

  “What . . . When? She never told me,” Doctor Fleur muttered to herself, a crazed look in her eyes. “Did she tell you what she remembered before she died?” She threw at me before I could answer her first lot of questions.

  “It was on the night she died,” I swallowed with difficulty. “I wanted to ask her what she remembered but she wanted to be alone, she said she needed to mull it over. She said she didn’t know if her nightmare was real or not, but I knew she believed it was. I’ve never seen her react the way she did, she was curled up in a ball rocking herself,” I said, lost in the memory of it.

  “Maybe if you’d told me I could have helped her,” Doctor Fleur snapped, her hands wrapping around her eyes in distress.

  I flinched, taken aback, but felt the truth of her words resonate deep in my bones. “You’re right,” I said hoarsely, “I’m sorry, I was stupid. I should have gotten you, I should have . . .”

  “No, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry," she apologized sending me a reassuring weak smile. “I was channeling my own guilt, pushing it onto you. It wasn’t your job to take care of Katia’s mental health. It was mine, I was scheduled to check on her that day. I was doing my rounds, but I was running late because one of my patients had relapsed.”

  “We were both just a little too late,” I whispered, looking away. “I see her sometimes,” I admitted.

  “How?” she said with eagerness, bending closer. Then obviously remembering her professionalism, she coughed delicately, “I mean, you know she’s gone, Emerson,” she reminded me like I didn’t painstakingly remember it every second.

  “I’ve been seeing her in my nightmares. My nightmares were already bad but lately they’ve gotten even worse. I wake up, hearing Katia whimpering, crying for help. It’s her voice begging me to wake up. I was beginning to think my original nightmare might be real, but it can’t be. Katia wasn’t hurt on the same night as me or anywhere near the location I was found. Your theory has to be right. My brain must be making it up out of guilt. Maybe I do need to start taking the pills again,” I muttered more to myself than to her.

  “I think that would be best under the circumstances,” she advised, reaching into her bag and handing me a bottle.

  “Do you keep a stash of those on you at all times or do you have an addiction that the institution isn’t aware about?” I laughed.

  “No, I just know you, Emerson. You have to stop hurting yourself because of the guilt. I’ll be happy when I never have to see you again. And just before your brain begins to psychoanalyze that statement, I mean it in the best way. I want you to get healthy as much as your father does.”

  I nodded, the emotion making my throat tight. I had thrown away my old bottle in the bin so I wouldn’t be tempted to take them. I took them from her. Maybe I’d keep them on hand—for emergencies only.

  “HEY, EMERSON, YOU’VE got mail,” my dad alerted me the next day before tossing an envelope my way.

  I turned and caught it, my attention lured away from my MacBook Pro laptop screen where I’d been contemplating enrolling for a double degree in psychology and social work at my local college. I could opt to do the course online and I’d only ever have to go in for assessments.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I replied with a small smile.

  “So, who’s it from?” he asked. “I promise I didn’t look at the contents, I’ve heard how teenage girls can be about their privacy,” he said, rubbing his neck.

  “Where’d you learn that from…a self-help book on how to deal with angst-filled teenagers?” I scoffed.

  My dad looked away, a clear sign of his guilt. “Close, I watched a documentary.”

  “Really?” I asked with shock. “I was just joking, Dad.”

  “I’m a single parent, I need all the help I can get,” he blushed in embarrassment. Now I just felt bad.

  “Uh, that’s okay. I’ll open the envelope now,” I responded, trying to break up the awkwardness. I quickly tore open the envelope and my eyes spanned across the crisp, expensive letter.

  Dear Ms. Monsoon,

  We are pleased to inform you that your scholarship application for admission to Thorne University has been approved. You have been accepted into the Psychology and Social Work Program.

  I stopped then reread the letter, again and again each time the words getting blurrier.

  “Emerson, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Dad asked with fear in his voice.

  “It’s an acceptance letter,” I croaked, in between catching my breath. My chest was heaving up and down, shaking, and the words on the page were dancing. I couldn’t look away from it.

  “From which university? Emerson, you’re scaring me,” he urged with trepidation.

  I held up the page to him, and made sure that as he took it from me that my skin didn’t accidentally brush up against his, the shaking making it harder.

  “This is an acceptance letter to Thorne University . . . But I thought we agreed that you’d stay here and go to the local college,” he garbled out.

  I wrapped my arms around me to try and stop the shaking. “I applied to Thorne University before . . . When I was still at Zaston Institution with Katia, before she . . . we planned to go there together. We were going to have a fresh start,” I replied, my voice hitching.

  His mouth opened and closed several times. He took a step forward, his arms raised to embrace me, but when he realized what he was about to do he took a step back and brought
them back to his side.

  “Dad, I need to go to Thorne,” I cried, tasting the saltiness of my tears on my cracked lips.

  “No, you can’t, that wasn’t the plan,” he burst out, pacing up and down in frustration.

  “Dad, I need you to listen to me, please,” I begged. He stopped and nodded his head, giving his consent. “You need to let me go. I know you’re scared to, the truth is, I am, too. But I have to do this for me and for Katia.”

  “You haven’t healed being back here at all, have you?” he asked, searching my face. Now it was my turn to look away, I didn’t know how to answer him without hurting his feelings.

  “I know you don’t sleep at night even though you pretend you do. I hear you moving about and you look exhausted all the time. It’s partly my own fault, I didn’t know how to be here for you,” he whispered sadly.

  “No, you have been, Dad,” I protested strongly. “We’re just two people who don’t know how to say how they feel. But that doesn’t mean we don’t show it in different ways. I think it’s for the best if I go. I’m holding you back, Dad,” I admitted out loud for the first time.

  “W–What?” he stuttered. “No, that’s not true,” he denied.

  “Yes, it is. I know where you’ve been going out at night, Dad. I followed you one time.”

  “You had no right!” he said, stalling.

  “I know. It was an invasion of privacy. You deserved to introduce her to me at a time when you thought it was right and you were ready to. I’m sorry I took that away from you,” I apologized.

  “I didn’t leave you unprotected every time I left. I had a state-of-the-art security system installed,” he defended.

  “I know. You’re always trying to protect me. Why haven’t you introduced her to me yet?” I questioned gently.

  “You know why,” he replied with uncomfortable force.

  “Are you ashamed of me?” I inquired calmly, while inside I was panicking, my emotions were a raging torrent.

  “No, of course not, no!” The words tore from my dad’s throat in objection. “No, Emerson . . . it’s just that you’re fragile and I didn’t know how you would react. You’ve had to endure so much already. I didn’t want to make it worse, and a part of me was worried that you’d ask me to give her up. I will if that’s what you want,” he added quickly.

  “I’d never ask that of you, Dad. Throughout it all you’ve never left, which is why I need to leave for you. I get why you see her every night, you needed a breather from me—some sense of normalcy and happiness and she’s a breath of fresh air. I understand. I’m not going to ruin it for you. You deserve to have a woman who adores you.”

  “I wish I could hug you right now, Em,” Dad replied with a thick throat.

  “I wish I would let you,” I smiled forlornly back. “Want to hear something funny?” I asked, wanting to change the topic. The intensity was making me want to retreat back into my shell, and it wasn’t fair to him for me to armor back up when we were opening up to each other so well.

  “Sure, lay it on me,” he smiled, and I could see the relief in his eyes.

  “Back in the hospital, one time I heard Doctor Fleur call my mother Mrs. Monsoon, for a crazy second I thought that you two were still married!” I proclaimed.

  “Not a chance in hell,” Dad fired back with horror, and I laughed for the first time in ages, feeling light. “Our divorce was finalized not long after I kicked her out.”

  “Why did you kick her out?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to say…some things are better left in the past. Cressida has said that she’s changed. I don’t think she has but as much as I want to protect you, if I am wrong, it wouldn’t be right of me to prejudice you against her. I’m not asking you to give her a second chance; trust me, I don’t want her anywhere near you, but I don’t want to take away your chance of having a mother like any other normal teenager,” he explained.

  “I don’t want to give her another chance,” I denied without a shred of doubt.

  “You may feel like that now, but later on you might feel different about it. There are so many things that I can’t give you that a mother can . . . I mean, advice about sex, getting pregnant . . .” he said getting redder as he went on.

  “Ugh, Dad, please stop right there!” I cried in disgust.

  “I learned that from the documentary, too,” he justified.

  “No more documentaries! Please, promise me!” I begged.

  “Alright, alright,” he appeased to my great relief. “I guess I’ll just have to ask Marie about those things instead.”

  “Is that her name?”

  “Yes. And I know that you want to meet her, but I’m not ready for you two to meet yet. It’s still in the early days for the two of us,” he said speedily.

  “How long have you been together?”

  “About three weeks or so.”

  “Well, make sure there’s no intimate relations until your heart catches up with your libido,” I said, needing to get him back for embarrassing me.

  “Emerson!” he yelled, completely mortified.

  “Turnabout is fair play!” I yelled back.

  “Fine, then I’m okay with you leaving me. How soon can you go?” he asked with desperation.

  “You’re letting me go?” I said, holding my breath, secretly wanting his approval.

  “I guess I am,” he spoke slowly. “I don’t have much of a choice. You are eighteen, I don’t have any control over what you do anymore,” he replied gruffly.

  “I’d still like your approval,” I said shyly, looking down at my feet.

  “I know I don’t say it, but I’m proud of you, Emerson. I want to keep you here forever under the careful watch and protection of my state-of-the-art security system, but I want you to be happy. I do have one condition though,” he added, putting a slight damper on my exuberance.

  “What is it?”

  “I still want you to have your sessions with Doctor Fleur, just to make sure you stay on track. I know she doesn’t do phone sessions, but she likes you, I’ll know she’ll make an exception,” he threw out before I could blockade him with that same excuse.

  I groaned. “Fine, you drive a hard bargain. I’m willing to make that concession.”

  “You’re leaving just when I thought I’d gotten you back for good.” My dad said, shaking his head.

  “You haven’t lost me, Dad. I’ll be hundreds of miles away but there’s always holidays,” I said consolingly.

  “Yeah, right, once you get a taste of university life you won’t be rushing to come on back here. I guess I’ll just have to come to you then,” he said with resolution.

  “You’d really do that?” I asked with a hopeful smile.

  “Just try and stop me,” he said with a mirrored smile on his face.

  I WAITED TILL the line of students waiting to receive their dorm assignments at the head office of Thorne University dispersed and made my way on over. It would be much more logical of me to feel safer in a crowd full of students, but the only thing I felt was uncomfortable. Also, the probability of touching someone was really high. I was wearing a hoodie and jeans so if it did happen at least there’d be no skin-to-skin contact. The last thing I needed was to screw up my fresh start by having a reaction or meltdown.

  “Hi, I’m here for my dorm room number. I’ve signed and filled out the meal plan form. I also wanted to double-check, I called a couple of weeks ago requesting a single room, no roommate,” I emphasized, “is that in the system?”

  The secretary smiled at me so brightly I was almost blinded by it. She could honestly use that as a weapon. “Let me just check, your name is Emerson Monsoon?” she queried, reading my form.

  “Yep,” I confirmed, feeling a bit anxious. I was still having nightmares, and the last thing I needed was for a roommate to bear witness to them.

  She typed away on the computer, “Yes, you’re down for a single, you’re in dorm room CB.07.489, here’s your keycard. Take care not to los
e it, honey, there is a replacement fee involved,” she said, handing it to me. “Oh, and here’s your orientation package, I highly recommend attending one of the campus tours, the number of students who get lost is . . .” she continued babbling.

  Me getting lost wasn’t even an issue, I’d already purchased a map and had memorized where everything was located. Katia would be proud. Melancholy filled me. We were supposed to be doing this together.

  “Thank you,” I smiled back weakly, taking the package from her. “I’ll be sure to attend a campus tour,” I lied.

  I went back to my car and carried out my two meager pieces of luggage. I saw other students and parents around me carrying actual furniture. I wasn’t one for sentimentality, and a fresh start meant that I had actively chosen to leave behind everything in my room, including photos. Like Doctor Fleur had said, I was a different person and in a way I felt like nothing in my old life belonged to me.

  I found my building, and walked up the four flights of stairs with labored breath. I was definitely unfit, and immediately right then and there decided I’d join the gym on campus. Keeping to myself and dodging all the girls dotted across the hallway, I finally made it to my room. Thankfully, the student in the room opposite mine hadn’t arrived yet, so I didn’t have to make conversation. Also, my room was on the corner of the building so I didn’t have anyone to my left, which was perfect.

  I swiped my key, and pushed open my door. The walls were white reminding me of the interior of the Zaston Institution, and the only furniture there was a bed, bedside table, a large cabinet, and another cabinet and bin in the bathroom. It was everything I needed. Once I’d gotten my luggage inside, the first thing I did was pull out my measuring tape and measure the window and door.

  I took down the measurements then walked to the nearest hardware store. I gazed at the aisles, not having much of an idea of what I was looking for. I must have looked as lost as I felt, because a store clerk wandered up to me.