Pieces of a Mending Heart

by Kristina M. Rovison

  I feel the buzzing invade my body, and I know that it’s time to return to the present. So, I close my eyes, and fall into blackness.

  * * *

  “Katherine? Katherine?” an unknown voice says, gently tapping my shoulder.

  My eyes open, and I’m lying in an unknown room, with an unknown man leaning over me. I almost scream, until I see the stethoscope hanging around his neck.

  “There she is. How are you feeling, young lady?” the older man asks.

  It takes me a moment to remember all that happened, but when I do, I must give the doctor an answer, because he walks away. I’m in a hospital, which shocks me because Aunt Rachel told me that the closest hospital was nearly a half an hour away from our little ranch home. I’m expecting to have a panic attack in regards to what I just saw, but I don’t. In fact, I feel as if another piece of the puzzle is being clipped in place.

  “Sweetheart, you’ve got to drink more water during the day! You scared the living daylights out of me. Doc says you’re dehydrated and overtired, so they’ll keep you here tonight. You okay? You didn’t bump your head or anything when you fell, did you?” Aunt Rachel asks, sitting in the chair beside my bed, taking my hand in hers.

  I shake my head, suddenly drowsy. She must see this in my face because she walks across the room and flips the lights out. I smile in thanks, which I hope she can see even in the dull light. Spent, I barely finish praying before I drift into a sound sleep.

  Chapter 12

  I’m woken in the morning by a tugging on the back of my hand, and struggle to lift my heavy lids. The older doctor I vaguely remember from the night before smiles at me as he removes the IV from my hand.

  “You sure do bruise easily, Miss. Prince. You’ll have a nasty one on your hand from your IV, but no worries. You should feel good as new today,” he says in a rumbling voice that belongs to a Santa Claus in the mall at Christmas time.

  “Thanks, Doctor…?”

  “Doctor Michael Colson,” he says, shaking my hand lightly.

  “I promise to drink more water,” I say with a smile, knowing full well that dehydration had nothing to do with the reason I blacked out.

  My aunt steps into the room from the hospital doorway, looking exhausted. I doubt she got any sleep last night in that lumpy chair and I feel a twinge of guilt for not insisting on leaving last night.

  “Good morning, Katherine. Hope you’re feelin’ better. Doc says you should be rarin’ to go and that everything’s just fine,” she says with a chipper tone that doesn’t correspond with the bags under her tired eyes.

  “Yeah, I feel great, actually,” which isn’t a lie.

  “Tristan called your phone this morning when you didn’t answer the door. I told him what happened and he said you felt faint yesterday after school and asked if it was alright he came over after classes today. I told him you’d be fine with it,” she winks.

  We leave the hospital and embark on the half an hour ride home in Aunt Rachel’s newly fixed car. The first few minutes are filled with heavy silence, until we hit the highway and my aunt speaks.

  “Katherine, you know your mother is the way she is for a reason, right?”

  The random conversation starter throws me for a loop and I’m not sure what to say. My mother, who is supposed to be my best friend and guiding light, has been controlled and manipulated by my father, a man whose career as a police officer has hardened him. My mother had never stood up for me and never took the time to build any type of stable relationship with me, and the effects left me without paternal or maternal figures in my life.

  “Yes, I know. Was she like this as a kid? So…” I can’t even finish the sentence, but Rachel knows. She seems to know me inside and out.

  “No, she wasn’t. Not until she met your father. We don’t have to talk about heavy stuff if you don’t want to. In fact, I’ll bet you’re hungry. You’d think they’d feed you at that gosh darn place, but pudding and water just won’t do,” my aunt says, effectively ending our conversation. Fine with me.

  We pull into a tiny diner called “The Beehive” that’s straight out of the sixties. Once inside and seated, a preppy little waitress struts over to us, tucking a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear.

  “What’ll it be today?” she asks in an unpleasant voice. I have to cough to stifle a laugh; the girl is a walking Barbie.

  “Two double bacon cheeseburgers with fries and chocolate milk shakes,” says Aunt Rachel, not even giving me a chance to refute.

  “Right up!” replies Barbie before gracefully waltzing away.

  “Jeez, I think we just won ‘spot the skank,’ huh?” she whispers, making me laugh out loud.

  “Tell me about you and Tristan. Two weeks isn’t very long to have known a person, but you really seem to have taken a liking to him,” my aunt says, genuinely interested.

  I can’t stop a smile from breaking across my face. “He and I are very similar. We like the same music, movies, sports, books, classes… he’s a truly wonderful person.”

  Aunt Rachel smiles, flipping her blonde hair out of her eyes as she replies, “You know that he’s had some rough patches, right? He isn’t as squeaky clean as you’d like.”

  I shrug. “Neither am I,” is all I say, which causes her to frown. “I’m not saying that to make you feel sorry for me, Aunt Rachel. I’m saying that because it’s true, demons are hanging all over me, just waiting for a weak moment to pounce. I feel like, when I’m with Tristan, I’m stronger. I’m stronger because I have someone just like me, who knows my feelings inside and out. I’m not friends with him just for that reason; it’s not like he’s some weird rebound to help me stay afloat. He’s genuinely a wonderful, pure of heart young man, and I would’ve been friends with him even if my life wasn’t like it is now,” I finish, my lengthy speech hanging in the air.

  Aunt Rachel rests her chin on her fist, leaning on the table. “You’re just friends? Maybe a lot has changed since my high school days, which weren’t all that long ago, mind you, but it seems to me you don’t go around holding hands with a friend. Or kissing said “friend,” she raises her eyebrows.

  My forehead scrunches, and a frown shows on my face. “We haven’t really put a name to what we are. I don’t think it matters much what we call our relationship; words are insignificant.”

  “So wise, Confucius. I’m impressed with your maturity, Katherine. Have I ever told you that? It’s unfortunate; the circumstances under which you had to grow up so fast. But you’re obviously where you need to be,” she says, smiling a small, sad smile.

  “Honestly, Aunt Rachel… I couldn’t agree with you more,” I say just as Barbie returns with our food.

  We head back to the house holding our stomachs, overwhelmed from eating so much. It’s nice to finally have an adult in my life; one that I can look up to. A woman like Aunt Rachel is the type of person everyone wants on their side: smart, witty, trustworthy and kind. How she’s related to my mouse of a mother is a mystery to me, and why I’ve never tried to connect with my aunt before this year is puzzling. My mother and father always told me that she was an irresponsible partier that they didn’t want brainwashing their children. If they thought that, why they would send me to stay with her is a mystery, too.

  I think they knew she would break me out of my shell. They must have, because why else would they keep me from this amazing woman I’ve grown to love so much?

  “Tristan gets out of school around noon, right?” my aunt asks, setting her backpack down.

  “Yeah, he does.”

  “He’ll probably be over soon. I think I’ll head to the office, if you’re feeling okay. Maybe you two should take a ride when he gets here, get some fresh air. Have you made any other friends? What about that nice girl who brought you home yesterday?”

  “Sorren? Yeah, I feel close to her already; like I’ve known her for a while. It’s kind of strange, actually. It’s nice to have someone to just… be a girl with,” I say, smiling to myself.


  Suddenly, Aunt Rachel grabs my arm, tearing it away from my wrist where I was absently tracing my scars.

  “Why do you always do that?” she says forcefully, surprising me with her venom.

  My mouth pops open and I don’t know how to answer. Why do I always trace my scars? Is it to remind myself of what I should never return to? Or am I punishing myself, my own form of punishment including having to look at the ugly mutilations on my wrists.

  “I didn’t know anyone noticed,” is all I reply, unable to give her any other answer.

  “Well I do. And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop,” is all she says as she quietly walks out the door we just entered.

  I stare at the wood, slightly warped and splattered with tiny white drips of paint, from an unfinished project, maybe. The house is deadly silent, filling the air with a thick feeling of loneliness that is all too familiar to me. For a few moments, I do nothing but breath in smells of cinnamon, lavender and vanilla; the smells of home.

  I’m having one of those moments when you force yourself to stop and think about the mysteries of the world around you. When everything seems to be moving in slow motion but at warped speed at the same time. When you’re afraid to think about the future, but forcing yourself to not think of the past. So what does that leave you to think of? Simply… the present.

  A light knocking on the door disrupts my thoughts, and I am jarred from my moment by the sharpness of the sound. I open the door and find my angel himself. His eyes scan over me and I realize I probably look like death. I haven’t showered or changed my clothes from yesterday and suddenly, I’m embarrassed. He must sense this because he speaks up.

  “Are you feeling alright?” he asks, voice sounding casual but I can see the worry in his light blue eyes.

  “Yes, I’m feeling fine. Nothing was actually wrong with me, Tristan. I had another… vision,” I feel like an idiot saying that aloud, but there’s no other word I can think of to describe what I saw.

  His eyes grow wide, but before he has a chance to speak, I realize I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet today. “Let me clean up, will you? I feel pretty scummy,” I say.

  “You’re going to leave me in suspense?” he says, only half joking.

  I laugh a little. “Sorry! Make yourself at home and I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Leaving him in the living room, I saunter down the hall to the bathroom. I shower, shave, and towel dry my hair, which is magically straight today, and realize I forgot to grab clothes. I have my dirty ones that I wore before, but I refuse to put those back on because they smell like grease and hospital. Gross.

  I wrap the towel around my torso and tie it in the front, fashioning a make-shift dress for the five foot walk to my bedroom. Hoping Tristan is on the couch, I open the door only to find him standing right in the middle of the hallway, looking at pictures on the wall. Steam from my shower made the wooden door stick and the popping sound it makes when I open it sends goose-bumps to my arms.

  For a moment, we just stare at one another. His eyes automatically shift over my absurdly short towel-dress, but then he looks away with eyes that are embarrassed, lustful and ashamed.

  “Well this is awkward,” I say, laughing to myself as he makes a show of closing his eyes and shuffling down the hallway backwards.

  Once in my room, I clothe myself in a pair of my favorite comfy jeans with a t-shirt that reads “Mount Amelia,” the name of my old high school. The names of my former peers are listed on the back in two rows, with my “best friends” names circled with black sharpie, something Sam did at a sleepover during our freshman year. Only now do I realize that these girls, Sam and Julia, who were the only two people to ever really talk to me, were just using me for booze and invites to parties.

  Thank God I’m a better judge of character now. Glancing in the dirty mirror on the wall, which could use some serious Windex, I apply the barest amount of mascara to my blonde eyelashes.

  “Thanks. Sorry to keep you in suspense,” I joke, but Tristan seems lost in his own little world. “Tristan? Anybody in there?” I ask, running my hand over his hair. My touch wakes him from his daydream, and he looks in my eyes with a concerned look on his face.

  “Do you want to take Dino for a ride?” he asks, grabbing my hand while waiting for an answer.

  I nod and smile. “I always thought having a ‘spot’ with your…” I cut myself off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. What I was going to say is, “I always thought having a ‘spot’ with your boyfriend was cliché,” but caught myself. I should ask him if he’s my boyfriend. We’ve never officially discussed it.

  He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to finish, but I just shake my head, mumbling a “never mind.” My answer obviously dissatisfies him, because he frowns.

  The walk to the barn in a quiet one, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. His hand feels so strong, so sure, wrapped around mine that I forget all about the conversation we’ll undoubtedly have once we get to the cliff. His thumb starts tracing little circles on the back of my hand, and I smile to myself, perfectly content.

  “Hop on,” Tristan says once we have Dino set to go. He waits for me to mount the black horse, then climbs on behind me, leading the horse on his way.

  I’m shocked to find that the ride only takes ten minutes. “Hey, you knew there was a short cut?” I accuse.

  His deep, throaty laughter sends bubbles into my stomach, more intense than butterflies. “Of course I knew there was a shortcut. Sometimes the long way is more fun,” he says, resting his chin atop my head for a moment before dismounting the steed.

  I cross my arms, trying to look angry, but the cute grin on his face makes it impossible not to smile back, but I roll my eyes anyway. He grabs my hand, helping my dismount, and Dino walks over to a patch of especially green grass before flopping down on his side with a thud.

  “He’s a strange animal,” I say, but the horses head snaps up and our eyes connect as he huffs a snort, leading me to believe he heard me. “But a very smart one, yes,” I say in a cooing voice while nodding my head, still looking at him. Tristan laughs, his whole body shaking and the sound reverberating off the trees.

  We walk over to a patch of grass in direct sunlight, plopping down on the soft earth.

  “So, how about you tell me what happened last night,” he says, lying down on his back, stretching his arm out to the side, inviting me to do the same.

  I lay next to him, our sides touching and his arm a soft pillow beneath my head. He smells like summer, somehow: sunshine, grass, and cinnamon that blend together to form a scent distinctly male. His body feels good, natural next to mine and I rest my head closer to his shoulder as I explain the vision.

  Ten minutes later, Tristan’s breaths have picked up speed and he’s got that “I’m deep in thought” look on his beautiful face again.

  “So? What do you think?” I ask when I can’t take the silence anymore.

  He sighs, using his free hand to rub his closed eyes. “Honestly Katie, I have no idea. And I don’t think that any amount of thinking or hypothesizing is going to get us anywhere. If we’re meant to find out, which we obviously are, we just have to wait for more clues. This is maddening. I can’t believe it has to be you seeing these things! Why can’t it be me? You’ve been through enough as it is,” he says, sounding frustrated.

  “Like you haven’t?” I say, sitting up. “Don’t doubt God; he knows what he’s doing.”

  Tristan sits up too, looking at the sky. “I’ll never doubt Him; I saw Him with my own eyes and have seen things that are unexplainable. I’m just aggravated that it has to be you.” He touches my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I’m supposed to protect you. What if you get scared?”

  I look at him sideways, taking a risk with my next words. “I don’t need you to take every burden. Some things, by dealing with them, make you stronger. How do you think we are who we are right now?”

  He looks away from me again, nodding. “Did you ever thi
nk that… you would ever heal this quickly?”

  I know he doesn’t mean physical healing, but rather the internal kind. “Not in a million years would I have ever thought it would be so… easy. I thought I’d have to deal with my Punishment for years, but He only punished me so I would know when I found you. Because you took them away. The emotions, that is.”

  And it’s true; I never thought healing would be so simple. I’ve read books and seen movies where people spend years recovering from debilitating depression, but it only took me a few months. Granted my case is a spectacular one. Miraculous, even. It’s shined a new light on my life like nothing ever has before. My heart was so mangled, so cracked and broken, that I thought the pieces would never click together again.

  I trust God, but I thought he was angry with me for taking the life he gave me. Maybe I misread him entirely and he wasn’t mad. Perhaps he has an ulterior motive.

  “Tristan, have you dated a lot of girls?” the question literally pops out of my mouth before I think twice, the conversation with Malaya floods back into my mind.

  He looks shocked, confused, and maybe a little embarrassed. “Uh, dated? No. I’ve never actually dated anyone,” he says as he runs a hand through his light hair.

  “Malaya cornered me in the hallway the other day and warned me about your womanizing tendencies. But you were only a sophomore, so how could you have dated the whole school? Unless you’re some sort of ‘super-player,’ then I suppose that would explain things,” I babble, a nasty tendency I have when I get nervous or feel threatened.

  “Katie, I’ve never dated anyone. Have I been with girls before? Yeah, I have. Am I happy about it? No, I’m not. Would I ever do that again? Not for any amount of money in the world. Don’t listen to Malaya; she’s has the potential to be a nice girl, but she gossips like a grandma,” he says, sounding too innocent.

  Been with girls? Does that mean… “Wait, you’re not a… virgin?” the shock seeps into my voice, along with hurt, which is irrational. Of course he had a life before me; I had one before him. Granted it was a rebellious one, much like his was, but I never went as far as sleeping with someone.