by Tenaya Jayne
Ambition was all she held to throughout the years.
Dr. Verell looked through her wedding album, which was something she never did, searching her own face in the pictures for a trace of love or happiness. Her smiles were fixed and only skin-deep. Jon’s smiles were real, not because he loved her, but because she was a country he had conquered. Finally realizing this consciously made her feel dirty inside. Marrying Jon had been an act of harlotry on her part. For the lack of what she felt for him, he might as well have ordered her through the mail.
She spent a long time in the shower, trying to mask her tears, and wash away her sins. The evening had fallen when she finally surfaced from the bathroom. Still feeling very low, she sought out some distraction. She put on her pajamas, ate dinner, and went to her study. She went over Dulcee’s file, added her notes for the day, and turned the computer off. Her thoughts floated onto Vincent again, and a yummy, tingling little twist went through her.
She nestled down in her chair about to open Dulcee’s notebook and read it again, when the phone rang. She let it ring, not wanting to talk to anyone. The answering machine picked up; it was Jon.
"Pat, I’m going to be home late tonight. I’m flying right now. Bye." He had spoken abruptly and the line was full of static.
Her mind whizzed onto thoughts of Jon. She meditated on him for a minute. When her thoughts resurfaced, she looked blankly down at the notebook in her lap, forgetting momentarily why it was even there. Then she felt foolish. Dr. Verell got up and put it back in her brief case, muttering, "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid," under her breath.
For the first time in years, she was happy Jon was coming home. She felt a slight hope that maybe if she tried, she could feel something for him. Maybe she could fall in love with him. Maybe they could have a real relationship, a real marriage. She knew when he got home all he would do was fall into bed. She looked over at the clock, knowing she had about two hours before he would be home.
When Jon’s taxi pulled into the driveway, she was sitting in bed with a book open on her lap, trying to look as though she wasn’t anticipating his arrival. Jon came through the front door hefting his luggage and grunting. She could hear him bustling about downstairs and decided to go down and greet him. The sound of Jon picking up the phone and dialing stopped her on the landing at the top of the stairs.
"Hey, Sweetie," he said into the phone in a low voice. "Yeah, I’m home. Sure I’ll see you tomorrow…After the Cotes’ dinner party, I’ll stay the night at your place. Get some sleep… Love you, too. Good night, Amy."
Walking silently up the stairs, Dr. Verell got back in bed, a sinking feeling inside her. So much for having a real relationship. Sighing deeply and picking up her book again, Dr. Verell resigned herself to things staying the same. Jon came quietly up the stairs and into their room. He looked slightly sheepish when he saw she was still awake. She knew he was wondering if she heard him on the phone.
"Hey, you’re up late," he said, smiling raggedly. "You were waiting for me?"
"Oh no. I just couldn’t put it down." She held her book up. "So how was your trip?"
"Really good. The building came out better than I thought it would. The location gave me some doubts." Jon replied, going over to the closet beginning to undress for bed. "I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all that. How are things at work?"
"Nuts."
Jon snorted a little laugh at her joke. He finished getting ready for bed silently and then nestled down in the covers next to her, not touching her.
Unable to stop herself she asked, "So how long are you going to be home?" in a slightly snide tone.
"Just until the Cotes’ dinner party." Jon grunted rolling over.
"When is that?"
"The end of the week, Friday," he was starting to nod off.
Sleep did not come easily to Dr. Verell that night. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Jon’s breathing. She didn’t think she could go on like this much longer. Unable to sleep next to her husband, she finally got up and went to sleep in the guest room. Jon wouldn’t even notice. She always got up before him anyway. It began to rain just before she fell asleep.
Dulcee lay awake in the dark listening to the rain and crying. Her eyes were red and puffy and her head felt slushy like the ground outside.
"Vincent," she whispered through her tears, "Vincent. Vincent. Where are you? Answer me! Please…Please…I think I’m dying. Please forgive me…Redeem me…Vincent, my only love."
There was no answer, no trace of a reply. Her hope was beginning to wane, in spite of her resolution not to let it. Dulcee was ragged and trying hard not to sleep. For the last three nights, nightmares had come like demons scratching her flesh. Theta was no longer beauty and wonder but ugliness and torture. And tonight would be the worst of all, when she could fight her eyelids no longer…
Dulcee stood looking at her reflection in a large mirror. She looked about forty years old. Time had taken her youth and beauty away. In the distance, someone was calling her name. She looked around. She was in an unfamiliar bedroom, but outside the window, she saw the neighborhood where she grew up. A scream echoed in her head, not here, please, anywhere but here! A stocky, balding, man walked into the room. He looked the type who drank incessantly and watched sports religiously. Everything about him repelled her. Dulcee was unable to move or protest as he came over to her, grabbing her, and kissing her in a fit of lust.
"Who are you?! Let go of me!" Dulcee demanded, though unable to speak. Then it came clear. She saw a framed picture on the wall of herself, twenty years younger, in a wedding dress next to this man. How could she possibly marry anyone but Vincent? How could she be this old? How could she have married this man?!
Finally being able to move again, she did the opposite of what she was dying to do. Instead of pulling free from this disgusting blob, she embraced him, joining in his carnal actions. Over his shoulder, she saw herself in the mirror again, but it was not her reflection in the glass, it was her mother’s.
Dulcee sat bolt upright in bed a severe pain in her head and a strong wave of nausea in her gut. She jumped out of bed running to the bathroom to vomit. Never had she wanted to purge all of what was inside her more than at that moment.
Heaving until there was nothing left, Dulcee finally slumped onto the tile floor in a sweaty heap. Her past was lurking in the shadows coming close to the surface. This place is starting to get into my head, she thought. The person she was with Vincent, and the freedom she felt with him was gone. This new creature inside her frightened her. This was what all the doctors wanted, to get all the dirt deep inside to come to light.
Dulcee hauled herself off the floor, washed her face, and brushed her teeth. It was only two A.M. There was still too much nighttime to not go back to sleep, and she was completely spent. She went back to bed and had no more dreams that night.
The next morning was grey and wet. Dulcee was awakened by the nurse coming in to give her the morning rainbow of pills. She felt ill and broken. For the first time, Dulcee took her medications gladly, longing to be anesthetized and free of her emotional pain. She lay as docile as a corpse while the dead-eyed nurse clipped her fingernails so short they bled.
Dulcee sucked on her sore digits while the medication fogged her brain. After she got dressed, Dulcee picked up the blank notebook Dr. Verell had given to her, and wrote down all the things she could remember about the nightmare she'd had.
For a moment, Dulcee thought maybe she was where she needed to be.
Dr. Verell got up earlier than usual, drank an exaggerated amount of coffee, and headed off to work without seeing Jon. She was starting to feel old beyond her years and decidedly disillusioned. Once at work, Dr. Verell immediately sought out Dr. Jean Price. Jean was in her office, digging through a file cabinet.
"Jean, do you have a minute?" Dr. Verell asked, poking her head around the door.
"Sure, Pat, sit down." Jean smiled, returning to her desk. "What’s up?"
Dr. Verell sat down and cleared her throat. She was not very good at confiding in people, and she felt a little stupid for needing to. However, since she needed to talk to someone, there was no one she trusted more than Jean. Jean waited patiently for her friend to speak.
"Are you all right?" Jean asked, looking closely at her.
"Yeah…No…I don’t know. I’m confused."
"What about? Confusion isn't something you seem to suffer from a lot." Jean furrowed her brows.
"I’m confused about…" she paused, thinking about how to say it." Love."
Jean’s face relaxed into a smile. "Aren’t we all? Go on. Are you and Jon having problems?"
"Yeah, I guess," she shrugged, feeling hesitant to reveal the truth.
"Ah ha," Jean said sarcastically. "Well now that I fully understand your dilemma. Are you going to talk to me or not? What's wrong? Spit it out."
"Jon has a girlfriend," Dr. Verell said shortly.
Jean’s sarcastic expression vanished, replaced with a look of great sorrow and sympathy for her friend. "Oh, Pat I’m so sorry. You must be heartbroken."
"No!" Dr. Verell cut her off. "I don’t care! That’s the thing. I don’t care at all. I’m not surprised, shocked, or hurt…I just feel stuck and I don’t know what to do. I’ve been married to Jon for thirteen years. Yeah, it’s dysfunctional, but it’s what I know. And I’ve worked so hard my whole life to be successful at everything I did, failing at being married makes me ill."
Jean rubbed her chin, thinking how best to advise her friend. "Well, why don’t you get divorced? People do it every day, and thirteen years is a lot longer than most people stay married. Besides, who will think you’re a failure? Many a man will be rejoicing that you are single."
Dr. Verell laughed aloud through her tension. "You know, Jon and I are distant friends at best, but I never thought he would cheat on me. I don’t know why I thought that, we don’t even know each other. I was a kid when I married him."
"And you never cheated?" Jean asked.
"No. I made a promise. I meant it. I’m sure that Jon is getting ready to file for divorce if he’s in love with someone else. But that just makes me feel dumped. I was hoping you could help me. You’re single."
"Yeah? What do you want me to do? Show you the ropes of single life?" Jean chuckled.
"Yes," Dr. Verell said plainly. "I’ve always had Jon to take care of everything. I’ve never paid a bill or bought groceries. I feel like a child. It’s embarrassing."
Jean sighed. "All right. When you’re ready to leave Jon and you need some help, I’ll be there for you."
"Thanks, Jean. It means so much to me."
"No problem, what are friends for? It will be fun, you’ll see." Jean said in an upbeat tone. "Hey, you better get going. I’ve got to start my first session."
"Yeah," Dr. Verell said, standing up to leave. "Thanks again, Jean."
Back in her office, Dr. Verell took a sigh of relief, feeling even a bit optimistic. The brevity of her conversation with Jean was testimony to how little she had emotionally invested in her husband. She was wondering what a divorce would really mean for her. Maybe it would be the beginning of a new life, a better life. Wrapped up in her thoughts about independence, she forgot about Dulcee, and that she would have to see her again soon.
Dulcee was sitting slumped over on the floor, feeling increasingly pessimistic. The ghosts of her memories floated behind the fog, she could feel them but she couldn’t see them. The longer she was on all the drugs they had her on, the more blurry Vincent seemed to become. At times, he even vanished completely from her mind. And right at this moment, the tears were spilling from her eyes were because she couldn’t remember. Straining her brain, Dulcee could only come up with fragments of memories. Things that were so dear to her, knowing they were leaving, whatever they were, broke what was left of her heart into shards.
"Vincent, where are you?" Dulcee whispered. "They're trying to take you away from me. They're succeeding. What does that mean? That I am what they say I am? That you are what they say you are? I’m trying to be patient, My Love. I’m trying so hard…I refuse to believe what we had was a fabrication. I’m trying to hang onto your words, that no one will ever understand…That we have a never-ending future…that…that…" Dulcee’s words trailed off into a sob. She was unable to remember what else Vincent had said. "I miss you, Vincent. Oh, I miss you more than I can allow myself to comprehend. I wish I could remember you. Come back to me."
That afternoon, Dr. Verell was waiting for Dulcee with only a slight twinge of anxiety in her gut. Her thoughts all morning had been on how to tell Jon she wanted a divorce. It was with relief and excitement that she began to think about moving out of the house and into a place of her own. The arrival of Dulcee brought her thoughts back to earth and the job she had to do. It was her job to bring Dulcee to acknowledge reality, and that was never easy, sometimes impossible.
Dulcee’s eyes were red and her face was puffy from crying. She looked positively despondent. She was unhappy to see Dulcee's state.
"It’s nice to see you again, Dulcee," she said in a soft voice.
Dulcee didn’t respond but burst into tears, wrapping her arms around herself and hunching over. Dr. Verell waited quietly for her sobs to cease. She felt very sorry for the girl, wishing she could truly understand what Dulcee was feeling. Maybe she was actually just feeling sorry for herself. However, never having been in love, she could not understand the pain of loss. Dulcee finally tired and sighed deeply.
"Help me," Dulcee begged in a whisper.
Dr. Verell’s heart leapt. It was more than she could have hoped for, to have Dulcee open up and acknowledge her need so quickly.
"Well, that’s what I’m here for, to help you. I need to know what you feel you need help with."
"I’ve been having nightmares," Dulcee said, still hunched over, looking at the floor. "I try to write them down, but I can’t remember them very well after I take my medication. I try to hang onto them, but they just slip away. Part of me is happy I can’t remember, because I can still feel how horrible they were."
"What are the nightmares about?" Dr. Verell prompted.
"I won’t tell you. I won’t ever tell anyone. They are too awful to be voiced."
"Why? Are they about Vincent?"
Dulcee’s head shot up and she looked Dr. Verell in the eye. Dr. Verell quailed. Dulcee’s bloodshot eyes were demented with fury.
"No! They are not about Vincent! They are about everything but Vincent. Uhhhrrr! These drugs! All these damn drugs clouding my brain, taking him away! It’s all so fuzzy!"
"Dulcee, calm down. If you don’t want to tell me about your dreams you don’t have to. "We can talk about whatever you want."
Dulcee sank down again. She was too weary to sustain her anger very long. Her eyes welled up with tears again, but she cried them silently. Dr. Verell watched Dulcee quietly, and her perverse curiosity returned energetically. Dulcee had pulled the collar of her shirt down a little and would have been clawing her chest, but she had no fingernails to speak of. She seemed unaware of what she was doing. Dr. Verell got a good look at Dulcee’s scars.
"Why are you doing that?" she asked.
Dulcee looked down at her hand, quickly pulled it away from her sternum, and readjusted her shirt. She sniffed and attempted to regain some self-control but wailed a second later and fell from her chair into a heap on the floor. Dr. Verell watched with aberrant satisfaction as Dulcee pawed her chest again violently.
"I’m empty," Dulcee cried. "It’s agony to be empty…My heart pumps and I don’t even know why anymore! It’s damaged. It’s dead."
Dr. Verell stood up and walked around her desk so she could see Dulcee better.
"How can you be empty if you feel agony?" she asked.
"You don’t understand!" Dulcee snarled. "You don’t know what it felt like."
Everything in the office was out of control, Dulcee and Dr. Verell. She should have beeped the ord
erlies the second she could see Dulcee was unmanageable. Instead, she decided to tickle the poor girl’s psychosis.
Dr. Verell leaned down and placed her hand gently on Dulcee’s back. Dulcee froze under the unexpected touch and looked up at her therapist. Dr. Verell returned Dulcee’s wide-eyed gaze with one of false wide-eyed innocence.
"Tell me what it felt like."
Dulcee blinked and then groaned. "I can’t! Don’t you get it? I can’t remember! What the hell kind of therapy is this?"
Dr. Verell frowned and thought to herself, I have no idea.
Dulcee watched Dr. Verell’s expression change and made a snap decision. She lowered her voice conspiratorially and looked intently into Dr. Verell’s eyes. "You want to know everything? How it felt? Me, Vincent, everything?"
