The Sordid Promise

by Courtney Lane

  With my brand new cellphone, bought courtesy of Eric while we were in Aspen, I pressed and held the two key. He wouldn’t answer, so I called the hospital and had him paged.

  “Nikki?” he answered hurriedly. “Is there something wrong? You don’t usually do this.”

  “You…lied to me,” I sobbed. “Why did you do that? Why did you bother, when I wanted to be left alone? Did you want me to hurt? Did you want me to feel worse? Why would you do this to me?”

  “Nik, slow down,” he stated with emotionless efficiency. “What are you talking about?”

  “The stock response. Why did I bother calling you? You’re too sleek to own up to your crimes. You can’t fuck your way out of this one.”

  “Patience is running short. My day has been shitty enough. Can we avoid the fucking riddles? I’m the only doctor on the floor right now. Just tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “I ran into Estelle. She gave me the divorce petition you apparently ripped up and wrote a nice little note on. Do you have anything to say about that? How about the fact that you lied to me about what Estelle was. Your wife? Your fucking wife!”

  It was silent for a moment. So silent I could hear the commotion of the hospital in the background. “I can’t do this right now. Can you just…wait until I get home so we can talk? It’s not what you think it is. But it is what I’ve been warning you about.” The background noise seemed to quiet. “But I will put a fucking end to her meddling in our affairs. She’s a liar and unstable. She’s not really pregnant. Nor or are she and Preston getting married. He called it off. This is just her getting back at me, because she’s bitter that I moved on with you.”

  “I’m glad she told me the truth. One year—two or three, I would be just like Tamala was, pining for a man who can’t love, pining for the man who fucked up my life. Why didn’t I listen? You told me you were bad, and I thought it was cute. I thought, ‘Well Nikki, you aren't a good girl either.’ But I did something for the love of my mother. You did something to get off. You’re one sick bastard.” I sucked in a sob. “I’m so sick of this place, being in this place in my mind—in the world. I hate it. I tried to keep to myself and it still got in. Seems like the only way I can get away from the disappointment of dealing with people is to leave.” As I stared in the mirror, I added phlegmatically, “She gave me another gift. You’re not going to be able to come home in time to stop me. I hate you. I hate you so much for what you did to me.”

  “Goddamn it, Nikki!” he shouted frantically through the phone. “Don’t do this right fucking now. Just wait until I get home, so we can talk. Please, just fucking wait. I’m out the door. I’m on my way to you right now. Just…wait. None of this is what you think it is. Wait!”

  “You did this me. You did this to us. You didn’t need to lock me in a room with half a dozen men to break me. You broke me just the same by being with me. Congratulations, you’re now free to move on to your next mark. I hope it was fucking worth it. I hope it was all worth it to you. Give Kifo to Janet, I don’t want you touching her.” I hung up the phone and turned it off on the cusp of him yelling at me.

  I slipped into the tub on the heels of Kifo frantically whining and scratching at the bathroom door. I popped off my leather bands and set them carefully on the edge of the tub. I tossed off my shoes and placed them neatly on the outside of the marble bath.

  It burned. It ached. It made it difficult to do the second wrist. Eventually, my system went into shock, making me feel fuzzily indifferent.

  The exit gate of my prison was revealed. The doors opened to me. Beyond the open gate revealed something so much prettier than the ugliness I’d endured for far too long. Something quiet and still was there. Something calling to me and making me feel calm. Serene. My pace to the open gate was slow…too slow. My body fell too heavy to run to the escape.

  I’m…weighted.

  A shocking drift pulled me out of my slumber. I no longer felt numb. I could feel everything. Familiar binding was attached to my wrists. The uncomfortable rigidness of a hospital bed cradled me.

  Angie was at the doorway, speaking in hushed tones to someone. “I should’ve known she was far too unstable to be left alone.”

  “We need someone to sign off the paperwork to transfer her,” someone said.

  “I met with Mrs. Lepore, she should fax over the guardianship paperwork within the next hour. Hopefully, we can get her transferred to Parkland before the forty-eight hours is up. I don’t want her to be in a public facility. I definitely don’t want her to return to the outpatient facility where her mother sent her. Seems all they did is push drugs down her throat and leave her without the tools to cope. She should be somewhere where she can truly get the around-the-clock help she needs.”

  “I’ll check with the nurses’ station on this wing and see if the legal work came in yet.”

  “Thank you, Rebecca. Has Dr. Brenton been around again? I swore to him, if I saw him one more time…”

  Rebecca said nothing in return, and I wasn’t able to see if she nodded, or shook her head.

  Angie came back around and took note that I was awake. “You’re up. Good. How do you feel? It’s a silly question, given the circumstance. They weren’t sure what your medications were. When they took your blood work…they couldn’t find any traces of the medication I thought you were on. They didn’t find any, actually. But because I was so sure that you were on meds, they didn’t want to take the chance of hooking you to a pain drip that would react poorly. So, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to deal with the over the counter stuff.”

  “Where is he?” I croaked.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see him anymore—for obvious reasons. You’ve been through enough this past year. I just don’t think any good will come of seeing him. I know you may want closure, but you need to rest.”

  I struggled with my restraints. “Why am I like this?”

  “You had an…episode when you got here.”

  “What? I don’t remember.”

  “It’s a precaution, Nikki. They’ll remove them tomorrow.”

  “What’s that I heard about Parkland? Guardianship? Are you making me go to a mental health facility? You can’t do that. My mother would never do that to me.”

  “I know she thought outpatient would work for you. I’m…finding you help that will actually work, Nikki. It’s what your mother should’ve done a long time ago.”

  “Don’t. Please, don’t send me away.”

  “Mrs. Lemon? Can I speak to you in private?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

  “About?” I never heard the answer as she disappeared out of the door.

  I wrestled with my restraints, aggravated that I was bound like a criminal. The door swung open, and I was ready to give Angie an earful until I saw who walked in.

  “No.” I shut my eyelids tightly as the tears stung my eyes. “I don’t want to see you, Eric.”

  As he slipped his hand into mine, he dropped a packet of paper on the foot of my bed. Through it all, his touch made me feel everything I tried to suppress. I slowly opened my eyes, noting that he was likely working downstairs; his blue scrubs and white coat were all indicators. His eyes were heavy lidded, puffy and red. I wanted to scream out, call for someone to remove him, but as I took in his expression, I couldn’t stop crying.

  He gently kissed my forehead, lingering at my face for a moment. “I—” He swallowed so hard I could see his Adam’s apple move. He clasped on hand against the side of my face and swept a thumb across my tear-stained cheeks. “—don’t have a lot of time before your aunt comes back.”

  “She’s…going to put me away.”

  “Honestly, Nik….as hard as it is for me to say, we…have to let her do it.”

  “What?” Shocked he could be sanctimonious, like I was in the wrong, I tried to sit up in bed; the restraints made sure it was near impossible.

  He slid his hand from mine and gathered the papers he left at the foot of my bed, hold
ing it inches from my face. “Do you know what that is, Nikki?”

  I skimmed over it, and closed my eyes to the sadness that overcame me. What he held before me was a divorce decree.

  “Made official eleven months ago. Granted, I held onto her for reasons I can’t decipher. But, she stopped being my wife a long time ago. I just…never told anyone, and neither did she. I should’ve known she would use my silence against me.” He paused as he dropped his eyelids. “Question, Nikki, why…did you believe her?”

  I swallowed, unable to answer him.

  “Doesn’t matter if you could say anything. You had no excuse to doubt me…again. Just…know I’m not giving up on you. I have to take a step back right now. A lot of shit is going on that I have to take care of. I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire. First time my fucking arrogance got in the way. I—” He dropped his chin to his chest. “—failed you.”

  “Dr. Brenton,” a voice noted at the door. “She’s coming back in less than one minute. I’m sorry, but you have to wrap it up.”

  “Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “No! No! NO!” I shrilled frenetically. “Don’t leave me here. She’s going to send me to a place worse than prison. Don’t leave me.”

  “Parkland is the best private health facility in the state. I wouldn’t be patient with what needs to happen to her, if she sent you somewhere else.”

  “Eric… she’s coming right now,” the voice pressed urgently.

  “I don’t understand. Why are you talking like this? What are you talking about?”

  He quickly kissed my lips. “I love you, Nikki,” he said against my lips. “I’m not releasing you from your promise to me. I will be outside those doors, waiting for you when you get out. You and I are forever. Nothing will ever change that. We’ll be together again, my twisted angel. I promise you, when that happens, no one will ever be able to tear us apart again.”

  He choked up and took a breath as he leaned in my ear. “I know Estelle is the one who called Tamala. She confessed to everything when she thought you were dead. She wanted to fuck me up, because she wanted me back. See, everything I told you would happen, did. It’s fucked up that you didn’t believe me…but we’ll get to that.” He gently kissed my lips again. “She will get what she deserves when you get out. Timing isn’t right. Not right now. I wish I didn’t have to let this happen, but it serves a purpose. When it’s over, you will learn a very valuable lesson. Think about that while you wait for me.” He kissed me one last time and turned to leave.

  “Eric. Wait. No! Don’t let them do this. Don’t let them take me away. Eric!” Screaming. I’m screaming, and I can’t stop. The restraints won’t let me move. I hate the way I feel; bound, unable to stop whatever my aunt planned to do with me. Nurses surrounded my bed and weighed my body down. Something cold was injected into my IV line, sending a chill down my spine. Succumbing to the drowsy feeling, I sank into slumber.

  3 months later.

  “How do you feel today, Nikki?” Dr. Longo asked as he slipped back in his large leather-bound chair and regarded the fish tank in his office along with me. “Do you feel ready to leave?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. I’d grown accustomed to the routine at Parkland. It sort-of felt like college again, except with a more interesting plethora of dorm mates. Parkland was stuck in the middle of a rural area with not much to do on the outside. Patient schedules were highly structured. We relied on that structure, and each other, to get through the boredom. Group therapy on Tuesday and Thursdays. Single session therapy on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Creative day on Saturday. And, the day I lived for; Sunday when we were allowed to walk the trail around the palatial colonial estate. We weren’t allowed access to the internet or live television, though.

  A girl here, April, became my friend. She was a lifer, or so she said. She’d left Parkland numerous times. She came back so often, her parents decided to keep her here. Turned out she was on the Suicide Angels forum at one point. She said she’d met Trent. We swapped crazy stories back and forth about how grating he could be. She called his suicide ‘poetic’. I didn’t talk to her for a week after she said that. There never would be anything poetic about his death.

  I sent Eric letters daily—I never got anything back. The first month hit the hardest. There were quite a few angry, expletive-filled letters that first month. After month two, and no response, I couldn’t blame him for changing his mind. I put him through a lot, things that even I wouldn’t have put up with from someone I loved. After month three, I categorized myself as an idiot for placing the blame at my feet like I was the guilty party in the relationship. I stopped writing him at the beginning of month three.

  Eventually, I reconciled everything. I had to reconcile everything in order for Dr. Longo to consider of releasing me. The relationship was toxic. Still, as much as I could say I was better without him, I missed him terribly. After three months without communication, I assumed Estelle was right about him; he’d moved on after having successfully broken me. I didn’t want to think that. I hated to think that. What else was I to think when he never once tried to contact me? After a while, I tried to stop thinking about him. I knew I would always love him, even if he moved on with someone else. But his words—to wait for him—stuck with me.

  April disagreed, and viewed my relationship with Eric as epic. She stated that my aunt was the reason I hadn’t heard from Eric. She claimed my aunt thought Eric would be a threat to my progress. When I asked how she specifically came across the information; she told me she fucked the very employee who received orders to send his letters back.

  We had an extended conversation about her carelessness. We weren't provided means of birth control here. Copulation with staff and other patients was forbidden. She stupidly relied on the pullout method. I surmised that she was a bit of a thrill-seeker mixed with a touch of hypersexuality.

  I didn’t think the three months I spent in the facility counted as progress.

  I didn’t feel any different—medicated, but not different. I pretended to be a new Nikki, but the old Nikki was still there—waiting to stop the torturous happy posturing she had to endure in order to be released.

  “Nikki? Are you with me?” Dr. Longo asked.

  “I miss my dog. I miss my mother’s house. I miss the bay. I miss my freedom. Yes, I’m very ready to leave.”

  “Do you remember the coping mechanisms we discussed?”

  “Yep, I have my trusty composition book, and I promise to start actually running instead of walking. I’m thinking about taking up kickboxing to get out my anger. And I’m going to be more social…join a book club, like the one they have here. I’m going to do all the things I’m supposed to do.”

  “And your happy place? Where will you find your happy place out in the world?”

  I closed my eyes and rolled them. “There’s a place on the trail where I used to walk. It reminds me of something, something positive. I’ll go there, and—” I thumbed the moon keychain in my hand; the one that never left my fingertips. “—that will be my happy place. I remember that you said I should have a secondary, and I do. I’m going to maintain my mental exercises when I can’t get to the trail. Acknowledge. Evaluate. Reevaluate. Compose. Release.”

  He seemed pleased with my answers and gave me a nod. “It’ll be good to see you in my office outside of Parkland, Nikki. Good luck out there.” He shoved his self-help book my way. It served as a parting gift to everyone who left the facility.

  “Yep. See you Tuesdays and Thursdays,” I deadpanned. I clutched the keychain in my hand and walked down the hall. When Dr. Longo retreated from watching me in the hall, I slipped his self-help book into the nearest garbage can.

  April joined my stride from the library. “I’m gonna miss you, you crazy girl.” She threw her arms around me as we walked.

  “Maybe if you get your act together, we can do something on the outside. You don’t have to stay here for the rest of your life, April.”


  “Told you, I like it better here. I don’t have your life, Nik.”

  “Three months of telling you to stop calling me that,” I mumbled

  “You’ll see. He’ll be out there waiting for you.” She grabbed my hand, fingering the moon keychain. “Motivate me. When you start planning your wedding, I’ll get out of this place for once and for all.”

  “Liar. You’ll slit your wrists and be right back here.” The facility’s ‘Negative Nancy’, Carly, stated as she joined our walk. People called her by a much harsher term, a word that began with a ‘c’. I’ve only encountered one person who could use the word and attach a sensual connotation to it.

  “Actually, next time that happens, I’ll be dead.” April skipped down the hall whistling a tune.

  “You’ll be back!” Carly yelled after her back. She pointedly looked at me. “Cutters always come back.”

  “Carly, I think the fact that you’re here will be the single motivation I need to stay away.”

  “You’re not better. You’re just hiding it, so you can get out of here. I give you a month. Tops.”

  I grumbled under my breath as I continued down the hall. I definitely wouldn’t miss this place.

  I packed up my things, preparing to leave. I glanced around the room, realizing I forgot to pack the picture of my mother that sat on the night table. I placed it under my arm and made ready to meet Angie in the foyer.

  Angie threw her arms around me, squeezing me like she missed me. I immediately pulled away from her.

  I hadn’t forgotten anything. She showed me how little she changed by never visiting me. She missed every family therapy day, excluding the last one. The only reason she came was due to the guilt thrown her way by the staff members.