by Annie Jocoby
I arrived at the place at 5 PM, just when visiting hours were beginning. The place was a huge and looked like a five star resort, with the manicured grounds, reflecting pool, spa services, and horse stables. I was not wrong in thinking that this was probably the place where celebrities go when they are feeling “exhausted” or “dehydrated.” I always admired Catherine Zeta Jones’ decision to dispense with the bullshit excuses. She wasn’t exhausted or dehydrated, she was battling bi-polar disorder, and she came right on out and told the world that. Gutsy.
The grounds were beautiful and perfectly manicured, and there was a little stream on the grounds with benches and picnic tables surrounding the water. I looked around, hoping that we could rendezvous out here a little to talk, and I had brought a blanket to lay on, just in case.
I was hoping for the best, expecting the worst.
I hope that there is the expected return on your investment, Alexis.
I went to the front desk. “Uh, I am here to see client number 23897,” I said.
She looked at her list. “Ms. Snowe?”
“Yes.” This was a good sign - he put me on the visitation list already.
“Could I please see some ID?” I handed her my Kansas Driver’s License. “Do you have a second form of ID?” I nodded, handing her a debit card. “Thank you.” She buzzed me in. “Room 324.”
I hoped that I was not interrupting. I felt so nervous I could puke as I made my way to room 324.
It was a private room with plush carpeting, a leather love seat, a flat screen television and a queen-sized bed. In all, it was a cozy room, and the door was open. But Ryan wasn’t there. I sighed, and sat down on the love seat to wait for him.
He arrived after about a half hour. I stood up as he walked into the room. He looked a bit tired, dressed down in jeans and a button-down blue shirt which brought out the blue in his otherwise green eyes. I let out a large breath, waiting for his reaction to my being there.
Without a word, he closed the door behind him, then walked towards me and took me in his arms for what seemed like forever.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryan was happy to see me. Extremely happy to see me.
It was such a relief.
“You came. You came. You came.” Ryan just repeated this phrase over and over again. He had tears in his eyes.
I found myself crying as well.
“Of course. I had to, after talking to Alexis.”
“I was so afraid that you couldn’t come. I mean, Alexis said that she gave you the tickets and the accommodations and everything, but she wasn’t sure if you could make it. She thought that you might be too busy with work.”
“Well, that was the story last week. I cleared my schedule this week.”
“Uh, would you like to take a walk outside?”
“I thought you would never ask.” I was in a hurry to get out of this rather depressing atmosphere.
“I see you have a blanket in your hand.”
“I do.”
“And a picnic basket. Let me take that for you.”
“Thanks, it was getting a little heavy.” I had packed imported cheese and sparkling grape juice (I figured correctly that alcohol would not be permitted on the grounds), some dry roasted almonds, some whole-grain crackers, and some fruit. It would be a light supper, as I wasn’t starving. I hoped that he wasn’t, either, but I had packed some cheese and hard salami sandwiches as well, just in case he wanted something more substantive.
“You think of everything.”
“I try.”
We walked, in the dark, although the grounds were brightly lit, until we got to an area just on the banks of the babbling brook. The area was surrounded by trees and flowers, and it was very peaceful. There was a little bridge going across the brook. I would imagine that this would be an excellent place to meditate. We laid our blanket down, and lay down while I unpacked our goodies.
“You always know the perfect thing to pack in these lunches.” Ryan was smiling, the color coming back into his cheeks. He looked quite a bit less tired than when he first came in the room.
I fed him a grape, and poured out the juice in the little plastic champagne cups that came with the basket. As we ate our small dinner, Ryan was talking.
“I missed you. God, I missed you,” Ryan said.
“I missed you too.”
“I’m so sorry for throwing your clothes at you.”
“Actually, that’s ok. It wasn’t the first time.” I wasn’t joking about that, either.
“Well, it’ll be the last.”
I nodded.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I found myself wishing that the sparkling grape juice was wine.
He looked at me. The overhead light had illuminated his eyes, making the little hazel parts around his pupil stand out. I could also make out specks of bright blue, which danced around in the bright green of the rest of his iris.
Those eyes, so beautiful, now seemed haunted to me.
It broke my heart.
“Uh, Alexis told me that you guys had a talk.”
“Yes.”
“I asked her to call you. There was so much that I needed to say to you, but I just don’t have the words.”
“I understand. Thank you for sending her to me.”
“I hope that you aren’t offended that it wasn’t me who told you all of that.”
“Not at all.” Now, how to address the elephant in the room?
“So, what are you thinking?” Ryan asked.
“The truth? I’m thinking that you’re very brave. So very brave to have lived through all of that. And I now understand why Nick means so much to you. I really do.”
He nodded. “I’m, uh, getting intensive counseling here. I needed to come here because it was a safe place for me to be, after the memories started coming back.” He looked into the distance. “I had completely forgotten all about Rochelle until I saw her. I really didn’t recognize her, even then. She recognized me, though.” He smiled, wryly. “’Hello, Ryan.’ Just like that. ‘Hello, Ryan.’” He shook his head. “I didn’t recognize her. She had to jolt my memory. She seemed offended about that, too, to tell you the truth.”
He went on. “She asked me if I remembered staying with her for the better part of a year, when I was 14.” He looked at me. “I didn’t remember it at all. She looked like she wanted to slap me.” He chuckled a little, and took a sip of the juice, then bit into a sandwich. He continued. “In my nightly journal, I started writing, free-associating. I described how she looked, how she sounded, what she said to me. I was writing and writing and writing. Then, it suddenly hit me who she was. It was the perfume. It was so familiar to me, and I suddenly linked the perfume up with her. I threw up in a trash can immediately.”
I stayed silent, rubbing his back. It was his turn to tell me his story, as much of his story as he wanted to tell me.
He sighed. “Once I remembered who she was, I started remembering the parties.” He shook his head angrily. “I started to remember why I got into drugs in the first place. Why I wanted to die that one time in college. Why I always thought about wanting to die. I couldn’t live with what happened to me. I had blocked it out for so long, but it came out in other ways. Self-destructive ways. The drugs, the suicide attempts….” Attempts? Plural? He went on “Well, actually, there was only one actual attempt. When I was 21, a year before the Nick incident.”
He took a deep breath. “I tried to hang myself from a tree branch, but it broke, thank god.”
I stifled a gasp, then grabbed his hand, putting my other hand on top of it. I clutched him, then drew his head into my chest, stroking his hair.
He continued. “I broke my ankle and was on crutches for two weeks. The other, uh, attempt, wasn’t really an attempt. It was more like I was going to go ahead and do it, and do it right, but Nick burst in at just the right moment. I was so angry with him for interrupting me, you wouldn’t believe it.”
He looked away. “I thought a
bout it this time, you know. About killing myself. But Alexis called, and she started on her crazy shit. She heard that there was something wrong with me because of the way that I sounded on the phone. She knows me too well. I mean, we’ve known one another for 20 years. She came over and convinced me not to do it. She urged me to get help. I told her that I would get help if she got help for her issues. So, she did. She saw a different psychiatrist than the one she was seeing, and got a new prescription and she got stable. I helped her, as I’m sure she told you.”
I nodded.
“She agreed to help me. Once I was out here, she called and asked if there was anything that she could do for me. I told her that I wanted her to contact you, tell you everything, and see if you didn’t mind coming out here and visiting me.” He smiled. “And, here you are!”
I smiled back. This would be such an awesome vacation, considering I was staying at a place that I could never afford, and driving a rental car that I also couldn’t afford. Yet, treating this trip like a vacation was the very last thing on my mind.
“What can I do?”
“Just be here for me. I’m having trouble coping right now, and I really need you.”
How could I turn down a plea like that? “Of course I’ll be there for you. That’s not even a question.” Or it shouldn’t have been. Then, I realized that I had a pattern, already established, of bailing when he needed me to stay. I did it the first time when he told me about the therapist, and the second time when he told me about Nick. I had only known this guy a relatively short period of time, and I had already failed him twice.
I had to be strong. But I wondered how long I would have to be out here in LA. I did have a job to go to, even if things were slow right now.
“Uh, how long will you be staying here?” I asked him.
“Three more weeks. I’m checked in here for a total of 30 days.”
I tried to make a joke of it. “You see any celebrities in this place?”
“Well, yeah, but I can’t tell you who they are. This is the place where they come when they are-“
“Dehydrated and exhausted,” we said in unison. We both laughed at that.
Ryan said “Celebrities are people, too. They have issues, probably more than the average person. And this is a good place to work on things. It’s very calm and peaceful, and they have a world-class stable of doctors here. That’s why I came here, specifically.”
“You ever been here before?”
“No. This is my first time inpatient.” He looked at me. “Uh, this isn’t going to be easy for me. Those memories that I repressed were awful, worse than what my father did to me. I know that sounds odd, but I could get more closure on what my father did because I was able to confront him. But most of those people at those parties are anonymous people. I can’t confront them, so that’s why I’m having problems.”
“That makes sense.”
“So, what you got going back home?” Ryan asked.
“Well, I’m here for this week, at least. Next week, uh, let me check my iPhone.” I pulled out my iPhone. “Um, it looks like I can be here next week, too.” I’ll just have to do some more rearranging. But he needs me, that’s most important.
“I owe you,” Ryan said. “I know that you have a life, and it can’t just stop for me. But it means the world to me that you can take the time out to be here.”
I smiled tightly. I hadn’t planned on being here two weeks, and it was a hassle even getting the one week off. Things will blow up back home, no doubt. I patted his hand reassuredly. He had not yet known me well enough to know when I’m covering up anxiety. I have all sorts of “tells” for that sort of thing, one of which is patting the person’s hand.
It was getting to be 8 PM, and visiting hours were winding up. I packed up the food, what was left of it. “Um, I think I’ll just go to my car from here, if you don’t mind,” I said.
“I don’t think you can do that. I think you have to go through the main door.”
He was right, of course. If I would be able to just get to my car from there, anybody could do that. That wouldn’t be that big of a deal for people like Ryan, who was there voluntarily. It wouldn’t be so great for some of the other patients there. So, we made our way back into the main building, holding hands.
“I wish I could stay,” I said.
“I wish you could, too.”
He ended up walking me to my car. He kissed my forehead. “Thanks again for coming. Uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?” He looked hopeful.
“Of course.”
I came back the following evening. This time, he was waiting for me by the front door, where the receptionist sits. I could see the receptionist eyeing him. He had his hands in his pockets casually. As usual, his beauty took my breath away. It occurred to me that the way that he looks was most of the reason why I felt insecure around him, even more than his wealth. I just never saw myself with somebody who looked like him. Yes, my past boyfriends have been cute or even handsome, but they haven’t been stratospheres out of my league like this guy.
And, somehow, his pain was making him even more beautiful. He always had a vulnerability that I never could quite place. I never knew what the source was. Now, I knew, and I also knew that his vulnerability ran deep, deeper than I could possibly fathom.
And it was precisely this moment that I knew that I was in love with him, too.
He smiled broadly as I approached. “Hello, beautiful!”
I always smiled when he called me “beautiful.” Here he was, indescribably beautiful, and he thinks that I am the one who is. Of course, I am not quite the mess I was when I met him for the very first time. I was cutting my carbs lately, and the weight was starting to come off. I also started taking better care of my skin, making sure that I that I was drinking lots of water, and I had even started moisturizing some. I had also tried to get bi-weekly gel manicures, which were amazing, because they lasted the entire two weeks, just as promised. So, I was less of a toad then I used to be, so I guess that was something.
But beautiful? That was stretching it just a bit.
I smiled back. “Hey!”
“Would you like to go out on the town tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I'm here voluntarily, so I asked if could leave tonight. They said that I could. But I do have to be back by 10 PM.”
“Awesome!”
We made our way to where I was parked. “Do you want to drive?” I asked.
“Sure.”
We found a beautiful Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills. The waiter brought us bread and water, and I ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio and Ryan ordered a Scotch Rocks, which was his familiar standard.
“So,” I began. “How was your day?”
“Pretty good. I have been doing intensive journaling, and talking with one particular therapist about my memories. I have also done group therapy that is focused for people like me. People who’ve had sexual trauma.”
I was afraid to ask, but I knew that he wanted me to. I knew that he needed me to know as much as possible, because I was going to be his “person.” I was finally starting to get that.
“Have you remembered anything new?”
“Just more details. I’m starting to remember some faces, but the names still aren’t real clear to me.”
I wish that he could remember names. I wish that I could put a hit out on each and every one of them, and that they would each die a slow, painful, death. Or go through what they put Ryan through.
“Uh, Rochelle. She still lives in town?”
“Apparently so. My therapy has been focused mainly on her. But I’ve also tried to place some names and faces of some of the other people who would attend the parties, and would do things to me.”
“What are you remembering about Rochelle?”
His face still looked relaxed, so I felt encouraged to ask him more. I figured that I would be able to tell when he was being pushed too far.
“Well, Alexis told yo
u the gist of it. She took me in, and we had sex a lot. I was confused. I thought that this was the way to please people, and I knew that I didn’t want to go back to Benjamin. So, I pretty much did what she wanted, when she wanted it.” He paused. “And sometimes she threatened me a little.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes she would handcuff me to the bed, and would threaten not to bring me food or water if I didn’t have sex with her. I challenged her one time about this, and she actually didn’t bring me food or water for two days. Nor did she unchain me to let me go to the bathroom.” He looked ashamed. “That was the worst part of it, even worse than being denied food and water.”
I realized that I was holding my breath. I let it out. I wanted to kill this woman, slowly. I wanted to handcuff her to her bed and not bring her food and water for two days, and make her literally shit and piss her pants. Make her think that she was going to die of dehydration.
Ryan seemed unruffled talking about this, though. He didn’t seem as enraged as I felt at that moment. I imagined that he had gotten his emotions out, so he was able to somehow accept it. But I looked at my hand, which was clutching my wine glass so hard that I was surprised that it didn’t break. My hand was also shaking uncontrollably.
Ryan noticed this. “This is making you uncomfortable.”
“No, enraged.”
He put his hand on mine. “Do you mind if I keep talking about this, or do you want to change the subject?”
“Go ahead. You need to talk, and I promised to be there for you every step of the way.”
He took a deeper breath. “What I’m trying to figure out through all this intensive therapy and journaling is why I, uh, liked the abuse.”
I tried to make my face as impassive as possible. I didn’t want him to see the curiosity and horror that I felt when he said that last part.
He continued. “My therapist told me that I was experiencing a classic case of Stockholm Syndrome.”
I nodded. I had a passing familiarity with Stockholm Syndrome.
“I’ve come to realize that I depended upon her, and, at first, she protected me. Or so I thought. She took me away from that house, and that was really all that I wanted at first. Actually, that was all that I ever wanted, period, from her. Then, when I realized that she was not my protector at all, but that I was essentially held captive by her - simply because the alternative was unthinkable, going back to Benjamin – I started to sympathize with her, and didn’t really see that what she was doing was wrong. It was my defense mechanism. I had no choice but to stay with her, and I would have done anything to please her. So, I did. At least, that is what I am getting out of therapy, as far as why I liked the sex and the, uh, abuse.”
