Timidly, I make my way over to the sofa, and sit beside Dad. I’m so close, there’s almost no distance between us. Dad swings his arm over my shoulder, and brings me into his comfort.
“How’ve things been?” Tracey asks looking straight at me.
Mom opens her mouth to answer for me, but I hold my hand up for her to stop. “It’s been hard. There’s a struggle inside my head every minute of the day.”
“Okay. Maybe what I have to say may help you deal with it a little better.” She smiles and looks to Andrea who gives her a small nod. “We came here today because we want you to know we have a solid lead.”
The room remains quiet, giving me a few seconds to let the words resonate and actually sink in.
Oh God. They have a lead.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Dad asks looking at me, his face rapidly draining of color. Blinking, I stare at Dad. Did he speak? “Sweetheart.” A searing pain rips behind my left eye and I cringe away. “Get some tissues!” Dad calls to Mom.
Tissues? Who needs tissues? I jump off the sofa to run into the kitchen for tissues, but Dad yanks me back down to the sofa.
The two detectives are staring at me, and Mom springs to her feet in a panic, running to the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” I ask while looking around the room, trying to see who’s hurt. The intense pain behind my eye almost cripples me, sending me crashing into the back of the sofa. “Oh God,” I cry, clutching at my eye.
“What’s going on?” Mom cries while shoving a tissue box in Dad’s lap and tilting my head forward. She holds tissues to my nose, and it’s then I notice the deep, crimson liquid pouring out of my nose.
“What’s happening?” I whisper, unsure as to why my head’s being so relentless in its blistering pain, and why my nose is bleeding so profusely.
“Look at her hands and neck. Her hands are shaking, and a rash has broken out on her neck,” Andrea says.
I’m looking around me, trying to see who they’re talking about, but all eyes are on me.
“She’s having a panic attack,” Tracey states as if she sees them often. Maybe she does.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re right here.” Dad wraps his strong arms around, crushes my head to his chest and starts rocking us. Suddenly all the blinds are drawn, and the ceiling fan is cranked up to high. I can hear the familiar whir of the blades cutting through the air.
“Get her some water. Let’s calm her down,” Andrea says.
Dad’s shushing me while rocking back and forth.
Without warning, my shoulders give, my hands unclench and I relax into Dad and his supportive frame.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He keeps pressing kisses on my head; light, soothing kisses. The sound of his calming heartbeat acts as a sedative. “Shhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” My arms wrap around Dad and I hold onto him as tightly as he’s holding me.
It takes a while, but everyone settles down. Mom, Tracey and Andrea all sit and turn their gazes to me. “How are you feeling now?” Mom asks.
Peeking out from behind Dad’s arm, my eyes travel to all three pairs of eyes. “Embarrassed. I’m not sure what happened.”
“Have some water, Dakota, it’ll help,” Andrea offers.
Dad slightly pushes me, holding onto my shoulders. “Are you okay?” I nod my head and smile. He leans over, grabs the glass of water and hands it to me.
Gulping it down I finally place the glass on the table. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain it. I felt okay, but you all went into panic and I didn’t know what was happening.”
“Your body went into shock, and your mind probably couldn’t deal with it, so it stopped processing. That’s the likely reason for your reaction and also explains why your nose was bleeding, your neck broke out into a rash and you were trembling,” Andrea explains.
“I also had the most bizarre pain in my head. It literally felt as if someone drove an ice pick into it.”
“We can come back another day and explain to you what’s happening,” Tracey offers.
“No! No, I need to hear what it is you’ve come here to say,” I tell them. I am strong. I can do this.
Find courage, Dakota.
Tracey smiles and nods her head. “You’re such a strong girl, Dakota. I’m proud of you.” She winks at me. “We came here to tell you how we have a lead. We can’t say too much about the investigation, however we’re very close in making an arrest.”
“Do you think you know who it is? Could this go wrong? Have you got it wrong?” I ask a barrage of questions.
“Go wrong? How so?” Andrea asks singling out only one of my questions.
“Is it possible you’ve made a mistake, and you’ll come back to me and say, ‘Sorry, Dakota, but we were wrong and we’re actually nowhere near close to catching him.’? Is that a possibility?” I press my hands together nervously.
“We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t feel confident that we’re close to catching the perpetrator. We wouldn’t give you false hope, or even tell you unless we were quite sure.”
“So you’re saying this lead is solid and will most likely lead to an arrest?” I look at them, begging for a yes.
And my hope is answered. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re saying,” Tracey says.
“Okay.” I don’t know how to deal with this information, or even how to process it. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I’m not feeling anything. I’m not happy, I’m not sad. I’m indifferent. Numb.
“We wanted to stop by and let you know what we can so far. We’ll let you get back to your family now, and we’ll be in touch when we have more information.” Both the detectives leave, and I’m sitting on the sofa, my jeans and t-shirt completely blood soaked and I’m completely immobilized.
“Are you okay?” Dad asks sitting beside me, and Mom opposite.
“I don’t feel anything, at all. Nothing. I’m trying to listen to my brain, but there are no thoughts going around. Everything inside me is quiet.”
“Quiet?” Mom asks confused by my words.
“Yeah, like I’m detached from what Tracey and Andrea said, kind of like dazed. I don’t think their words have sunk in. At least, not yet.”
“Maybe that’s why you looked so stunned with us when we panicked because of that nose bleed.”
“I didn’t know my nose was bleeding. And still, even with that.” I look down at the red on my hands and on my clothes, and I don’t freak out. “Even that . . . I don’t have any reaction to it.”
“Okay, well let’s go get you changed. We have an appointment with Tara in an hour.”
“Alright,” I answer standing from the sofa. “I’m not sure how I’ll do today.”
This has been my life since I started with counseling. One moment I’m okay and functioning, and the next I’m a complete and utter mess. Before Friday, I was learning to hide all the hurt, and it was so much easier. Now though, my mind is unsure of what to do or how to respond, so it remains quiet and doesn’t respond at all. Instead my body breaks and shows obvious signs of stress.
I go into my room and sit on the bed. I forgot why I’m in here. I look out my window and watch as a bird sits on the sill and looks into my room. It chirps at me, and the happy sound makes me smile.
“Dakota, we have to go,” Mom says. “Get changed.”
Vacantly I stare at Mom. “Where are we going?” I ask Mom.
“We’re going to see Tara, remember?” she smiles but her tone is strained and filled with worry.
“Oh yeah, Tara.” I stand and head toward my door.
“Dakota, you need to get changed.” Mom’s words are slow, and her tone is soft.
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” I pull out clothes and change, not really sure why I need to. Mom stands at my door, watching me with a careful scrutinizing eye.
“You need to wash your hands and face. Come on. Let’s go, clean up.”
“Right.” Emotionless, I follow Mom. She keeps loo
king at me over her shoulder, her eyes intently watching me as I numbly follow.
We head into the bathroom, where Mom washes my face and hands then leads me out to the family room. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I guess.” I don’t know, I think so.
Mom takes my hand and leads me out to the car. She helps me put my seatbelt on and then gets in the driver’s seat and reverses out of the driveway. “Where are we going?”
“To see Tara.”
“That’s right.”
We get to her office, and I robotically unclick my seatbelt and head inside. Before I know it, I’m sitting on her sofa in her room. I look around me, staring at the beautiful colors. “Are you okay, Dakota?” Tara asks.
I shake my head and close my eyes tight, then reopen them. “What am I doing here?” I ask.
“You’ve come for your appointment.”
“Have I?” She nods her head and jots crazily in her book. “I don’t remember how I got here.”
“Your mom brought you.”
“I know that. But I don’t remember actually driving here or even how I got in your office.”
“You’ve suffered a major trauma today, Dakota. These past few days have pushed you beyond what you can handle. This is your mind’s way of protecting itself.”
“You sound like Andrea. She said the same thing.”
“Tell me what’s happened today? What did you have for breakfast?”
I stare at her, not really knowing how to respond.
Mom starts talking, running through the events of the day. I listen intently, because I can’t recall any of the events Mom’s recounting, except when she gets to Tracey and Andrea’s visit.
Everything else is hazy, unclear and jumbled. Tara listens to Mom, her head nodding, and her hand furiously writing.
Tara turns to me and asks, “How are you feeling about the visit from the police?” I shrug my shoulders. “About the information they gave you?” Again, I shrug. “Okay, this is what I think is happening, and in my opinion the best way to handle it. You’re in auto-pilot mode. Your mind doesn’t want to cooperate with you because it’s received information that it doesn’t know how to deal with. At some stage over the next few hours, I suspect you’re going to break down.”
Did she say break down? As in cry? I can’t cry anymore, I don’t want to cry anymore.
She turns to Mom and talks to her, I try to listen, but I’m struggling with comprehending everything.
Before I know it, Mom’s leading me to our car, strapping me in, and we drive home. The roads look different, but kind of similar too. Mom pulls into the driveway, and helps me out. I feel like a zombie, walking because I’m lead to do so. Breathing because I have to.
“Dakota, how are you, sweetheart?” Dad asks when I come into the family room.
“Good,” I answer in a monotone.
Dad’s eyes go to Mom, and he looks surprised by whatever she’s saying to him.
Sam comes in and throws an arm over my shoulder. “Hey, big sis.”
“Hey,” I respond in the same dead voice.
Sam slowly removes her hand as she steps away from me. “Mom?” she questions. “What’s going on?”
“Pick a movie, Sam, then come in the kitchen and help me with dinner. Dakota, here you go.” She hooks our arms together and leads me to the sofa. “We’ll put a movie on for you and Dad.”
“Okay.” I feel nothing. Empty. Dead. Sitting on the sofa my back is rigid, my hands are in my lap and my feet firmly planted on the ground.
“Lean back, enjoy the movie,” Dad says encouraging me to be more comfortable.
“Okay.” I stay in the same position.
The movie starts, and although I’m watching it, I’m not really watching it. It’s playing; I can hear music, people talking, names appearing on the screen, but I have no clue as to what’s happening. “I liked that part,” Dad says and taps me on the shoulder.
“Okay,” I respond.
There’s chatter going on in the house, I can hear Mom and Sam talking in the kitchen. I try to focus in on what they’re saying, but all I hear is white noise. I know they’re talking, but there’s no way I can concentrate enough for the noise to make sense.
I keep watching the movie, trying to understand what’s happening. It’s not like I’m trying to be removed from everything and everyone, I’m simply struggling to finding an edge to hold on to.
I’m lost.
The screen goes black and Dad stands, turning it off.
Did something happen? Have we had a blackout? I stare at Dad, waiting for him to tell me what’s happening. “Dinner, Dakota. Did you like that movie?”
Crinkling my forehead I try and remember what film was even playing. “Yeah,” I answer though truthfully, I have no idea what’s happening.
“Come on.” Dad holds his hand out to me, and I look at it, trying to figure out what his gesture means. “Dakota,” he says in a low voice.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“Take my hand.”
“Oh, right.”
He pulls me up and we walk to the dining table where bowls with food have been set. I sit down and stare at the food. It’s so beige. I can’t even identify what it is. “What is it?” I ask.
“It’s spicy chicken and rice, one of your favorites,” Mom answers.
“Right,” I respond. I can’t see the rice or the chicken. It looks like nothing, like mush. Picking my fork up, I get some food on it and lift it to my mouth. It tastes like beige would. Bland, tasteless, dull. I go back for another bite, and experience the same lack of flavor.
“Whoa, this is hot,” Dad complains and reaches for his glass of water.
I keep eating, but still can’t taste anything. Nothing’s being absorbed into my mind.
I lift my fork and my hand stills on its own. Dropping the cutlery, it bangs against the bowl. “Oh my God,” I whisper.
And it hits me.
Hard.
“They have a solid lead,” I say looking at Mom, Dad and Sam.
Dad puts his fork down, and clasps my shaking hand. “Yes, honey. They have a solid lead,” he confirms.
“They have a solid lead,” I repeat.
Visions of me on the witness stand, telling everyone what happened to me play on a continuous loop in my mind. Every detail being described for the world to hear. Details even I don’t know, while the perpetrator tells the world what he did to others, to me.
“Oh my God.” My mouth falls open and my body shivers while ice creeps through my veins. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
I look to Mom, hoping she’ll say no, but instead she’s nodding her head. “I’m afraid it will,” she confirms my nightmare.
“But we’re all here to support you,” Dad adds.
“All of us,” Sam says. “We’re all here.”
The right side of my head starts pounding. It’s making the connection to everything all at once, and it’s hurting because of the overload of emotions and information. Standing I say, “I need to lie down.” I head in the direction of my room, pull back the covers and collapse into bed. I have no more tears to shed, no more fight inside me. I just need to close my eyes and sleep.
Maybe I’ll be lucky, and never wake.
“Dakota?” I hear someone calling me. “Dakota.” Someone puts their hand on my shoulder and gently nudges at me, waking me from my sleep.
“Yeah?” I answer, my voice is croaky and tight.
“Come on, you have to get up,” he says. But he doesn’t sound like Dad.
I turn my head, looking to see who’s in my room, and it’s Reece. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’ve come to see how you are.”
I turn my body so I’m facing him, and bury myself further inside my blanket. I know my breath must smell, and my hair is a mess. I don’t want Reece to see me like this. He tilts his head so he’s looking at me, and slowly moves his hand to smooth my hair back. “You look comforta
ble, I almost feel guilty for waking you.”
“So you should, because I’m very comfortable.”
“I said ‘almost,’ which means I don’t feel guilty at all. Come on, you need to get up and changed.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Reece. I don’t feel like doing anything.”
“Huh, well you’re all out of luck. Up you get.” He stands and puts his hands on his waist. “I’m giving you ten minutes to get up and changed, after that I can’t guarantee my actions.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I could come in here and tickle you, or get your mom to tip water over your head. Or better yet, I could ask Sam to sit on your head.”
“Alright, alright I’ll get up.”
“Nine minutes and fifty-five seconds.”
“Get out and I’ll get ready.”
He leaves my room and closes the door, but I hear him loudly counting down. I quickly get dressed and swing the door open. He’s looking at the timer on his phone while leaning against the wall opposite my room. “Good, you’re ready. You were down to a minute.” He cheekily grins.
“Can I go to the bathroom?”
“You have fifty-six seconds.” He looks back to his phone.
Rolling my eyes at him, I go to the bathroom and freshen up.
When I come out, he’s talking to Mom and Dad who are sitting at the dining table playing a board game with Sam. I look outside and notice it’s dark. “What time is it?” I wonder out loud.
“Nearly nine,” Mom answers.
“I’m not going anywhere, Reece. It’s dark and late and I’m tired.”
“Do I have to get your parents to push you out the door? Because I’m positive they will.”
“Go, sweetheart,” Dad encourages me.
Mom’s smiling and nodding slightly, she’s clearly supporting this expedition Reece wants to take.
“Ugh,” I grumble to myself. Seems they’re all ganging up against me. “Fine, I’ll go. But under protest.” I know I won’t make good company. There’s no way I’ll be able to focus on anything other than the words Andrea and Tracey hit me with earlier. ‘We have a solid lead.’ And I can’t tell Reece, not because I don’t want to, but because I literally can’t.
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