by DM Sharp
“Help me. Please? I need to leave here. I feel awful. I need a doctor. Something is really wrong with me. I need my uncle.”
“Miss Parker, you’re withdrawing. We expected this. Unfortunately Dr. Carmichael has been held up with a situation, but there’ll be another doctor along soon. Just try to calm down and relax until then. Do try the food. It is lovely.”
Anger erupts from somewhere deep inside of me and before I have any control, I hear myself screaming, “Didn’t you hear me, you crazy bitch? Something is wrong with me and you’re droning on about food. Well, here’s what I think of your fucking food.”
I launch myself at the tray, kicking its contents all over the white walls and floor.
“Like I said, a doctor will be along to see you shortly.” Cynthia turns around without any register of what I’ve said or the language I have used, leaving the room.
I launch myself at the tall vase knocking it off the table. It doesn’t break, but the lilies lie limply on the top of the table, water dripping from the table to the floor. I head for that stupid giraffe sculpture thing next, knocking it over and kicking it with every force I have in my body. I look across at the white bed and the white pillows which now have black streaks from my unwashed face and head to rip everything off the bed when the door opens again. Oh great, it’s Tweedledee and Tweedledum from my journey earlier, Cynthia, and behind them someone else.
“Get out of my room now!” I scream so viciously that I can feel the veins popping on my temples. This seems to exacerbate my headache and its accompanying anger, so I shut my eyes temporarily to steady myself.
“That will be all, guys. I’ll take it from here.”
“Are you sure, Dr. Carmichael? We can hang around outside if you want.”
“No need.”
Who the fuck is this joining the party now? I look up and can’t believe it. It’s the angel who was sitting outside my hospital room when I’d been in the car accident—except this is no angel. He can’t be older than 25, wearing a surfing t-shirt, combat shorts and Havianas, but it’s the same white blonde hair that’s hanging in wet ringlets, and there’s no mistaking those vivid, azure blue eyes.
“Olivia, my name’s Gabriel Carmichael and I’m a doctor. Calm down, okay? I know you don’t feel well at the moment. Now, let’s take a deep breath and talk.”
Not feeling well? Talk? Who the hell is this joker? Jesus, I know its my mind playing tricks on me … One minute the guy’s an angel, the next he’s a doctor and he’s got the same name as the older doctor-dude on the plane. Why can’t he just be a big bag of white powder?
I take a deep breath and inch forward toward him, “Look I just want to go, okay? I don’t belong here. I need a doctor. My uncle will go crazy if he knows how ill I’m feeling and that you’re all pissing around with me. Now if you don’t mind, get out of my way and get me a cab, please.”
The angel’s eyes harden and he says, “When’s the last time you had a shower?”
“What? What the fuck has that got to do with anything?”
Right, I’ve had enough of this crap and these freak people in this freak rehab facility. I’m getting out of here. As I edge my way towards the door, both the angel and Cynthia, with her unchanged expression, move toward me.
“Olivia, you’re here to stay whether you like it or not, so you might as well cooperate. You’ve been sent here by a judge. There are lots of people who can really help you if you give it a chance.”
“I don’t want anyone’s fucking help. Now get away from me,” I shriek in a high-pitched panic.
The angel moves fast and has me in a vise-like grip from behind, and before I know it, he’s dragging me screaming and shouting towards the wet room, and my frantic efforts to escape only result in me kicking off my shoes and his grip tightening on me when he turns on the shower on both of us. I don’t know how long we are standing under the water, but it feels so good and acts as an antithesis to my cramping gut and throbbing head. After some time, I feel his grip loosening while he still holds me with one hand and uses his other hand to push the shampoo dispenser, and massages the liquid into my head.
“Cynthia, please can you pass me a washcloth?” he shouts.
I totally forgot about Cynthia. So that means she’s been sitting in my room the whole time.
Cynthia walks over with a washcloth and hands it to him, her expression still unchanged from the very first time I met her in the car earlier this afternoon.
“Here, Olivia. Use this to wash off all that black makeup from your face. Let’s see what you look like underneath.”
I do as he says and, as I do so, my legs buckle from under me and I can’t stop sobbing. Oh God, how did I end up here, in this state, in this place, alone with strangers? I did nothing to deserve this. As the black streaks from my makeup accumulate on the washcloth, my vulnerability grows.
“Just let it all out, Olivia. That’s it. Don’t hold it in.”
He holds me and supports my slumped and shivering body, rocking and reassuring me gently as sobs rack me. Everything I’ve held in about my mother, about Lucien, pours out of me until I have nothing left inside of me.
Cynthia steps into the wet room with some towels and the angel switches off the shower.
“Kid, Cynthia is going to help you get out of these wet clothes and get you into something more comfortable.” And with that, the angel sweeps out of my bedroom.
I’m shivering more than before and my cramps are getting stronger. I willingly let her help me peel the clinging, soaking clothes off me and stand helplessly as she towel dries my body and hair like a tired child. I continue to stand there as she undoes all the cornrows in my hair one by one.
I put on cashmere shorts and a t-shirt after pulling them up to my nose to inhale their fresh clean scent, like a spring breeze.
I sit on the bed and Cynthia sits beside me brushing my hair. “Miss Parker, this is such a harsh color you have in your hair, my dear. What color is your natural hair?”
“It’s a sort of dark brown, almost black,” I say quietly.
“Well, when you feel better, how about we go about and try to fix your hair a bit, maybe closer to its natural color?”
I feel hot tears pricking behind my eyes at the kindness of this stranger in my room as she picks up the hairdryer and starts drying my hair.
I feel utterly exhausted by the whole day’s events and crawl into the bed where Cynthia tightly tucks me in.
“Miss Parker, you might start feeling unwell again, but please try not to worry. There are lots of people around and you are not alone. When we see that you are experiencing withdrawal symptoms yet again we will be in to see you immediately. Now try to get some sleep.”
My mind is swirling, bile sits at the base of my throat burning my gullet. As I close my eyes and drift off I’m sure I can smell my momma’s incense.
*
Gabriel Carmichael
I jolt upright from the loud sound of my pager going off as I try to read the newspaper. Great. Some new kid no doubt. What I don’t get is that they pour all this crap into their bodies without a second thought. My dad always told me that nothing comes for free. How can they not know the trouble they’re getting themselves into?
Oh well. It’s my last few months here and my last road trip before I’m back at work in Manhattan. In a proper hospital, where I can get back to surgery again. Just gotta keep that thought in mind.
I hop off the stool and run towards the lobby so I can find out who paged me.
Knew it. It’s the Carter kid. I can’t believe that Dad’s dumped me in it and put me on call so he can get back to the city to see some old friend who’s had a heart attack. I worry about the old man, rushing here, there and everywhere. Told him to take it easy and go see his friend in the hospital tomorrow, maybe after resting a while, but when does he ever listen?
I turn down into the corridor and hear someone screaming. She sounds terrified. I nearly run smack into Ryan and Neil, two of t
he transporters. Jesus, no wonder she’s terrified. Does no one think in this place? It’s got to be bad enough being sent to some strange place in the middle of the mountains, never mind these huge guys hanging around.
“It’s okay guys, I’ll take it from here.”
“You sure, Dr. Carmichael?”
“I’m sure. Thanks, gentlemen.” I wait until they have passed me before I go any further.
The sound of crashing furniture interrupts me as I head into the room and catch Cythia’s wide eyes. Cynthia’s cool. There’s nothing she’s not seen in the last fifteen years here. Well, apart from my ‘unorthodox methods’ that she’s complained to my dad about, but I’ll chat with her later about that.
A girl with bright orange hair turns around. Who the hell? This isn’t the Carter girl I saw in the hospital. Is it? Jesus, what has she done? I’m in shock at the way her hair is all pulled in tight cornrows off her face. I can’t even make her face out covered in all that black gunk, and she stinks of weed.
“Get away from me. I’m leaving.”
Okay, I’ve got to calm her down. I haven’t seen anyone as scared as this for a long time. They’re normally full of bravado and attitude.
I clear my throat and perfect my dad’s ‘kind’ look. “Olivia, you’re here to stay, whether you like it or not, so you might as well cooperate. You’ve been sent here by a judge. There are lots of people who can really help you if you give it a chance.”
“I don’t want anyone’s fucking help. Now get away from me.”
Oh shit, that worked well. Now she’s hyperventilating. I’ve got to do something to distract her. I move fast and lock her in a grip from behind. My ears hurt from her screaming. The shower. Yes, the water will make her feel better. God, she’s strong. I knew she was a fighter when I saw her in the hospital. I drag her into the bathroom and turn on the shower on both of us. She’s trembling, but it’s fear and not withdrawal. I hold onto her tighter trying to make her feel safe or to distract her from whatever is scaring her. What’s the story here? After some time, she starts sobbing. Yes, that’s good. Most of these kids keep stuff locked up inside of them and that’s bad news. Her fight’s going so I loosen my grip, still holding her with one hand and using the other to push the shampoo dispenser, and massage the liquid into her head. My fiancée always said having her hair washed made her feel better.
“Just let it all out, Olivia. That’s it. Don’t hold it in.”
I hold her, supporting her slumped body with mine, rocking and reassuring her gently as her sobs rack my body.
Cynthia steps into the wet room with some towels, making eyes at me that say ‘unorthodox method’ as I switch off the shower.
“Kid, Cynthia is going to help you get out of these wet clothes and get into something more comfortable.” And with that I run out of there, my heart pounding in my chest.
Chapter Fourteen
Olivia Carter
I’m shivering so badly, the whole bed is shaking. My t-shirt is drenched in sweat and I’ve never been so frozen. I don’t think I’ve ever felt icicles every time my teeth hit each other making that horrible shattering sound. My jaw is aching. I’m so scared that I start crying and shouting for help.
Two minutes later the door bursts open and it’s the angel and another lady with a clipboard and a walkie talkie.
In no time, the angel is beside my bed. He pulls the covers off, holding his hand to my head and feeling the pulse on the side of my neck.
“She’s drenched. We need more t-shirts and we’d better get a stack of sick bowls.”
The other lady pulls out five t-shirts from a drawer and helps me out of the one that’s stuck to me. It’s so wet it could be the one I was wearing in the shower.
The angel returns with a pile of gray cardboard trilby hat-shaped bowls and a jug of water with ice.
I stand at the side of the room hanging my head and swaying as if I can hear music. Sudden gut-wrenching waves of nausea sweep over me as they change the bedsheets, which were also drenched. How could a single person sweat so much?
A dry heave splices right through me and someone shoves a bowl in my hand.
“Okay Olivia, let’s get you back into bed now,” says the angel. He knows my name. Maybe Momma sent him.
As I get back into bed they place an ice pack at the base of my neck and a wet washcloth on my forehead. It feels so good and I feel the pulsating throbbing at my temples subside at the comforting iciness. But it doesn’t last long before another heave and I’m vomiting bile into another gray bowl. I struggle to hold the bowl as the shivering returns again.
“Please help me. Get a doctor. I need something to take away all of this.” I whimper at them both pleadingly.
“Olivia, you can’t get any medication to help you through this. They don’t do that here.”
What? What is this sadistic place that my dear Uncle Preston has sent me to?
My body is cold, my body is on fire, my head feels like it is going to burst, my heart is pounding out of my chest, my legs seems to have a life of their own, dancing a jig while I desperately try to keep them still to dull the aching within. The stomach cramping, churning sensation I’m experiencing is worse than any period or gastritis bug I’ve ever had. My throat feels as if I’ve swallowed a ball of my panty-hose and I can’t even swallow my own saliva. I’m dry-wretching now as there isn’t even any bile left and I’m terrified that I’m going to die like this without any of my family around me. I must have said this aloud because the angel says:
“No. Olivia, I’m not going to let anyone die. You have to trust us. You need to stay calm and try and take some deep breaths. The physical symptoms you are feeling will pass.” He wipes my tears away with his thumbs.
I can hear screaming again and realize that it’s me. The angel sits behind me, his arms and legs wrapped around me from behind, holding me in a strong grip on the floor in the corner of the room, rocking and singing to me as my body burns and rots in hell for the whole night.
The sun seeps in through the window forcing me to slowly open my eyes.
“Miss Parker, good morning to you.”
I recognize the smooth gravelly voice as Cynthia’s, and feel her hand stroking the back of my head as I turn to face her. I’m lying back in the bed surrounded by pillows and empty sick bowls. A shudder passes through me at the thought of what passed the night before. I don’t know whether it was all a nightmare or this is all real.
“Morning, Cynthia,” I manage to say.
My greeting causes Cynthia to grin an even bigger grin than the day before causing her eyes to crinkle up so they look closed.
“Would you like to shower this morning, my dear? Then maybe we can venture out for a tour of the place and the grounds? I can also go through some of the rules for staying here. We missed doing that yesterday.”
“I’ll try. I still don’t feel very well.”
“Good girl. I’ll leave out a towel and some clothes for you and come back to check on you when you’re done.” Once again, out of my room, Cynthia swishes again.
It takes everything out of me to pull the covers back, but I manage and somehow my legs get me to the bathroom. As soon as I sit down on the toilet I get the worst cramps in my stomach again followed by an explosion of diarrhea. The longer I sit on the toilet, the worse the cramps in my stomach become so I finish up and head straight over to the shower. As I stand beneath the heavy rainfall from the ceiling my mind drifts back to the angel who held me and helped me during the night. I wonder who he could be and why he’s helping me?
I stagger back to the bedroom, drying myself, my body tormented with the exhaustion of the assault of not getting the drugs it had been craving. I put on a set of gray jogging bottoms and a gray t-shirt and some flip flops and just about fall back onto the bed when Cynthia comes back into the room and we slowly venture out.
I pass a group of other teenagers all gathered around a map, talking over each other, wearing identical whistles around
their necks.
I couldn’t be more out of place if I tried, but I should be used to that by now.
“Let’s go and do a meet-and-greet with the rest of your group.”
“My group?”
“Yes, there will be six of you that will all go on your adventure challenges together.”
Bubbles of bile fizz at the base of my stomach.
“Adventure challenges?” This could not get any worse.
“Hiking, climbing, canoeing, ropes courses and group games. And when you feel better, we’ll move you to one of these rooms,” she says, pointing to a giant safari-style tent.
It dawns on me that I am going to be living in a room made of cotton canvas and wood, in the Red Rock Canyons of Utah for the next eight weeks.
Cynthia watches me as we step inside.
“Some of this wood is the original repurposed wood from the 1830s, you know. Wonderful isn’t it?”
Cynthia passes me a small polystyrene cup, “Olivia, if you would be so kind as to pee in this cup please and then put the lid back on it. Thank you.”
“What?”
“Compulsory drug testing,” she says, as she stops outside a door with a toilet sign on it.
As I sit on the toilet, trying to make sure that my stream of urine actually goes into the cup and not all over my hand, I can hear Clair de Lune being played on a piano, the notes disappearing into the wilderness.
*
Cynthia pushes open a door, the rabble of noise and laughter inside the room making me jump. No one even looks at me when I enter the room. They’ve obviously been here for a while and seem to have all met each other. As per usual, I’m the outsider. I see Dr. Nate Carmichael, who winks at me, his kind smile touching the outer corner of his eyes. The angel is there, too, showing two boys how to tie a knot in a piece of rope. His eyes are like a harder version of Dr. Carmichael’s and they have the same cheekbones and jaw line.
“Okay everyone, can you all grab a chair and lets put it in a circle in the center of the room. This will be our circle of friendship,” says Dr. Carmichael as he starts the process off.
