My bed? I glanced around, the water bringing some sort of clarity I hadn’t had before. I was in a bed. A bed in a plain gray room. A TV was suspended on the wall across from me, playing some muted show. I glanced at my arm and found one of them bandaged with thick white gauze. The other had tubes running out of it, with clear liquid running through them.
I’m in the hospital.
“Rhett’s right. You’re going to be okay.” I glanced up and met gazes with Taylor. He sat in a chair just on the other side of where Rhett stood. He was close. Close enough that if he wanted to reach out and touch my leg he could.
“I’m alive?”
Something hard flickered across Taylor’s features before his mask became neutral again. “Yes.”
Fear swam inside me. It was the same fear she felt. The woman in the mirror. The woman who decided to kill herself. I knew that woman was me. We were connected together, the two of us. The gap between us closing in by the second.
“I was supposed to die.” My voice cracked on the end.
“Shhh.” I glanced up at Rhett. He rubbed his hand back and forth over my bandaged arm. “Let’s not talk about that right now.” He looked concerned, worried. I would have been comforted by it, if Taylor wasn’t sitting just feet away. I could feel his eyes zeroed in on Rhett’s hand. On the way he touched me. It was full of hate. Of resentment.
If I get out of here, he’s going to make me wish I was dead.
A cold sweat covered my body from head to toe as I stared at him. There was a buzzing sound next to me, but I didn’t pay attention to it. All I could see was Taylor. His blue eyes. The way he stared at me. All of his emotions. All the things he wanted to do to me. He would destroy me. He would break me down into something less than I already was.
I have nothing left to lose.
Everything. I have everything.
An ache started just between my eyes and made me suck in a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut to try and block out the pain.
Rhett’s hand rubbed against mine. “You’re okay, you’ve lost a lot of blood, along with everything else…” His voice shook. “But you’re okay now.”
I touched my hand to my head trying to rub away the hurt.
“I’m supposed to be dead.” My words were stronger now. Bitter. Hatred seeped into them. I couldn’t get anything right. I couldn’t even kill myself. I fucked everything up. Everything.
“But you’re not. And that’s a good thing.” Rhett’s voice was full of emotion, the sound unrecognizable. I glanced up, meeting his eyes. I didn’t see the hate I was accustomed to. It was just him. Just Rhett. The good Rhett. The one I dreamed about.
The buzzing sounded again and this time I realized it came from Rhett’s pocket. He reached inside and pulled out his cell phone.
“Dammit, I really need to take this.” He gave me an uncertain look, as if he didn’t really want to leave. “I’m just going to step outside. I’ll be right back, Dad will stay in here with you.” He patted my arm and turned away.
“No.” The word was out of my mouth before I could think about it. But he didn’t hear me, pressing the phone to his ear and heading out the door. “No.” I said the word again, but he was already gone and I was alone. Alone with him. With Taylor.
Panic was like a spotlight beneath my skin. It illuminated my fears, highlighting them in its cold glow.
“No. No. No. No. No. No.” My lips trembled. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t look at him. I stared down at my arm. At the bandage. At the tubes running into the other. If I didn’t look at him maybe he would disappear. Maybe this wasn’t real. Yes, that’s what it is! It was the only explanation. It couldn’t be real. Or maybe this is hell.
A bubble of laughter escaped my lips as I flexed my wrist, pain snaked up my arm.
“We need to talk, Faye baby.”
I jumped. He was right next to me. Somehow he had moved without me noticing. He was standing over me. Like Rhett had, only it was different with him. I wasn’t comforted. I wasn’t filled with a longing. The only thing I could feel was fear.
“No!” I shirked away until my shoulder hit the bed railing.
“Why are you moving away? I’m not going to do anything.” He held his hands up revealing that they were empty, before leaning toward me.
“Don’t. Please.” I closed my eyes. “Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t touch you?” His words were hostile.
“I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.” Suddenly I was back there. I was in his bed. The bed he shared with my mother. The bed that had become home. The bed where I cried. Where I came. Where I snorted coke off Taylor’s hand. Where I begged him to save me. Where I spoke words of love that I didn’t mean. Where he held the knife. The shiny switchblade that glittered in the light until it didn’t anymore. Until it was red. Soaked. Covered in the little pieces of me he sliced away. “Not again.”
I heard myself speak the words. As if I was someone else. Just a third party. Just a girl looking in. Looking on that sad girl. The one she saw in the mirror. The one who wanted to die, but couldn’t even get that right. I watched her. The poisonous one. I watched as she opened her eyes. She looked up at him. At the man who whittled away at her until there was nothing left.
That girl ripped the bandage off her arm. She didn’t even look down at the newly stitched wound. The wound that was deep enough to nearly kill her. She dug her dirty fingernails into the precisely sewn threads and ripped at her skin until they tore free. It hurt her. I saw her wince. The girl. But he didn’t see. He tried to stop her. But he couldn’t. The wound was torn open, the blood was everywhere all at once. And she was jerking out her IV, yanking the line free of her arm.
And the entire time her lips moved. Over and over she said the words. “Never again.”
THREE
I woke up, my head, my limbs aching. It actually was strange that I noticed. No one actually thinks about waking up. But I did. Today I thought about it. I didn’t wake up in that gray room to Taylor standing over me.
I woke up alone. The little room had yellow walls, a wooden desk, a chair, a brown door with a window, but from my position in bed I couldn’t see what the window revealed. Plain and empty. That’s what it was. I tried to push my hair out of my face, but I couldn’t. My hands were bound to the sides of the bed by some sort of material. I blinked at it. At the bandage on my arm. What happened didn’t come rushing back to me all of the sudden. Not this time. It was already there. In my mind. I knew why I was tied up. It was to keep me from trying to do it again. From trying to kill myself. I had tried again. Again I had failed.
The door opened.
I sucked in a breath when Rhett was revealed in the doorway. He stood there looking every bit as normal as I last saw him. A little scruff on his face. Jeans on his legs. A tight shirt clinging to his muscles. He was beautiful. Normal. Maybe I finally made it to heaven?
“You’re awake.” He closed the door behind him and pulled the chair up to the bed.
“I am.” I reached to move my hair so I could see him better, but again the material straps hindered me.
“I got it.” He smoothed the strands behind my ear.
“Is he here?” I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to talk about him. But I had to know.
“Who?” He frowned.
I swallowed. “Taylor.”
“No…” He eyed me with concern. “I wouldn’t let him come. The doctors suggested he should stay away.”
A sense of calm settled over me and I relaxed into the pillows at my back.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you want him here? Why did you do this, again? Why…” He pressed his fist against his mouth as if he was forcing himself to shut up. “You don’t have to answer that. They told me I couldn’t ask questions about it. They said it would upset you. They didn’t even want me to come.” He spoke quickly. “They weren’t going to let me. They said I couldn’t. That it was best fo
r you to be alone. But fuck that. I couldn’t let you just wake up in here by yourself.”
“Where is here?”
Rhett let out a deep breath. “This is Landview Psychiatric Hospital.”
“A place for crazy people?” I couldn’t help but giggle. It made sense that I would be here. A crazy house. I was crazy wasn’t I? Psychotic. That must be what I was. It was the only conclusion. The only answer.
“You’re not crazy. It’s just until you get better. Until your head gets straight. They’re going to put you on medicine soon. Medicine to help with the withdrawals. They’re going to help you get clean and better.”
“Clean?” The ache under my skin was nothing new, but it was there. Apparent and glaring at me. “I can’t get clean, Rhett. I need it. I need the coke.” Panic flared again.
“That’s just what you think. They’re going to help you get over that and get through this.”
“No, Rhett. You don’t understand. You don’t get how much it hurts.” As if on cue the pounding in my head seemed to worsen. “I can’t stay here. Not without the drugs. I need them,” I said frantically pulling at my wrists.
“He said you would do this. That you would beg for it.” He rubbed his temples. “I just wasn’t prepared for it.”
“Who? Who said that?”
“Dad.” He glanced up at me and there was real sadness in his eyes. “How did it get this bad, Faye? How did I not see it? How did I let you get so far gone that you wanted to die?”
This was it. My chance. My opportunity to tell the truth. I could tell him how it got so bad. How I turned to fucking strangers and doing drugs to replace the feel of Taylor’s hands on me. How I did it all to dull the pain of the past. Of losing my baby. Of the torture.
I stared into his eyes. They were so green. That kind of green that gets lighter toward the middle with little hints of honey color right around the pupil. They were a dreamer’s eyes. He’d had dreams once. Of doing things different. Of swimming in the ocean with manatees and sharks. Of studying them as his life’s work. That sparkle was still there, that hope of different world, a different outcome, a better tomorrow. I wondered if I had ever had that sparkle, or if I had always been this beaten down pulp of a person.
“I don’t know.” The words were out before I could reconsider them. They were hanging there between us and I realized my chance was gone. The chance to tell the truth. I’d replaced it with words that meant nothing.
He glanced away and I could see it. The disappointment. It was painted all over his features. But it couldn’t begin to rival the disappointment I had in myself. I just couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t say them. If I did, what would I even say? I didn’t know. Just the thought of saying them out loud felt like a lie. The look on Taylor’s face made them a lie. His smooth voice. He would always win. He didn’t even have to be here to get his way.
Tears pressed at the backs of my eyes. “How long will I be here?” I choked out.
“I don’t know yet. You just have to take your time getting better, healing. And when you are, I will be waiting for you.”
I considered his words. “Will they really help me get better?” The pounding in my head only seemed to get worse by the minute.
“Yes, they will. Before I leave the doctor is going to come in and introduce himself along with some of the other people who will be working with you. There is a whole team of people that are dedicated to helping you get better.”
“And you?” My bottom lip trembled when I whispered the words.
The look he gave me told me everything I needed to know. It was as if his heart was breaking right there. “I won’t be able to see you until you’re out. This experience is for you. So you can get better and not be burdened with the past. You don’t have to worry about anyone but yourself.”
“I want it to be you.”
He frowned. “But I—”
“That picks me up. I don’t want Taylor to come.”
He nodded his head slowly, keeping his eyes on my face. “Did something happen, Faye? With Dad?”
And there it was again. I had the opportunity, the chance to come out and say it. “No.” I shook my head slowly. “Nothing. I just don’t want to see him.”
“I’m actually kind of surprised. I figured you would want it to be him.”
Alarm skittered across my skin. “Why would you think that?”
He smiled sheepishly. “It’s a good sign, really. It’s proof you will get better.”
The alarm went away. “Why do you say that?”
“Since he gave you some of the drugs over the last month. It would make sense that you would ask for him in hopes of that.”
“No.” I wanted them. I wanted some coke more than anything, but not at the price Taylor would make me pay. Before I would have given anything for that bump, but not now. Not since Taylor knew the truth about my prostitution. Not since I tried to kill myself twice to get away from him. The torture he had in store for me would be horrifying—worse than death. Just thinking about it made me flex my wrists at my side, welcoming the pain that shot up the arm I had butchered. I would gladly rip it open again before I went anywhere near Taylor. “Just you.”
He eyed me with uncertainty, but nodded slowly. “You can come back from this. You can get better.” His voice cracked at the end, as if he was scared that he was wrong. As if he didn’t believe the words, not really. He was just saying them to make me feel better or maybe to make himself feel better.
“You don’t have to say that,” I said quietly. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap swiping one thumb against the other.
“You have to get better.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Yes, you are. You’re addicted to drugs.”
“That doesn’t make me sick.”
“It makes you lost.”
I bit my lip. He was right. Lost was the only thing I had been my whole life. The wandering girl who fucked her daddy and lusted after her brother. That was me.
“But anyone can be found.” His words were stronger now, more certain. But his eyes were glassy as if tears were hiding just behind them.
“I can’t be fixed, Rhett.” It was the first truth I had spoken since he’d walked in.
“Anything broken can be fixed.”
I shook my head and I felt them, the tears, my own threatening to spill over. Taylor flashed into my head. Standing over me. The knife in his hand, a sinister smile tilting his lips. “It’s not that simple,” I whispered.
Rhett reached out and touched the bandage on my arm. The wound ached now beneath it’s fancy wrapping. His fingers skimmed over the white material, making his skin seem so tan against the pale white color. A dusting of gold hair covered the back of his arm. I wanted to clasp his hand in mine and hold it tightly. I wanted to hold on to this moment forever. It seemed silly. There was nothing about this time that made it significant. I was just a cocaine addict, strapped to a bed in a crazy hospital, the wounds of my attempted suicides fresh and throbbing.
But it was Rhett that made all that disappear. His gentle hand on my bandage. I couldn’t feel his touch, but it was there and for those few moments his fingers glided back and forth I was at peace.
And for the first time in years I felt it. The slightest glimmer of hope. It fluttered somewhere deep inside me as his strong fingers moved back in forth. Maybe things could get better. Even if it was just for now. Just for a few stolen moments.
I could pretend I was different and that things really would be okay. That I wasn’t poison. That the filth of my sins didn’t ruin everything I loved.
It was just a few moments, but they changed everything.
FOUR
Three months later
I wanted to say I was a whole new person. That the last three months had changed me completely. But they hadn’t. I hadn’t had a single whiff of cocaine in that time. I was still there, at the psychiatric hospital getting treatment. I felt better, that was the truth. I wasn’t exh
austed or tired anymore. The lethargic miserable spells passed eventually, but when they did I was left with something else. Clarity.
It was easy to pretend that my past wasn’t real when I was on the drugs. I was able to pass through life in a haze. Each scene playing through with a thick greasy film covering the moments, making them far away and surreal. Just a fuzzy reality that I didn’t care about it.
But now the fuzziness was gone. Wiped away like it had never been. I didn’t like the clarity. The emotions that came with it were almost unbearable.
“Tell me another story, Faye.”
I glanced up at the middle-aged man sitting across from me. Three months ago he had been a stranger. But not now. He was George Petrony, my counselor. The nurses all called him Dr. Petrony, but he let me call him George in our sessions. I hadn’t wanted to talk to him. Not at first. What was there to say? Nothing and everything all at once. But each day had become a little different. Each day I started to share a little more. I didn’t want to. Not really. But then it just started coming out. But the stories I told him weren’t mine. At least I told him they weren’t. They were about a girl I knew. A stranger.
“I don’t think I have any more.” I fidgeted with the ends of my hair. The dark locks in wavy disarray around my shoulders.
“Oh, you say that every day. But you always find one.”
He held a small computer in his hand and I knew he used it to record the stories I told him about Stranger. I had come to like sharing with him. He didn’t seem to mind listening and he didn’t accuse me of lying. Of course, why would he? They were just stories. Just tales about a stranger.
“I guess I do have one.” There were so many, dancing around in my head. The utter precision of them, gut-wrenching.
A tight smile spread across George’s lips. I suspected he had once been a nice looking man, but he was overweight now, his wedding ring barely fitting on one of his chubby fingers. His hair was thinning and a little gray.
“Is this one about Stranger again?” he asked.
The Filthy Series: The Complete Dark Erotic Serial Novel Page 13
