by J. B. Havens
“Here’s how it was. I had a practice and was reasonably successful. I was helping people, or I thought I was.” He shrugged, not wanting to continue, but one look at her panicked face made him keep talking, albeit with a heavy heart and a deep sigh. “I don’t know if I got cocky or what, but I lost a patient unexpectedly. After that, I passed my patients off to other doctors and shut my practice down. I saw the ad for this job in the paper and thought it would be perfect. Collect rent and fix leaky faucets—easy.” He gave her a smile and a shrug. Her breathing was going back to normal. No more sweat was visible.
“Then I came to get two months back rent from you and things changed. I can’t walk away from you. I don’t think much of myself anymore, but I think I can help you. I know I have to try; not just for you, but also for myself.” He pulled her to the couch and shoved everything onto the floor so they could sit.
“I don’t know what to say, Mark.” She squeezed her hands between her knees and stared at the floor.
“Do you know what you have? I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I have a diagnosis.” He thought about trying to hold her hand, but she was too closed off.
“No. I don’t know what I have. All I know is that something is wrong with me. I get scared, so scared sometimes that I can’t breathe. My heart races and I sweat. I get stomach pains and throw up, too. I feel like I’m going crazy and my whole body tingles.” I was getting upset again with the telling. Talking about it was supposed to help, right? Wasn’t that the first step? Admitting out loud that you have a problem? I had more than just panic to deal with, though. Mark had left something out of his story. It was too matter of fact and emotionless. He said he had lost a patient. Where did he lose him or her, the bus stop? There was only one thing it could have been: suicide.
Take a breath, Audri, one thing at a time, I told myself. He had said that he didn’t want to talk about what was making him help me, any more than I wanted to talk about needing help. But here we both were, talking and opening up. Maybe I could help him as much as he was helping me. With a mental nod, I continued telling him what I hated talking about more than anything in the world.
“It started small, only every few weeks or so, but it just kept happening until I felt like I couldn’t go out without having an attack in public. I stopped driving first, then I was too scared to go out anywhere, even if I walked. I can’t walk out that door. That’s why there’s garbage in here, and my clothes are all dirty. I can’t take the trash out or go downstairs to the laundry room.” I buried my face in my hands. I felt so weak and ashamed, weak for having this in the first place and drained emotionally. I kept my head buried in the figurative sand waiting for him to respond. What was the super Mr. Fix-It-Head-Doctor going to say? Admitting that I had a problem and wanting help didn’t mean that I thought it was possible to fix me. I was too broken inside. I didn’t think he could pick up the pieces, let alone put them back together again.
I heard a deep sigh from him. Maybe he didn’t have a diagnosis after all. Did I just scare away my one chance at help? I fucking hoped not, because if this didn’t work, I was not getting another chance. I knew that. I had to try, even if I didn’t have any faith that it would work. After hearing his half-assed story and knowing my own fucked-up issues, it was becoming clearer to me by the minute that we needed each other.
“I think you have panic disorder and agoraphobia. You experience intense fear about everyday things. You’ve gotten to the point that you’re so afraid of having another attack, you stay at home trying to avoid stressors. In doing so, though, you actually make it worse, because now you can’t handle being out of your comfort zone. I can help you slowly leave this apartment and learn to control your attacks and not be so afraid of them. Eventually, we need to get to the root cause of the panic, what triggered this in you.”
He looked a question at me as if asking ‘are you ready for this? Do you want to do this?’
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words stuck. Heck of a diagnosis, Mr. Fix It. It fits in every way. Could I trust him to help me? I knew some of the paranoia was unfounded, but I had just met the guy. I wanted this. I knew I needed this. I knew the root cause unequivocally, but I wasn’t even close to being ready to think about it. Was I willing to trust him with my deepest, darkest secrets? Did I want him to see how broken I really was and how deep my own personal darkness went? He was waiting patiently for me to say something, only I didn’t know what to say. I needed time.
“I need some time. This is a lot to take in all at once. I want help, but I think getting the bed clean enough to sleep in is my limit for today. Tomorrow is soon enough to open that door and consider stepping out.” I looked him in the eye, this time, wanting to see what was there. I tried to read his face, but it was like reading a stone etched with an unknown language. I could see something written there, but I had no idea what it said.
“Fair enough. So I take it you accept my diagnosis?” He tilted his head to the side when he was really intent on an answer. His sandy hair was long enough that it brushed his shoulder when he held his head like that. It was astounding what things you noticed about people once you were in a stressful situation with them, even in a short period of time.
“Yes, Doctor. I accept your diagnosis. Can we keep cleaning now? It’s getting late, and I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day for both of us.” I was being sarcastic and knew it. I’m an ungrateful bitch. I needed some space and was going to go about getting it, in the same manner I always did: by pushing him away.
“Don’t call me ‘Doctor.'” His voice was like steel, and the anger was back. Okay, no doctor and no touching. If he keeps this up, it’s going to be a hell of a list. I nodded and stood up.
I put my gloves back on and went back to work without another word. I meant it when I said that I needed time and a chance to think and process all of this. I had to remember that shallow breathing and walking trick. It really helped. I was resentful of him. I’m not sure why I would do it, but knew if I kept talking to him, I would say something regretful. And I didn’t want to drive him away like I had pushed away everyone else in my life. This was my last chance, and I couldn’t fuck it up. As I cleaned and sorted, I kept telling myself that. Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up. It also kept me from thinking about cars, the sound of squealing tires, and the hulking emptiness inside of me.
We got all of the trash picked up, and Mark took it to the garbage chute. I looked around me in amazement. The floors needed to be scrubbed, and the carpet in the living room needed to be vacuumed and shampooed, but it was a great start. No sleeping on the couch tonight, I thought. I need to go into the bedroom and sleep in my bed.
Walking back there, I opened the door slowly. I knew what was there and what was not. Avoiding this room never made sense to me. I don’t know why I did it. There were no pictures or mementos. We had never lived here. I had sold the house after it happened and moved in here. Maybe the bedroom held a ghost of a memory that traveled with me. I mentally girded my loins and stepped inside.
No flashes of memory greeted me, just a slightly dusty room. I pulled back the bedspread and touched the sheets. They were clean, but stale smelling. Here was something I could fix at least. I got the fabric freshener and sprayed the entire room over and over. Maybe it would work on ghosts with the same ease as fabric smells. Even doing such a small thing to help myself gave me courage for what was to come. Hearing Mark come back in, I went out to tell him goodbye. I felt as if I’d had enough of company for a lifetime, though I knew tomorrow would start the hard part. The scab on my heart was loosening. What would it reveal? Would I drown in sorrow once again, or would the sun shine on me and finally start to heal me? I held my face to the last of the sun coming through the open windows of the living room. It felt like a small benediction for my soul.
****
Mark entered Audri’s apartment to see her standing in front of the window with the sun shining on her face. She had such a look
of complete peace, he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. He saw what he hadn’t seen before. He saw her soul deep in her eyes. A beautiful and damaged woman was hiding there. What happened to you? He thought. What made you so scared to leave your home? He felt lucky to bear witness to this moment of peace that she was having, with the sun lighting up her dark hair and highlighting her pale skin, making it glow. It had been so long since Mark had noticed a woman in any way beyond the superficial, that he was humbled and awed at the sight. It was good to be reminded that he was human too, if even for just a moment.
The sight in front of him made him even more determined to help her, and he knew that in helping her, he would also help himself. He was envious of the peace she was experiencing. He wanted to have his own moment in the sun and light. For now, he had to be happy with standing beside her and letting her warm him. He was going to let the light coming back into her eyes shine a light on him. She turned then, giving him that small secret smile every woman has. Her eyes reflected an inner peace and strength that felt like a punch to his chest. All the breath left him in a rush. If she, who was by her own admission a broken woman, could find peace within herself, then he could find it too. He felt a solidarity with her that he wasn’t sure she was aware of. He reached a hand toward her, hoping to warm himself for just a moment. He’d been so cold for so long that he was like a moth to the flame, wanting warmth so much that he was willing to risk being burned. The thought of burning shook him, and he dropped his hand. Her smile was gone now, replaced by confusion. He wondered if she knew that she had a glass face, every thought written and pictured for him to read. She was trying so hard to hide from him. He could almost see the truth there. He took a step back, both mentally and physically.
****
Mark looked so stricken by something. What was going on in that head of his, I wondered? I shook it off; I’d had enough deep thought for the day. I just wanted to crawl into my bed and sleep for a week.
“My bed is more or less clean. Clean enough to sleep on at least. Tomorrow I’ll start washing things. Going to the laundry room can be my first steps since it doesn’t require actually leaving the building.” I gave him a tentative smile.
“That’s a good idea. How does nine tomorrow morning sound to you? I know it’s early, but I will bribe you with coffee and bagels. No more junk food for you. Eating better and getting some regular exercise will help you more than you think. Taking care of your mental health is vital, but it’s a whole body thing, not just a brain thing. The body is a machine, and like any machine, it needs regular maintenance. Good fuel is important; when you use it, the whole machine works better, including your brain. Does that make sense to you?” He explained this in a rehearsed way like it was something he had said many times before.
“Yeah. It makes a lot of sense, actually. Nine a.m. is fine.” I sighed, I was not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. In my mind, those people were from another planet. Before coffee, I am like a creature from the abyss, ready to wrap you in my tentacles and suck the life out of you in search of my caffeine. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though.
“See you in the morning. Remember what I told you. Shallow breaths and walking if you start to get panicked again.”
“Will do, Mark. See you tomorrow. Thanks again for everything.” Our exchange was getting drawn out and awkward. Will he just freaking leave already? I wasn’t going to slice and dice myself in the tub tonight. Get out of my apartment already, I got this.
Seeing me staring at the door finally snapped him out of shrink mode and he left, quietly shutting the door behind him. So different from his earlier slamming and shouting that it felt anticlimactic. I could feel a cloud of foreboding descend on me after he left. The empty quiet surrounded me and fell on my head and ears with every step he took down the hall until I couldn’t hear him anymore and I was alone with my heavy thoughts. I was so anxious for him to leave and now that he was gone, I realized again just how alone I was. The quiet and solitude that was such a comfort to me before now seemed oppressive and stagnant.
Why did emotions become so solid when I was alone in an empty room? They were just neurons in my brain firing away in an electric dance with hormones, although they felt as solid as the floor beneath my feet and the cold glass under my fingertips. I curled my hand into a fist trying to hold onto reality, not wanting to slip into the past and the memories in the darkness. My nails bit into my palm, bringing me back with each small prick and tiny pain. Pain was an old friend, my only companion for more days that I could count. I remembered the prick of the IV needle and the strange beeping of monitors by my head, each beep tracking a beat of my broken heart. How could a broken heart beat so strongly and regularly? I would stare at the line looking for evidence of what I felt, for such complete loss should have been visible somewhere other than inside me.
I rubbed my arms, trying to rid myself of the feeling of the needles in them, because even now if I think too hard, I can still feel their pull and the itch of the tape. I rubbed my hand over my belly too, remembering a different pull and itch there. Staples and stitches layered under bandages, while deep inside there was an emptiness. I felt hollowed out as if I was a melon and someone had scooped out my insides with a spoon, leaving no trace behind of what once was there. The only trace was my muscle memory. Just like with the needles, if I thought hard and deep, I could get past the hollowed out melon feeling and feel a warm fullness. A promise of new life and new beginnings.
I held onto that feeling as I readied myself for bed. The familiar routine felt strange after so long without it. Brushing my teeth and hair, putting on what passed for pajamas, locking the door and turning off the lights. Things most people do every night of their lives, but I had not done for months. My sense of self was returning with every normal thing I did. It felt strange but good, like seeing a friend for the first time in years. It was uncomfortable at first, but with each step, it became more routine and wonderfully ‘every day’. I suddenly realized that was what I wanted out of this cleansing. I wanted a normal everyday life, full of everyday things. I wanted to stress about balancing my checkbook, not about having a panic attack at the thought of leaving my apartment.
As I climbed into my bed for what felt like the first time, my last thought before falling asleep was knowing that what I wanted, and actually making it happen were two entirely different things.
I dream…..finally, a peaceful dream. I dream of our tidy brick colonial with its white picket fence. The sun is shining on a warm spring day full of wishes come true. I see him then, and a feeling of homecoming strikes me with such force that I feel as if I’ll be flattened by it. The early spring sun sparks his hair with golden highlights and makes his green eyes dance with light. He is doing spring cleanup in our flowerbeds. We put in the flower beds because we thought we should, not from any love of gardening. We like the way it makes our tiny yard look, but we force ourselves to weed and plant. This is the only chore he enjoys. He cheerfully rips out last year’s attempts of curb appeal with the abandon of a child. His hands are dirty, and there are dead plants and weeds all around him. He has a look on his face like an avenging hero returned from a long voyage and glorious battle. See, his face says, look at the enemies I’ve slain in your name, fair maiden.
I smile at him, a huge grin because I am so happy to see him. I have wonderful news. News we had been hoping for years to get. Today is a day of renewal. It seems so fitting to hear this news on a beautiful spring day when all the world is becoming new and full of life. I jump into his arms and hold him close. I feel as if I will burst with joy, almost hoping I will, to release the building pressure inside me. The urgent need to tell him would no longer be denied. I lean close and try to whisper in his ear. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. He looks at me in confusion; not talking, just staring at me. I try so hard, but the words are stuck in my throat. The joyous feeling that brought me here leaves me in a rush, and I am hollow again.
&n
bsp; NO!
I woke up, tasting a scream on my lips…hearing its echo in the room.
The End
Coming Up Next
Molly: A Survivor
Molly: A Survivor
Chapter 1
The silence was the worst part. This new world was full of terrors and nightmares; those I had gotten used to. I had been forced to grow accustomed to these walking horrors or I would have died months ago. The long stretches of unending silence did more to drive me insane than the monsters that ruled this world ever could.
The sound of my own breathing echoed back to me. I kept my knees drawn up to my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around them. Shivering and wet, I was unable to get warm. I had climbed in here to escape a heavy rain shower. A hacking cough wracked my frail body. Three months ago, this cold wouldn’t be enough to slow me down longer than it took to pop some meds and keep going. Now, malnourished and without even the most basic of comforts, this cold could very well kill me.
The ambulance I had taken shelter in at least had the luxury of a bed, even if it was in the form of a gurney stripped of sheets and blankets. All the cabinets were empty, long since cleaned out of anything useful. My only possessions were in a simple backpack beside me. A few bottles of water, three stale granola bars I had scavenged, and a baseball bat. I had hammered long nails through the top and wrapped it with razor wire. It was messy, but very effective.
