by Amanda Wals
Every step I took was torture, the pain in my sides and face was tremendous. I wiped my face with a paint rag and saw an alarming amount of blood on the rag. There was a sharp stab every time I took a breath. I wondered if this was what a punctured lung felt like. I decided to go to the emergency room when I left here. I'd have to make up a story of some kind, but I thought I may be seriously hurt. I couldn't tell, I wasn't thinking clearly around the searing white hot pain.
When I made the first extremely painful trip down the staircase, I saw my father pacing back and forth in the living room. I didn't see anyone else. I dropped my bags in the trunk of my car and went back upstairs to pack more of my stuff. Mom's car was gone. She had taken Amy somewhere, I guessed.
"You are not to come back here. Not to stay. Not to visit. You are through in this household." He said to me, not roaring this time. His voice was hard and grim. "After you leave today, I never want to lay eyes on you again."
"We never meant for you to find out like this. We were going to sit you guys down and talk to you about it."
"It wouldn't make a difference. You fucking degenerate piece of shit. Get your crap and go."
"Where's Amy?"
"She went with your mother. Now get out of my house." He growled.
After I finished packing the things that I needed the most and loading the car, I pulled away from the house with a little less than five minutes to spare. I parked at the end of the street and waited. Mom's car was still not in the driveway. She and Amy did not return in the several hours that followed.
I sat in the car for a long time. I cried sporadically, which hurt like hell every time my chest heaved. I wait until nearly dark, but never saw any sign of them. I punched the steering wheel in frustration, sending fresh lightning bolts of pain through my sides, and cursed aloud.
Part Five.
I sat on the bench outside of the hospital for a long while. I don't know if I was feeling shock, exhaustion, or just complete emotional devastation. Maybe I hurt so badly inside that my body shut down all feeling in response. I'm not sure. All I know is that I simply felt hollow. Hollow and numb.
It could have been all the goddamned painkillers they had given me for all I knew.
Finally, I made myself get up and start walking, although I wasn't sure where I was going yet. I walked about twenty yards, into the park that was next door to the hospital, and fell to my knees at the base of a large tree. I suddenly broke out in a silent sob, ignoring the searing pain coming from the center of my face. There were no tears. I felt like my chest was caving in on nothing at all and I had trouble breathing. I briefly wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like, but felt no numbness in my arm. I had only heard about the numbness thing, and had no idea if it was accurate for diagnosing heart attacks. I later suspected that this might have been a panic attack.
I must have been a sight as I walked through the park. Some guy with his face all bruised up from the broken nose, meandering aimlessly across a public park in a blood stained shirt. I noticed more than one person staring at me, not that I cared. I let out a dry, humorless chuckle when I reflected on the coincidence that I had left Amy's last boyfriend looking very much like I did now. Amy. I wanted to find Amy so badly. But they hadn't thrown her out. She still had somewhere to live. Maybe I should stay away for a while and give our father time to cool down. I didn't want to make it worse for her.
By the time dusk had arrived, I returned to my car and drove a while, finding myself standing in front of Dr. Miller's studio. I didn't know where else to go. If I went to one of my friends, I'd have to explain what had taken place. That was not something I could handle right now, and I had at least enough clarity to know that much. John may have let it go for a little while, but eventually he'd make it his life's work to get the story out of me. Meg? Hell, no. That would cause more trouble than it would solve. I let myself in the studio and sat gingerly onto the sofa in the back of the room. The doctor had told me my cracked ribs would hurt for weeks. Slouching on the sofa was out. Instead, I leaned back against an armrest carefully avoiding putting pressure on my kidney. I was under strict instruction to return to the hospital if I saw blood in my urine and to avoid putting unnecessary pressure on my left kidney where I had been kicked. Out of sheer exhaustion, I slipped into the fitful sleep of those who know, without question, that they will never be the same again.
When I woke up, I saw Dr. Miller sitting at one of the tables with a cup of coffee. He heard me stirring, and turned his head toward me.
"What the hell happened to you, Adam?"
I hadn't thought this far ahead, and didn't know what to say. I looked down at the hospital bracelet still on my wrist.
"I was in an accident. I didn't know where else to go."
"You couldn't go home?" He poured a second cup of coffee and slid it over to me.
"I... can't go home." I felt the brace on my nose shift as my face struggled to stay composed. "I don't have one anymore, I guess."
"I see." He sighed, and looked at me sternly. "Are you in some kind of serious trouble? Legally, I mean."
"I don't think so." I shook my head. "Not drugs or anything like that, if that's what you are asking."
"What kind of trouble are you in, then?" He looked down at the coffee in front of me and back at me.
"The kind that makes me it were something as simple as a drug problem by comparison." I mumbled as I picked up the cup and took a sip. The brace kept shifting on my nose and was just too irritating. I pulled it off and dropped it on the table.
He smirked a little at that. "Good. You still have a bit of wise ass in you, at least."
"Dr. Miller, I don't know what to do. I feel like everything in my life has been ripped away from me." I surprised myself at how it felt to say that out loud. I sounded like a whining asshole. "And now I sound melodramatic. Crap."
"Call me Jeff, Adam. This isn't about school right now, and we're friends, wouldn't you agree? When we aren't on campus, you don't need to call me Dr. Miller."
"Okay."
"So tell me what's going on, then. Be honest."
"I'm not sure I should tell you. I suppose there are some legal sides to it, but that's really really minor in the grand scheme. It's heavy stuff. You will probably want to throw me out of here if I tell you and I really don't want that."
"Try me. You may be surprised." Dr. Miller took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Fuck it. I needed to tell someone, I guess. "I fell in love with someone I shouldn't have. She's completely amazing. But the consequences of being with her have caught up with me."
I motioned to my face and lifted my shirt so that he could see the large discolored bruises along my rib cage. You could actually make out a shoe print in one of them.
"My father did this to me. I haven't seen him since then. I probably deserved it. I've been disowned and I don't know where my sister is. I love her. We've been sleeping together for quite some time. We overslept night before last and were caught. Fucking stupid mistake to make."
Silence.
"Yeah, I know. I'm fucked up in the head."
"I didn't say that." Dr. Miller replied. "How long was this going on before your father found out?"
"Almost a year, I guess. Maybe longer."
"Hmm... Okay." He slapped his hand on the table. "Becky, my wife, is on her way up here with some food. I called her when I found you asleep in here. We need to get you fed and cleaned up. But here is what I am thinking."
He paused to drink "I'll get her to stop by the house this afternoon and grab some blankets and a couple of pillows for you. You can stay here in the studio for a while. Until you get your feet under you, at least. There's a fridge, a stove, the bathroom. It's not really meant to be lived in, but it will do for now."
"Thanks, Jeff. This means a lot." I replied with genuine gratitude. I looked around the place a moment. I could make do.
"Do you think your family will allow me to go to your hou
se and get some more of your things?"
"I have no idea. I don't know what will happen with them anymore. But, I have to talk to Amy."
"I highly doubt that will be a possibility right now." Dr. Miller gave me a look. "Besides, you are in no condition to talk to her anyway. You need to get your head together first. And, to be honest, you'd probably scare her to death if she saw what you look like right now."
I hung my head in resignation. He was probably right.
Dr. Miller refilled his coffee and leaned against the counter, looking me over.
"You aren't the first person to find themselves in this predicament, and you won't be the last. You'll get through it, and you'll find yourself a stronger person. I don't expect you'll believe that, though."
I definitely didn't feel very strong at the moment, and I wasn't very sure about getting through it, either. I nodded at him anyway, wishing it didn't hurt to breathe.
* *
"This key is for a storage locker on Oak Avenue. The remainder of your possessions are stored there. Your father was going to throw it all out, but I persuaded him otherwise.
It would be foolish of me to think that your father and I could keep you two from contacting each other in some way. We both know that just isn't possible. But I beg you to take some time and consider just how much damage your reckless, irresponsible behavior has caused. We are both devastated by the selfish, vile choices you two have made. But we are the only ones who have knowledge of it. This could easily ruin both of your lives if people found out, and has already changed the two of you irreparably. Your relationship with each other and with us will never be the same again. Had your father chosen to go to the police, you would be in jail right now. I don't even want to think of the years of psychiatric counseling that you are both desperately in need of.
Deep down in your heart, you surely can see this. You are too smart of a person to not be able to see it.
I am begging you to be the stronger, responsible older brother that I know you can be, Adam. If you truly love her as much as you say that you do, please stay away from her. Give her a chance to heal and move on with her life. I know that you are both hurting right now. But you still have a chance to lead fulfilling lives, have careers, meet other people, eventually raise families of your own. Maybe, somewhere down the line, things will work out where you will be able to mend some of the fences with your father.
I sincerely hope that you heal and find happiness. I hope and pray that you take my words to heart. Do the right thing, Adam."
I read the words on the page several times before dropping the letter on the desk. Dr. Miller looked me over as he set down another box of art supplies.
"I assume that wasn't a letter filled with forgiveness and begging you to come home?" He asked dryly.
"Nope. That was pretty much the exact opposite of what it was." I sighed bitterly, before getting to my feet and going to help him unload the rest of the supplies from his car.
He had contacted my mother and she'd asked him to deliver the letter and key to me. She told him that my father had taken a vacation from work and was currently taking Amy to visit some of his relatives in New York. I knew, in an vague way, that our father had a brother in New York and some other relatives, but I had never met any of them. Clearly, they were determined to put as much space between us as possible.
As much as I wanted to see Amy, I didn't have the slightest idea how to find them in New York. Maybe once they got back, I could sneak over while our parents were at work. But my mother's words nagged at my mind as I gingerly stacked canvases in the corner of the room. I wasn't sure what to do.
* *
In my dream, I fought back. When the first hit connected with my nose, I took the blow. When the second hit me in the stomach, I did nothing. When he kicked for my ribs, I rolled. I yelled for Amy to get out of the house. Somehow, she was dressed now. She tries to argue with me. She's screaming at my father to stop. He grabs her elbow and flings her away from us, intent on getting to me. I tackle him. In that dream logic way, the fight is just over. I grab Amy and we leave. We sleep in my car near the park. I tell here that we'll be okay. I tell her that everything is fine. I wake up in the dark art studio alone.
It's only three in the morning. Fuck. I never slept anymore. And with dreams like that, who the hell would want to?
It had now been three weeks since we'd been discovered. I hadn't left the art studio at all except for food, even then only late at night when there were fewer people around. The idea of even engaging in small talk with people filled me with complete dread. Dr. Miller's wife, Becky, was a registered nurse. She checked up on me several times, monitoring the healing progress on my ribs. More than once, I caught her eyeing my supply of prescription painkillers, doing a mental count of how many she thought I should approximately have left. As devastated as I was, it had never occurred to me to purposely overdose myself on the pills.
I didn't want to be around people at all if I could avoid it. I flinched every time Becky would try to put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Being touched by someone suddenly became a totally unwelcome sensation. I didn't know how to deal with it. Grief and stress do fucked up things to your mind, I guess. I certainly couldn't bring myself to go back to class. Anytime I got around any place that reminded me of Amy, I would be wracked with grief again. I wasn't sleeping, barely eating, and felt like someone had carved out a large chunk from the center of my chest. I went by my parents house a few times, always after dark, and the upstairs bedrooms were always dark. I never knocked, simply stood out at the street and watched the house for a few minutes. I saw no sign of Amy there on any of these visits.
My phone had been disconnected the day after I took up residence in the art studio. It had been a relatively simple affair sign up for a new cell phone plan under my own name, but I immediately discovered that Amy's phone had been disconnected as well. My facebook page and email accounts had several messages from friends asking where I was, why I hadn't been to class, and so on. I didn't want to reply. The idea of talking to anyone who knew me made me cringe. Checking Amy's facebook page revealed that she hadn't posted anything to it since before we'd been caught.
Facebook's message window popped up on my laptop screen as a message from a friend appeared and I remembered that I had my settings set to show people when I was online. Instead of replying, I went to settings and deactivated the account. Then I went to my email accounts and did the same. I felt a strange sense of relief at being cut off from the world. I shut down the laptop and paced the room a bit.
I still had pain in my chest, but it had started to ease up a bit. My face only showed minor discoloration from the bruises now, but was still really tender when I touched it.
I began thinking about ways to get away from here. Some kind of fresh start. Somewhere no one knew me and I could try to put myself back together. It didn't feel like that was possible here. I had too many memories here and all of them filled me with ache. I didn't have enough money to really move and have any sort of security. I considered the military for the first time in my life, and quickly realized that wasn't going to be the answer. After doing some research on the peace corps, which I was only vaguely familiar with, I decided that was not my answer either. By sheer coincidence, Dr. Miller offered me a solution that I had not seen coming just a few days later.
"I heard about a job opportunity that I think could be really good for you, if you wanted it." He began.
I was disinterestedly picking away at a bowl of pasta and glanced up at him.
"An artist friend of mine in Milos is looking for an assistant. Room and board is included. It would be a serious change of pace for you, and you could learn a lot of technique from him."
"Milos? Where is that?" I asked, trying to place the name but coming up empty. As long as it wasn't here, I was probably going to take it.
"It's an island off of the coast of Greece. Quite a beautiful place, I must say. I took my wife there to visit him a cou
ple of years ago."
For the first time in a month, I felt a tinge of interest in something. This could certainly be the change I was looking for. Greece? Damn. That was farther than I'd ever traveled in my life. I didn't know a damned thing about Greece, either. In my head, I pictured that they ate a lot of lamb, for some reason. Other than some vague memories of Greek mythology stories from my childhood, I couldn't have told anyone more than five sentences about the place. Statues, of course. They had ancient statues.
"Room and board is included?"
"Yes. It isn't much of a salary, I should point out. But when you factor in room and board, it's more than sufficient."
"Is he an artist I'm familiar with?" I asked.
"Have you heard of Theron Cain?"
"He works in oils, doesn't he? Surrealist landscape artist? You have a book of his work in your office."
"That's the guy. Are you interested?"
I really had nothing to lose at this point. It could certainly help clear my head to get away from here for a while. I didn't know how to find Amy at the moment, although it was only a matter of time. What was worse is that I wasn't completely sure that I should. For her sake, not my own. I kept thinking about letter my mother had written. Would Amy have a better life if I wasn't in it? I know she wouldn't think so. At least not now. I didn't really care much what happened to myself at this point.
The following day, I rented another storage building in the same complex as the one my possessions were already stored in and transferred everything to the new space. I did not know how long the current one was rented for and it was the last bit of control that my parents had over me. Severing that tie, put me completely on my own. I also stored most of what I had brought with me when I moved into the art studio. The rest of my possessions fit into two bags. I spent the remainder of the week getting my passport photos taken, booking my flight, and selling my car. I didn't get that much for it because I was needing to sell it in a hurry, but the hell with it.
