Extreme Devotion

by Kay Manis

  “Just be mindful of her arm,” she said. “Her right hand also has stitches.”

  My stomach contracted in pain and my body trembled at the thought of how bad her injuries were, how much pain she was in.

  “Just avoid those two places. Anywhere else on her body should be fine.” The nurse walked around to the other side of Hindley’s bed and slid out her other arm and I noticed Hindley’s right hand was completely covered with gauze.

  I stared at Hindley’s injuries, having no clue how to help her.

  “No one’s told you, have they?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “They called it cutting, but I still don’t understand,” I admitted with a level of defeat in my voice that disappointed me.

  “Sometimes, we go through situations in our life that are so traumatic, our minds can’t handle it,” she explained. “We all cope with it differently. Some people turn to religion. Some people, like you, turn to drugs and alcohol.”

  I flinched at the reminder of how much she knew about my personal life, thanks to Paloma Monroe. I’d spilled it all out during my interview, my childhood, my partying, my womanizing, and my drugs and boozing. I’d promised myself from the very beginning of the show that I’d hold nothing back, and I hadn’t. I wondered if that decision had been a mistake, but the nurse didn’t seem fazed by my past.

  “For others,” she continued, nodding toward Hindley, “they cut themselves.”

  I shook my head, unable to wrap my mind around the idea that cutting yourself could help you feel better, numb the pain. “I just don’t get it.”

  “When you’re in so much pain, emotionally, you’ll do almost anything to numb it, right?”

  I thought about my own past, trying to relate it to Hindley’s situation.

  “Why did you drink and do drugs, Rory?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to analyze my own past, afraid of what I might find.

  “You drank because you couldn’t handle the shame and guilt of your sister’s passing. In many ways, you blamed yourself, even though you couldn’t have stopped it if you wanted to.”

  She was right, completely right. How had this woman been able to sum up my life by watching one interview?

  “I’m a psychiatric nurse, Rory,” she said. “I don’t just take care of the physical needs of my patients, I take care of their mental and emotional needs as well. It’s just as important to their recovery. Maybe even more so than the physical injuries they’ve endured. Plus, I get it.” She pulled up her shirt sleeve to reveal tiny scars littered across the underside of her forearm.

  She was a cutter too.

  “For cutters,” she said, “the physical pain is an escape from our mental anguish, like drugs were for you. Even better than drinking and drugs though, cutting is free and available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Sharp objects are easily accessible, and if done right, no one even sees our injuries. That’s the blessing and the curse of cutting. We often go for years without anyone knowing how much we hurt inside, or out.”

  I watched her speak but it was like an out of body experience.

  “I lost you, didn’t I?” she asked with a hint of a smile.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I get it, I think. It’s just hard to believe.”

  “What?” She straightened Hindley’s IV bag.

  “Knowing Hindley was in so much pain, enough pain to harm herself, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. It kills me.”

  “Don’t you think your friends and family felt the same way when you were drinking and drugging?”

  I froze at her revelation. I had never stopped to think about how my substance abuse had affected anyone else but me. Had they really been this worried and concerned for me?

  “Anyone who loved you was just as worried as you are now,” she said.

  “So what can I do to help her?”

  “Just be there for her. Don’t judge her. Try to empathize.” The nurse stared at me.

  I felt like she was judging me, trying to determine if she thought I was up for the task.

  “Do you think you can do that, Rory?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, reaching through the railing to stroke her upper arm.

  “Reassure her that you’ll be there for her, especially when things get bad again. And they will.” She hesitated and I glanced up at her. “But I’m not kidding, Rory. You have the potential to take this girl over the edge.”

  I felt sick to my stomach, knowing I had done this to her. Hindley had always been so strong and brave. I’d never considered how much power I could have over her recovery.

  “If you don’t want to do this, if you can’t do this, then say goodbye to her, now.”

  “No way.” I clenched my fists to keep from shouting. “I can’t exist without her. She’s my whole world. I love her.”

  A smile spread across her face. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief at her words. She understood Hindley better than any of us. And she believed in me.

  “I’ll bring you in some books and brochures to read about cutting.” Her eyes went wide.

  I understood why. She’d assumed I could read. My illiteracy was now public knowledge, but surprisingly enough, it didn’t bother me anymore.

  “I’ll go over them with you,” she said. “We can read through them together. Then we can talk about any questions you have.”

  “Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.” I sagged back in the chair, thankful for her willingness to help me. I wondered how many other people would have withheld judgment and offered me help if I would have let them.

  “No problem,” she said.

  “Are you better now? You know, with the…” I nodded toward her arm.

  She gave me a blank stare, obviously unaware of what I was referring to.

  “With the cutting,” I said.

  She looked down at her arm, rubbing it. “Oh, this? Yes, I’m better.” She paused and I felt like shit for bringing it up. “It doesn’t mean I don’t think about cutting.”

  Fuck. Would Hindley have to deal with this the rest of her life? Probably. I had to keep my own shit in check to keep from drinking and drugging again.

  “I have better coping skills now,” she said, “like you do with your addiction. When Hindley realizes she has the power to act differently, and learns better behaviors, she’ll come around too.”

  She walked around Hindley’s bed, grasping the railing and staring down at my girl. “She’ll probably always fight the urge to harm herself. But it won’t be in a suicidal sense like some people think when they hear about cutters.”

  My heart stopped and my world went dark as I thought about Hindley taking her own life. That wasn’t an option. I couldn’t exist without my Drunk Girl.

  “We all have triggers, Rory, things that set off our self-destructive behaviors. If Hindley can figure out what those triggers are, if you can help her, then that will be half the battle.”

  “You’re amazing, you know that, right?” I said in complete awe of the way she was so eloquently, yet so easily explaining such a complex disease.

  “So I’ve been told.” She laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

  I smiled, a real smile for the first time since Leif had received the call that Hindley was in trouble.

  “She’ll be fine, Rory. Just let her get some rest, stay with her, talk to her, assure her you’ll be here when she wakes up, and eventually, she will.” She poured water into a small cup and inserted a straw into the lid. “She’ll probably be thirsty when she wakes up, so give her this.”

  I nodded, setting the cup on the tray beside me.

  “My phone number is there on the board.” She pointed up to a large white board on the wall. “Or push the red button like I showed you. I’ll leave you two alone for a while, but I’ll be back in a bit.” She tucked in a string from Hindley’s gown that had come loose, then patted her shoulder.

  My heart settled into a steady beat as I
realized Hindley was in good hands.

  “She’s been asking for you, you know.” Her gaze swept over to me and she smiled. “Just let her know you’re here and that you’re not going anywhere.” She turned to leave but stopped dead in her tracks, turning to face me. “Oh, no.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, jumping up and scanning Hindley’s body. “What’s happened to her?”

  “What about the X Games?” she asked. “You’re supposed to be competing today.”

  My body sagged in relief. That was all she was worried about? “I don’t give a flying fuck about the X Games,” I said. “The only thing I even remotely give a shit about is the woman lying in this bed, who’s had my heart ever since the first night I met her.”

  She laughed and nodded. “Good answer. Call if you need me.”

  I slid back in my chair and reached through the railing to caress Hindley’s arm. She was my Drunk Girl, my everything, and I wouldn’t rest until I brought her back to me.

  Chapter 41

  -HINDLEY-

  I tried to speak but my mouth was so dry, my tongue was stuck. My throat felt like someone had scrubbed it with sandpaper. I turned my head and a stabbing pain shot through my temples. It felt like the worst hangover of my life.

  Where the hell was I? I pried my eyes open, searching my surroundings, unable to focus on anything. I smiled, thinking of the first morning I’d woken up next to Rory.

  Rory.

  I reached out to push my body up but searing pain shot through my arm. I glanced down and saw my left arm was wrapped in some kind of bandage.

  “Ow,” I moaned, falling back into the mattress.

  “Hindley.” Someone lunged toward me from the corner of the room.

  “No,” I yelled, recoiling. Pain shot up both arms but I ignored it. I tucked my knees to my chest, preparing to fight back. He wouldn’t hurt me again. I wouldn’t let him. “No more,” I screamed.

  “Shhh,” the voice said. “It’s all right. You’re safe, it’s me, Rory.” His gorgeous face emerged from the shadows.

  “Rory,” I whispered in disbelief.

  “Yeah, babe. It’s me.”

  My Skater Boy.

  He smiled, his blue eyes shining.

  I was safe. And he was here.

  Stubble littered his jaw and his hair stood on end, as if he’d been yanking on it. My eyes drifted lower and I noticed his shirt was wrinkled, like he’d been sleeping in it. All in all, he looked like a hot mess, but he was still the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. He took my breath away, just like the first morning I saw him lying in my bed.

  He wiped a stray hair from my face, leaning in close as his lips pressed gently against mine.

  I drew in a deep breath, reveling in the familiar scent of the man I loved.

  He pulled away, staring down at me. “Welcome back, Drunk Girl.”

  “You came,” I whispered.

  “I did,” he said, stroking my jaw. “And I’ll never leave you again.”

  I smiled and closed my eyes, feeling safe for the first time in my life.

  “Check!” Paul shouted triumphantly.

  I studied the chessboard, smiling.

  “What?” He searched the pieces, looking for my game ending move.

  I slid my queen into position, unable to hold back my laughter. “Check mate.” I giggled.

  “Ah, shit, Hindley. How the hell do you do that every time?”

  I shrugged. “I had a good teacher.”

  Paul laughed as he gathered the pieces and put them in the box. “Obviously, too good of a teacher.”

  I studied the man sitting before me. He was perfect in every way that mattered. And he’d always considered me his own daughter. Why hadn’t I ever treated him like the father he was to me?

  I folded up the board and passed it to him. Moving my arm still hurt like crap, but I was tired of everyone doing everything for me.

  Working with a psychotherapist and a psychiatrist while I’d been in the hospital made me realize just how poorly I’d been handling the relationships in my life, or rather avoiding the relationships in my life. I pushed away everyone who dared get close. If I was ever going to survive long-term, I needed to make some changes. Starting now.

  “Hey, Paul. I need to talk to you. If you have time.”

  “For you, Hinny Bin, I have all the time in the world.” And that was why I loved Paul Barton. He would do anything for me. He deserved the same, and more from me.

  “Will you come sit back down?” I patted the spot beside me on the bed.

  He gently sat beside me, his brows furrowed. “Did I do something?”

  “No.” I chuckled. “It’s me. I’ve done something, or rather it’s something I haven’t done.”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied me.

  How could I start this conversation?

  With honesty and love, from the beginning.

  “I’ve been talking to a therapist since I’ve been here,” I said quietly. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

  He tilted his head and stared at me in confusion. “Why?”

  “Ever since I’ve known you, Paul, you’ve done nothing but support me, love me, and nurture me, as if I were your own flesh and blood.” I took a deep breath and pushed on. “And in all that time, I’ve held you at arm’s length, never letting you in.”

  “Hindley, that’s not—”

  I held up my hand. “Let me finish.” My voice quivered, but it was important—for me and for him—that I tell Paul everything. “I think in the beginning, when you first married my mom, I thought you were too good to be true. I held my breath those first few years, waiting for you to leave, waiting for you to realize how messed up my mom and I were.”

  He opened his mouth to speak again.

  I narrowed my eyes in warning.

  He snapped it shut.

  “All these years you’ve always introduced me as your daughter, but I was quick to correct people, wanting them to know you were my stepfather, not my biological father. I don’t know why I did that. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that I never met my real father, but I’m working on figuring it all out.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. You know that,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

  My own eyes burned. “I want you to know that even though I kept you at arm’s length, you’ve always been here,” I patted my chest, “in my heart.” Tears slid down my cheeks despite my protests. “You’ve always been a father to me, Paul.” I punched out the words through the emotion welling up inside. “And I know that no matter what happens between you and my mom, you’ll always be there for me.”

  “Hindley.” His voice cracked. “You know I will.”

  “I know that now. I’ve probably always known it, but I tried to be three steps ahead of every situation in life so I could protect myself. I didn’t want anyone to hurt me, and I thought the way to do that was to distance myself, even though all I really craved was unconditional love.”

  I glanced down at my interwoven fingers. My heart beat out of my chest. I was learning that trust and unconditional love went hand in hand. I had to trust Paul if I truly wanted to experience both in my life.

  Dragging in a ragged breath, I lifted my head and stared into his bright blue eyes. “You’ve always given that to me, Paul. Unconditional love. You’ve always made me feel safe, secure, and special, like I could do anything. And all I’ve done is kept you guessing about how I really feel about you.”

  “Hindley, that’s not true. I’ve always felt your love.” His eyes darted between mine as if fearing I may break.

  “I love you, Paul, more than you know, more than I knew. Well, actually, I knew it, I was just afraid to admit it, afraid to let you in. Afraid you would leave me,” I whispered on a sob.

  He grasped my shoulders as if he were trying to keep me from floating away. “I would never leave you, Hindley. You have to know that.”

  I nodded. “I do, I always have. I just wouldn�
��t let myself believe it.”

  He pulled back and stared at me. “And now?”

  “Now?” I repeated. “Now I do, Paul. I don’t want to push you away anymore.”

  “Hindley, I’ve honestly never felt you push me away. I’ve known from the start you were afraid to be hurt. You’ve put distance between everyone you’ve loved, even your mother.”

  I nodded. He was right and I would have to have a long talk with my mother next.

  “The only person I’ve ever seen you let all the way in was Rory,” Paul said. “You’ve told him everything.”

  “Except about the cutting.”

  “And you would have told him about that eventually, I’m sure. But you let him into your heart, and you were happy for the first time, ever. I mean, truly happy. And that’s why it hurt so much when you thought he betrayed you, right?”

  I nodded as tears rolled down my face.

  He pulled me close against his chest, allowing me the freedom and comfort to release all my guilt and shame.

  My chest heaved with uncontrollable sobs. It was the first time I’d ever let him truly comfort me, let anyone. The weight of unburdening my soul, of being taken care of by him was surreal. I fought the urge to chastise myself for not letting him do it all along.

  When my weeping subsided, I slowly pushed away. I dabbed at my eyes with the sheet and dragged it across my nose, trying to muster the courage for what I wanted to ask him. “There’s something else,” I said. “Something I want to ask you.”

  “Anything, Hindley, you can ask me anything, you know that.”

  I studied his face, relieved to see that familiar expression of unconditional love staring back at me.

  “In all these years, you’ve been a real father to me, in my heart, even if I didn’t acknowledge that to you or anyone else. That’s what I’m most sorry for, for not letting you know how I really felt about our relationship.”

  “Hindley, you don’t—”

  I held up my hand.

  He nodded in understanding. “Sorry.”

  “Paul, you are my father, in every way a man can be. You’ve supported me financially, physically, and emotionally. You’ve encouraged me to do more than I ever dreamed I could.” My voice wavered but I willed myself the strength to continue. “Your faith and confidence in me has helped make me the person I am today. Every good thing in my life started with you.”