by E A Owen
“Three times a week, for two weeks, the doctor predicts. Or until my legs get strong enough.”
“How much longer do you have?”
“The casts are scheduled to come off in five weeks, as long as all my bones have healed properly. I broke them badly, so I hope it doesn’t take longer. It feels like I’ve had them on for six months.”
“I bet. I can’t imagine. How’s the pain?”
“I get a sharp pain that shoots up my legs and into my spine sometimes. That’s painful! Otherwise, not too bad for the circumstances. They are sore and ache. And boy, do they itch like crazy sometimes.”
“Are you taking any medication for the pain?”
“Just Tylenol. Seems to take the edge off.”
“You’re a stronger woman than me. If I were in your shoes right now, they’d have to give me something stronger.”
“At the hospital, they gave me morphine, but, because it’s so highly addictive, my doctor wouldn’t prescribe me any to take home. Which is fine with me. Morphine would be nice right now but not worth the risks.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m ready for Miss Williams.” Dr. Marshall’s voice came over the phone intercom.
“Dr. Marshall is ready to see you now.”
I smiled and wheeled toward his office.
“Isabella, how are you feeling today?” Dr. Marshall stood from his desk as he spoke.
“I’m fine. Just a little sore. No headache today either, which is a first.”
“That’s good to hear. Are you still okay with our hypnotherapy session today?”
I bit my nails. “I don’t know. I’ve been having second thoughts.”
“That’s normal. It can be a scary thought, digging into your subconscious. And it’s perfectly fine if we postpone it for another time when you’re more comfortable, Isabella.”
I exhaled a long sigh. “No. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s … just get it out of the way. I need to know, even if I’m afraid.”
“Okay. I need you to relax. Close your eyes, and listen to my voice,” Dr. Marshall instructed in a calm, soothing tone. “Take a deep breath. Open your lungs … ever … so … slowly. And exhale. Focus on your breathing. In …. and out. In … and out. Imagine you’re in a happy place. It’s peaceful. And quiet. So quiet that you can hear a pin drop. You’re calm and relaxed. You’re free from pain and stress. Take a deep breath and hold it. Hold it … Now slowly exhale as you feel it move down your neck. Down to your arms … and into your fingertips. Take another deep breath. As you exhale, feel it moving down your neck … into your chest … to your stomach. Now your legs and into your toes. Good … Do you feel relaxed?”
I slowly nodded, listening intently to his voice.
***
Awakening from the trancelike state, my eyelids felt heavy. I closed my eyes and blinked hard, everything refocusing. Streaks of sunlight penetrated the darkened room. My muscles felt weak as I reluctantly sat upright, outstretching my arms a big yawn escaped my cracked lips. I felt as if I had been in a deep sleep for twelve hours.
A feeling of confusion overwhelmed me. Where am I?
That’s when I saw terror in Dr. Marshall’s eyes.
“What … What happened?”
“Do you remember anything, Isabella?”
“No. What happened?”
“You were under hypnosis for a while. How are you feeling?” Dr. Marshall shifted uncomfortably in his chair, unable to look me in the eyes.
“Actually, I feel great. Feels like I slept twelve hours straight. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”
“And your pain?”
“Gone. It’s amazing.”
“I’d assume you’ll feel like this for the next few hours. But, unfortunately, the pain will return.”
“This is absolutely fantastic! When can we do this again?”
Dr. Marshall’s gaze nervously darted around the room.
“Did it work? I don’t remember anything. It’s weird.”
Dr. Marshall cleared his throat. “I’m afraid to tell you, but I won’t be able to see you again.”
My eyes grew wide, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Why?”
“I wouldn’t suggest trying hypnotherapy again, Isabella. Some things are just best left alone.”
“But, Dr. Marshall …”
“It’s to protect you, Isabella. I take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously, but my conscious is really telling me to do the right thing here,” Dr. Marshall replied sternly.
“But … I don’t understand! What happened? What did I say?”
“It’s best if you leave my office now, Isabella.” Dr. Marshall opened his office door.
“I’m sorry.”
I wheeled myself out, my cheeks wet.
***
After Dr. Marshall had banished me from his office, I’d become unstable. I couldn’t believe he just left me hanging like that, with no explanation. I’d already had a hard enough time dealing with the death of Great-grandmother and the accident; I definitely didn’t need this added stress.
To escape, I’d usually drown myself in books, but even that I couldn’t do anymore. I couldn’t focus. My mind constantly revisited that day, trying to comprehend it. But all that remained was an empty hole, like my memory had been wiped clean. The harder I tried to remember, the worse I felt. I’d never felt so alone. My world darkened. I felt nothing but emptiness. The darkness consumed me, picking at me, piece by piece, ‘til soon nothing would be left.
I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror, an emptiness behind my eyes. I pushed down and twisted open the bottle of pills and tipped them down my throat as I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took a big swig. Glancing back at my reflection, I smiled with so much meaning behind it, except happiness—a smile, disturbing and ugly, deep and powerful. A smile that said, It’s over, and I can finally rest in peace.
9-1-1
My eyes flung open, and my breath quickened. The sheets stuck to my sweaty body. The oscillating fan sent chills down my spine. My heart felt like it would jump from my chest. A feeling of dread consumed my soul. Something didn’t feel right. Had it been a dream?
A glimmer of moonlight danced on the walls. I glanced at my beautiful wife, sleeping so peacefully. Not wanting to wake her, I slid my legs over the bedside and tiptoed from the room. I slowly opened the door, as it creaks, then closed the door quietly behind me. Traversing the hallway, my feet felt cold against the marble floors.
I should have grabbed socks. I shrugged.
I flipped on the kitchen light and glanced at the wall clock—12:37.
That’s it? I need to go back to bed! I poured a tall glass of orange juice—just a few gulps and it was gone. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The feeling wasn’t dissipating; it seemed to worsen.
I grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from the cabinet and swallowed two pills. I entered the living room, sat in the oversized leather recliner and kicked back, my legs extending on the footrest. Growing up, I remembered experiencing overwhelming unexpected feelings, but it had been many years now. Lightheaded and nauseated, I rubbed the back of my neck, closed my eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for a moment and exhaling slowly.
“What the hell is going on with me?” I mumble, rolling my neck side to side. “I hope this Tylenol kicks in soon.” I yawned wide. “I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment before I crawl back in bed with my sleeping beauty.”
“Isabella,” a voice whispered.
Half asleep, I jolted awake. “Who said that?” I frantically scanned the room. “Bella!” I gasped, wide-eyed.
I sprinted upstairs to Bella’s room. As I approached her bedroom door, I slowed my pace.
Knock, knock.
I wait a moment; it was too quiet.
Knock, knock, knock.
Still nothing. I turned the doorknob, hoping she hadn’t locked it. Thank goodness. I pushed quietly through the door.
> “Bella?” I whispered, tiptoeing toward the shadow of her bed. “Bella …” I whispered louder.
I felt a light breeze from the open window as the curtain rippled in a rhythmic pattern, and the moonlight cast shadows in the room. I could barely decipher her body’s outline, bundled up underneath the blankets.
I shook her shoulder. “Bella!”
Something didn’t feel right. I ran to flip on the light. Then I noticed it—an open pill bottle on Isabella’s vanity, fallen onto its side.
I examined the bottle. “Catheryn Jacobs?” I recited in confusion. “Hydrocodone, ten milligrams … No!”
I dashed to Isabella’s side and shook her hard, trying to wake her, but she was out cold. I quickly charged to the bathroom, filled a red Solo cup by the sink faucet and splashed water into her face—not a flinch. I patted my thighs, but all I wore were boxers. That’s when I spotted Bella’s cellphone on the ground next to her vanity.
I swiped the screen to unlock it. What has she done? I panicked as I tried to steady my hands enough to dial 9-1-1. Time is of the essence. An ambulance will never get here in time. I dropped the phone and slid one arm behind Isabella’s neck and the other behind her knees, grunting as I stood. Bella was small, but dead body weight and her casts weighed her down, I swear adding an extra fifty pounds.
I ran down the stairs through the dark, losing my balance and almost tripping. I gently laid Isabella on the couch and sprinted to my bedroom. I swung open the door and flipped on the light.
“Rachel, honey. Wake up,” I said, frantically getting dressed.
“Wha … What’s wrong?” Rachel moaned half asleep.
“It’s Bella. She … She took a bottle of pills. I have to get her to the hospital.”
“She what? I’m coming with.” Rachel sprung from bed and stumbled to her feet.
“Hurry! We don’t have much time.”
I darted back to Bella’s side, wrapped my arms around her lifeless body and fireman-carried her through the front door, not bothering to close it, knowing Rachel would be right behind us. I struggled to balance Isabella’s weight while trying to open the car’s back door just as Rachel’s hand appears. I moved back as Rachel opened it then stepped aside. I laid Isabella on the back seat and sped off, tires squealing and leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber.
My cheeks were wet. I raised my trembling hand to wipe the tears. Rachel put her hand on my leg and squeezed it, looking in my direction. I turned my face away.
“It’ll be okay, Trevor. Bella will be okay,” Rachel said gently with sorrow behind her eyes as she forced a half smile.
I sniffled and nodded, hoping she was right.
Raindrops splattered the windshield, making it hard to see. I hated driving at night in the rain. A flash of light illuminated the dark sky followed by a rumble in the distance. I had read somewhere once that lightning could reach as high as 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit, which is five times hotter than the surface of the sun. Mother Nature had always fascinated me. I had considered being a storm chaser once when I was in high school. I thought how exciting that job would be but figured it was just a fantasy and not a real job. I decided to be an engineer instead. I liked my job and was very good at it, but it was not something I ever got excited about.
BOOM!
I jolted, swerving into the other lane. White knuckling the steering wheel, I snapped back to reality as the violent downpour struck the windshield with amazing force.
“I can’t see a thing!” I hunched over the steering wheel, squinting through the blanket of distorted images.
“Just pull over,” Rachel pleads.
A noise from the back seat startled me. I turned the wheel slowly and came to complete stop. I flipped on the dome light, unbuckled my seatbelt and turned around.
Isabella violently convulsed. Her eyes blinked rapidly, slightly opened enough for me to see her eyes roll back in her head, drooling.
“Bella!”
Shredding My Insides
Not a cloud was in the sky. The sun’s warmth kissed my skin as I ran in a field amongst beautiful flowers—roses, tulips, lilies, and daffodils. The colors looked raw and vibrant—reds, purples, pinks, and yellows. The view was breathtaking, as the sweet aroma filled the crisp, spring air.
Running, I looked at my legs. The casts were gone, the pain gone. I grinned, twirling and dancing on top of a wildflower hill. In the distance were mountains and a lake, resembling something from of a traveling magazine—a picture I wanted to take with me and mount on my walls forever. I spun with my arms extended, feeling the breeze against my delicate skin.
“Is … a … bel … la …” a soft voice echoed from afar.
I stopped and looked around. “Who’s there?”
“Is … a … bel … la …”
I saw a familiar-looking lady approach. Who is she? I gasped. “Mom? Mom, is that you?”
She looked just like the picture I’ve had of her since I was a little girl—tall, slender, long honey-blond hair, fair skin, and hazel eyes. She was incredibly beautiful. Dad always said I look just like her, but, of course, I don’t see it.
“Isabella,” Mother said gently. “You have to wake up.”
“But … Mom. I’ve missed you so much. I have so much to say.”
“You have to wake up, dear. It’s not your time.”
I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her, but her image faded. A tear rolled down my cheek. “Mom, wait. Please don’t go,” I whimpered. I fell to my knees; tears filled my eyes. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably. “Mom, please don’t leave me. I need you!”
A force so strong hit me like a lightning bolt. My body flipped backward, and I hit the ground with a thud, knocking the wind from me, my chest burning. What the hell is happening? I gasped for air.
The force hit me again as I screamed in pain, my chest splitting apart. Everything around me faded into thick static. Disoriented and drifting in and out of consciousness, my eyelids slowly fluttered open, blinking rapidly, the florescent lights blinding me. A loud ringing echoed in my ears. I cringed and covered my ears.
Where am I? My gaze wandered aimlessly. The steady rhythm of simultaneous beeps from the heart monitor overpowered the ringing in my ears, and my chest rose and fell drastically with every deep breath I took.
“She’s back,” a deep-pitched voice proclaimed. “How are you feeling?”
I groaned an unintelligible response.
“We almost lost you there, Isabella,” a heavyset man with whickers, deep-set eyes, and narrow lips replied. “Your heart stopped for twelve whole minutes. Thank God, you’re still alive.”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to relieve the throbbing in my skull.
“We’ve contacted a suicide-prevention specialist. You need to speak to her before you can go home. It’s hospital procedure, and I won’t sign your discharge papers until we feel comfortable you won’t try harming yourself again.” He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his head from side to side. “You were having a seizure when your parents brought you in.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms as I listened to the fat doctor continue his little speech.
“This is serious, Isabella. You almost died. Your chest will be sore for the next couple days, since we had to shock your heart after you flatlined for several minutes, and CPR was not working. Some serious bruising will occur and possible fractures to your ribs. You’re in rough shape.” The doctor looked at my casts then handed me a cup. “I need you to drink this. It’s activated charcoal. It’ll coat your stomach. We had to pump your stomach when you arrived.” He sighed, setting a bottle of water next to me. “I’m going to send in your parents. They’re waiting to see you.” He jammed his hands in his scrub pocket, turned and left the room.
I looked in the cup. It was a thick black substance. Gross! I pinched the brim of my nose and gulped it down as fast as I could, gagging a few times. It tasted horrible, like chalky cement. Disgusting! I grabbed the wa
ter bottle and twisted off the top. I gulped almost the entire contents. I just couldn’t wash the taste from my mouth.
Knock, knock.
The door slowly opened, and Dad peaked around the corner with an expression full of sadness. “Hi, sweetheart.” His lower lip trembled. “How are you feeling?”
I hated seeing my Dad this way. I couldn’t imagine how upset and disappointed he was in me. I was selfish as hell and had just tried ending my life.
I looked at my hands, trying to avoid eye contact. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”
“I hope you know you can talk to me about anything, honey.” He sniffled as a single tear streaked his cheek. He raised his hand and wiped it. “Anything!”
Shame shredded my insides as my throat tightened, tears falling like rain. I sobbed, unable to speak.
“I can’t lose you, Bella. You mean everything to me.” He approached me and wrapped his arms around my body as he buried his face in my shoulder.
We hugged, crying in each other’s arms, my tears soaking his shirt.
“I love you, Isabella.”
“I love you too, Dad,” I replied, sobbing uncontrollably.
Bad Day
A few months had passed, and the doctor had finally removed my casts. I saw a therapist once a week after my suicide attempt, but I decided therapy wasn’t for me, so I stopped going. She was always telling me, “I know what you’re going through Isabella.” Seriously? She had no idea. Just some cliché response. It was just like a therapist saying they know what it was like to go through drug withdrawals and how hard it was, when they had never touched a drug in their life. Please! No books, research, or school could teach them. Without firsthand experience and that street knowledge, they couldn’t know anything. I wished they didn’t pretend. They weren’t inside my head, so they had no clue what I was going through.
After tossing and turning in bed for over an hour, I decided to get up. Besides, my alarm would go off in forty minutes anyway, might as well get an early start to the morning instead of rushing around, which I normally did, trying to catch those extra few minutes of shuteye.