Truth: Book Two of the Taboo Series
Page 18
All I could think of was William. I could do nothing but worry about his safety. Memories, still bright and fresh from the perfect life he had gifted me, invaded my vision constantly as a reprieve from the present.
I pretended to eat but could tell by the way Lucia watched me that she knew I wasn't putting anything in my mouth. She glanced around the room, writing who was eating what food and how much.
Because of the outburst that the news had created our therapy session was moved to after dinner. Everybody groaned when they walked into the common room to see the tables stacked in a corner and the chairs in a large circle in the middle of the room.
As I sat down a tall, dark skinned man with a mustache and silver glasses centered himself in the room. “For any new people, my name is Mr. Marcus. Terrie, why don’t you start?” He nodded to a red headed girl with freckles.
“My name is Terrie and I am here for self harm.” I didn't know what that meant but looked her over. Scars marred her forearms all the way up to her elbow.
“My name is John, and I'm here for cocaine addiction.”
The people all around the room introduce themselves in the same fashion. Most were there for attempted suicide, self mutilation, or an addiction of some kind. The one person who said anything unique was Abby, who announced she was there for nymphomania.
She winked at me when Mr. Marcus turned his back. I gave her an appreciative nod. When it came to my turn I was honest, “My name is Ruth and I’m not sure why I’m here.”
Mr. Marcus spun on me in annoyance. “What do you mean, you don't know why you're here?” The impatience in his voice spiked my anger.
“I mean, I was brought here by force, I don't know where I am. Much less why, if you sincerely believe I was kidnapped, I would be punished for something out of my control,” I snapped at him.
His expression changed and he rocked back on his heels. He stalked across the room and took a folder from Lucia. He thumbed through the pages and stopped at one before peering at me over his spectacles. Everyone seemed frozen, not knowing what was happening, staring between the two of us.
“You were kidnapped?” he asked simply. I didn't want to acknowledge it as the truth but also didn't want to say no and be there for longer than necessary.
I shrugged. He threw down the folder into Lucia's lap and swaggered back into the middle of the circle.
“You either were or you weren't. You must communicate here. Were you kidnapped?”
I huffed. Fuck it. “Yes,” I hissed out. “I was kidnapped.”
“You do know that we can tell when someone is being honest and when they are saying what they think we want to hear.” He sounded ready to laugh in my face.
I wanted to stomp out of the room, but the thought of William, hurt and helpless, kept me on the edge of my seat. My nails dug into my palms. I tried to keep my voice steady and calm, “If I had said no, you would have told me I was wrong. Since everyone knows what happened to me besides myself, why don't you tell me what to say.” I was proud of myself. I had spoken clearly and almost as if I were speaking to a child.
He smirked and I thought he was going to send me away, the anger and humiliation of my tone bringing a deeper color to his cheeks and forehead. “I think you might already be making progress. You're talking honestly now.”
I sighed in exasperation.
He continued, “When it is your turn to introduce yourself, and we do so in every session, you may have as many disagreements with us as you need, as long as you control yourself, until you figure out why you're here.”
He turned and continued around the circle.
✷✴✷
After therapy was movie time, and I was thankful when we were finally all told to go to bed. The females all went through doors in the hallway and the boys poured into the rooms around the waiting area.
I slipped into my bed, under the thin covers, and pulled them above my head. Abby's tiny voice bounced into the room with her, “You don't mind if I turn on the heat, do you? I like it warm.”
“I don’t care.”
She turned off the lights and shuffled around the room. I looked over the blanket when she tapped my shoulder to see her above me with a pillow in her hands.
“They always cry the first night or two, but I like my sleep.”
She was trying to keep her tone light but was serious. I thanked her and took the extra pillow into my cocoon of sorrow. I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep, terrified of what William might be going through, wondering if Dizzy had ever gotten Ma the money, and imagining Reese and Dizzy successfully home together.
My heart clenched. What if they didn’t release Reese? Our failure would have been in vain.
It felt like a year had gone by in one day. I did cry, but didn't sob. It was the silent tears of the forsaken. My mind drifted to the images of the night the brothers had died. I had felt so blessed lying on the floor, beaten and almost dead, but truly exalted at thinking I was loved enough for an angel to protect and defend me.
I was ripped away from everything. I didn't have William kissing me in the dark until I was asleep. I didn't have Reese and Dizzy stumbling around, drunk or sober. The sole contact I had with any of my loved ones was the letter from my father.
I slipped out of bed, quietly creeping across the room to retrieve the unread letter my father had written. I stepped with it softly into the bathroom, trying not to wake Abby. I saw the movement of her hand under the covers, her other arm over her face.
I continued, trying not to disturb her either way. I sat on the toilet and opened the letter. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dingy lighting of cheap fluorescence.
Dear Ruth,
I watched as you grew up in a harsh world, too quickly. You have always been so wise beyond your years, an old soul in a young body. I do not say these things to condone your decision to leave home, with or without William.
Your mother loves you. I know she hurt you, but we were hurt as well. I honestly don't know if I am ashamed at either of you or not. I know the heart wants what it wants. Your mother was married when I fell in love with her.
I tell you this to give you knowledge of what is to come. Either way, if you were taken by force or if you fled out of fear from your mother, we need to get you help. I am so sorry, baby.
Be a good girl, please. I will come to see you as soon as you are allowed visitors. Know that I love you. I do not judge you but we could have worked something out between us. I could have helped before it got to this point.
With all of my love,
Your father.
I crumpled the paper in my hands and let the tears fall. My father could be so naive. His huge heart could not see. Mother never put me first. We might not understand her reasoning for any of the horrific things she was doing, but I knew it wasn't for me.
I had never actually seen how powerful Mother could be. Anger dried my tears, burning them away.
Chapter 28- Violets
I got better at being the sheep I was expected to be. I was put back on my medication, but at a higher dose. They checked my mouth, cheeks, and tongue to make sure I swallowed the pills.
At every therapy session I made up a new excuse as my reason for captivity- kidnapped, ran away, abducted by aliens. I simply gave up. No matter what I said they would argue.
“You don't believe that,” or, “But that's not what happened, is it?” I was told to tell the truth but never could without being called a liar.
The food was bland. The days bled into each other. At therapy I was quiet except when asked direct questions. Every day was the same. The monotony of life lulled me into a deep depression. I found no comfort but for Abby as we grew closer.
I watched for the news every day. At first the video of William and me being dragged out of our home was on every channel. I had to keep everyone from bringing attention to the abuse that William endured.
One day we weren't even mentioned. Then weeks passed, until almost two months blurred pa
st in routine. My bruises were healed and the gashes scars, tangible reminders of his protection, when the television surprised me.
William would be going to trial in a few weeks. They were going to do a special report, detailing the last few months of our story every day leading up to the trial.
My heart pounded as his mug shot flashed across the screen. His face was covered in bruises, one eye was swollen shut, and his beautiful mass of curls was matted and crusted in blood.
The corners of his swollen lips were turned up into a smirk.
Everyone shot discreet glances to catch my reaction. I glanced over my shoulder and jumped to find the muscular white man with the short beard, Mr. Allen.
He stood directly behind me. He was a more lenient attendant, but I didn't know how much he would put up with.
“Are you ok with this?” I nodded. “Alright, as long as Ruth is fine with this, everyone stays calm, and you remain nonjudgmental then we can continue.”
I sat back in anticipation. What were they going to say about William? Was he ok? Where was he?
As the special started the other people began to crowd around us, quiet and curious. Everyone tried not to stare at me. I could do nothing but lift my chin in determination and keep my eyes on the screen.
At first I almost laughed. I hadn't heard much of the news when I was in hiding and had no idea how outrageous the claims against William were. The same brunette newscaster who had announced William’s arrest on my first day in the asylum narrated the footage of previous news clips.
She told the room that he had forcibly kidnapped me on my sixteenth birthday. The screen flashed to a seedy video of William and I stealing the car. People shook their heads incredulously at the image of William and I trading grins. The woman claimed he had threatened me to get into the vehicle. Abby scoffed and Mr. Allen gave her a warning hush.
The picture was black and white on the screen but in my mind I could still see the blue streaking the sky, smell the air, and feel William’s kiss as he sacrificed his precious car.
The story continued to the super store. There were eyewitness accounts and a security video as well. I dragged William across the store by the hand before he turned and pulled me to safety through the side door.
I couldn't help but to grin as I watched Reese and Dizzy dash past the cameras moments before us, yet no one noticed the huge man running with the short one. They still claimed that William was doing things against my will, regardless of what the cameras told.
My head seemed to empty of blood and reasoning as the second robbery was mentioned. There wasn't a video, but someone across the street had snapped a picture of us.
Tears threatened as I stared at the image of myself holding William up while I flung open the door to the building. I relived the pain and fear. Agony twisted his face, his mouth wide in a silent scream.
At the corner of the camera Dizzy was a blur. I thanked God when the anchor woman told us that William had no name for our accomplice, and was somebody he found on the street and paid in cash.
The description he gave for Dizzy made me fight to swallow laughter: a tiny man with a beaded beard. A sketch appeared in the corner of the television, telling us to keep a look out for the figment of William’s imagination.
The footage they showed of the house was different than before. It was an hour long video, the news van had followed the police, finding our house.
My cheeks burned as I watched the shadows behind the red window above our bed. I didn't know if anyone could tell what our shadows were doing. With every movement on the screen I could feel William again.
The stale air in the common room transformed into the smoke-filled musty air of my home. My memories flooded with the events from that day. All that consumed me was the scent of William’s blood and the embrace of his skin against mine.
I felt his hands on my body, heard the cries of pain and emotional torment and euphoria in our last moment. As I watched the shadows fall back I felt his lips against me, bringing me to a moment of unencumbered ecstasy.
I glanced around the room as heat spread over my body. Everyone watched the police slam their shoulders into our front door, but Abby leaned across and gave me a sly wink.
My face burned red as I watched my shadow blend with William's during our last morbid moment of perfection. No one knew the pain I was in. Pleasure and impending doom folded into one last scream and one last kiss.
The police got through the door and I watched myself being thrown to the floor. My mouth moved with unheard words spilling into unlistening ears. The scream I let out was audible, and everyone in the room turned to me. I didn't tear my eyes from the screen. I didn't want to see the pity.
The image of William’s defiant smile, regardless of the abuse, returned to my mind. I smirked with pride.
The camera veered to see the neighborhood and I froze. I hadn't seen him before. I had noticed Ma, but in the passenger side of her car was Dizzy, slumped over and sobbing.
It looked like Ma tied him to the seat. He kept trying to force himself out of the car as Ma stood with her door open. The camera kept turning, showing the invisible neighbors coming out slowly.
Someone across the room whispered loudly, “Vultures,” but I shook my head. The police had been to our neighborhood many times and the people kept themselves hidden. They stood tall on their stoops. Some walked to the street. Tears threatened again as I realized they were showing their support for us.
Mr. Allen shushed the room, worry sharpening in his expression.
The voice of the policeman telling the emergency responders that William had been hurt when he got there filled the room, then a muffled crashing sound. The camera captured me throwing my fit against the glass and the police officer who pointed his gun at my face. I hadn't realized I had bared my teeth like a wounded, rabid animal.
The room stiffened in a wave around me. They leaned away from the screen as though watching a horror movie in the peak of gore and fear. I watched myself throw my head against the window one last time, the force knocking me back.
The screen focused on William being loaded into the back of the ambulance. His eyes fluttered and his mouth moved under the clear mask.
I saw my name on his lips and felt like I could hear it, taste it.
The television came back to the news studio and the woman announced, “William Hugh Chainbers is accused of breaking and entering, possession of illegal substances in the form of a pound of marijuana, the possession of illegal firearms, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, involuntary manslaughter, armed robbery, and the kidnapping of his half niece, Ruth Fellows.”
People turned toward me slowly. I saw the shock in Abby’s face. I looked into every single pair of eyes, trying to see if they knew that we had been in love, if they had seen the shadows and knew what we were doing.
The one person that looked like they had a clue was Abby, but her surprised expression had quickly turned to understanding tinted with appreciative. She gave me the same kind of nod I had given her on my first day in therapy.
I couldn't smile. I simply wanted to throw up.
John saw the urge and grabbed the trashcan in time.
✷✴✷
At therapy that evening I decided to try one last time to find an honest reason for my being trapped in the facility.
“My name is Ruth, and I am here for mental trauma.”
I didn't discuss the trauma, not ready to out my mother for her abuse. I wasn’t ready to be made to think of every hit and dark, wilting memory that scarred my mind. The single time in my life I had been relieved of the pain was when I was with William, and she had torn him away from me.
Mr. Marcus nodded at me, surprised but pleased. He didn’t argue.
The days grew hazy. The other patients came and left, all but Abby. One morning I asked her why she stayed. Her answer surprised me.
“They're waiting until I either turn eighteen, or the emancipation papers go through.”
She shook her blond curls, “The papers have to be filed before you come here unless your parents say it's what they want.”
I tried not to show disappointment or pity. “Is it what you want?”
Her genuine smile confused me. “I haven't lived with my parents for years.” I suddenly realized that Abby didn't talk much in therapy either. Maybe because we were in privacy, she unfolded herself and opened up. “I was four when they gave me my first hit off of a crack pipe.”
She laughed at my stunned expression. “That's not even the worst of it. My parents pimped me out when I was still a child.” Her smile disappeared at the memories.
I tried not to look horrified, I wanted her to stop talking but the ghosts and trauma in her eyes kept me from hushing her. I could see the lost little girl in those eyes, the child who never got a childhood. A ghost of youth.
Her voice wavered. Her eyes couldn’t fully meet mine as they looked into a past I couldn't see. “They sold me altogether to a man one day who kept me in a dog kennel completely naked while waiting for johns. I had to eat out of a dog bowl and literally wear a choker collar around my throat.”
Her voice broke as she spoke. I instinctively reached out to comfort her. She bit back a sob at my touch. “The police raided his house for drugs and when they found me and the other girls they sent us back to our families. All of our parents had told the police we ran away, or had been kidnapped, like they did to you. When I kept running away for real, they sent me here so they wouldn’t keep getting visits from social services.”
I cradled her as she cried. I saw a movement in the door and thought Mr. Marcus was going to yell at me because touching wasn't permitted, but he saw the emotional moment and backed into the hall.
I had a new appreciation for my own parents. Even my borderline abusive mother seemed like an angel.