by Britney King
Amelie’s mother poured a cup of water and pushed it in his direction. “For people with bi-polar disorder, traumatic events… events such as having an abortion can cause real set backs. That… and we have no idea how long she’d been off her medication.” He could hear the bitterness in her voice as she spoke.
“So you have her drugged up? Don’t you think that after everything she’s been through that this might be a little much?”
She smiled a guarded smile. “Sweetie. It’s important that we take precautions to ensure that she doesn’t hurt herself again.”
“So you think drugging her up and locking her away is going help her? How is that?”
Her mother considered his question for a moment. She seemed flustered but calmed a little when she answered. “I know this must be very confusing for you. But you have to agree that this is better than how you found her in your apartment the other night. Amelie needs vigilance. She needs constant care right now. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, Mr. Harrison, my daughter would be dead right now. So yes, I do think this is helping her. If it keeps her alive, it is helping. Anyway, I’ll leave you two… I’ll be in the cafeteria. Tell the nurses to have me paged if they need me.”
Jack sat quietly for a few minutes as he thought his plan through. When he had it, he stood and climbed into the hospital bed next to her. He traced her face and kissed her lips. “I will not let them lock you up,” he whispered.
Several hours later, sometime after the sun had set, Amelie began to stir. She opened her eyes and smiled weakly when she saw he was there.
“Hey,” he smiled.
“Hey,” she attempted, and then pointed at the pitcher of water on the bedside table. She raised her arms and sighed at the sight of the restraints. “They think I’m going somewhere,” she managed. Jack placed the straw to her lips and watched her suck down the water. He refilled the cup two more times before she motioned that she’d had enough.
“This is ridiculous, Amelie,” he said attempting to loosen one of her restraints.
She shook her head and pulled it away. “Better watch out. You’re going to get us both into trouble.”
“Yeah. Well, I think I’ve done enough of that already.” He rubbed her forehead with the back of his hand. “God, I never should have left you alone.”
“This isn’t your fault, Jack.” She looked around the room. “I did this.”
“What I don’t understand, though… is why.”
“It’s hard to explain… the pain, I guess. Sometimes… it’s too much, and I just wanted it to go away.”
“So you weren’t trying to kill yourself, then. That’s what I keep trying to tell them! But they won’t listen.”
She smiled a little. “I don’t know, Jack. I wouldn’t exactly say that. The truth is… I just didn’t care one way or the other. I’m just really sorry I put you in the middle of it all. I’m sorry you had to find me like that.”
“Amelie. Listen to me. You are not crazy. No matter what they say. You know that, right? You’re just going through a hard time, that’s all.”
She blinked back tears and eyed the restraints around her wrists. “Yeah. You could say that.”
They laid there in silence for a long time before Amelie spoke again. “Jack.”
“Yeah?” He recognized that tone.
“I don’t want you to you see me like this anymore. I’m no good for you. I’m going to tell them that I’ll go. I’m going to go to this place they’re talking about sending me, and I need you to let me go. I need you to promise me… that you’ll let me go without a fight.”
Jack shifted in the bed. “You mean you want to go, then?” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand. You’re not crazy. You’re just sad. There’s a difference. But around here… I don’t know… it’s like the twilight zone. No one listens.”
She sighed. “I don’t know what I want anymore, Jack. I just want to stop hurting everybody I love. I can’t take the pity I see in your eyes. Or the disappointment in my mother's. Maybe I am sick. Maybe I’m not. All I know is that whatever this is… it’s bigger than me. And I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”
He played with her fingers, unable to meet her eyes. “But… I don’t know how to let you go, Amelie.”
“I know you don’t. You never did.”
Jack looked up then. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I want you to let me go. For good, this time.”
“Maybe you are fucking crazy. That’s not gonna happen. I love you, Amelie.” He snickered.
She turned to face him as best she could. “No. I’m serious. I’ve never caused anything but trouble for you. It’s what I do. I find a way to destroy everything and everyone around me. And eventually, I’ll destroy you, too. Just look at what I’ve managed to do already. I’m not taking you down with me, Jack. I’m not.”
His gaze was fixed on her now. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it. This is life. It’s not perfect. It is what it is. But you don’t give up. You don’t just give up.”
“Sometimes, maybe you do. I don’t love you the way you love me, Jack. Can’t you see that?”
Amelie’s mother appeared from behind the curtain. “Well, looky there. Sleeping Beauty’s up. And guess what? I brought you some of your favorite things,” she cheered, holding up a bag in each hand.
Jack looked back and forth between the two of them and realized what he needed to do. He glanced at his watch. “Visiting hours are almost up, so… I’m going to run. He kissed Amelie’s cheek. He looked to her mother, cleared his throat, and walked toward the door. “I’ll be back in the morning… In the meantime, see that she gets those things off her wrists, would you?”
He stopped just inside the doorway and nodded at Amelie. “See you in the morning, kid. I’ll bring breakfast.”
She smiled. Even drugged up, in restraints on the psych floor, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“I’ll see you,” she replied and winked.
Had Jack known then that was the last time he would see her for another two whole years, he probably would’ve said something a little more appropriate for the occasion. He probably would’ve stayed longer. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have left at all.
PART TWO
Amelie
FOURTEEN
As Jack sat at the Princeton library pouring over anything and everything related to mental illness, specifically bi-polar disorder, somewhere across town, Amelie was having a conversation that would make it all for not. Jack had planned to bring in his own research to the table, his own resources, and experts on the subject. He’d intended to waltz into that hospital the following morning and prove that Amelie was not crazy, nor did she need or deserve to be locked up. Sure, she was passionate and moody. Free-spirited, he liked to call it. She was sad. But she wasn’t crazy.
Back at the hospital, Amelie was busy doing some bargaining of her own. “Fine. I’ll go. Tonight, if it’s what you want,” she finally relented. “But only if you promise to give him something for me. There’s something I need him to know.”
“Something you need who to know, darling?” Her mother had known exactly whom she was refereeing to.
“Jack.”
“Oh, honey, I thought we agreed on this. You need to let that boy go. You’ve said so yourself, he has a bright future ahead of him. And this kind of thing, well… it’s just a lot for anyone to handle. Much less a boy of his age.”
“I know, Mother. But there’s something I forgot to say. Something I want him to know. So, you have to promise. Or I won’t go.” She held up the paperwork. “I won’t sign these papers…”
Her mother waved her hands in the air. “Ok, dear. Whatever you want. Yes. Sure. I’ll do it. I’ll see to it that he gets your note.”
Amelie pressed the pen to paper and signed her name on the dotted line. She set the pen down, did her best to compose herself, and then picked it up again and wrote to Jack. Three short par
agraphs later, she prayed that she was able to convey enough to make him wait for her.
Dear Jack,
I’m sorry to have left with things in the state they’re in. I’m sorry for it all, really. You certainly don’t deserve the shit I’ve put you through, and I think somewhere deep down you must know that. But that’s not why I’m writing, actually. I’m writing because I want to let you know that I lied. I do love you, Jack. I’m just sorry that it wasn’t enough. That I can’t be what you need. You deserve so much more. You deserve someone like yourself. Someone smart, someone strong, someone who hangs in there and fights for what it is they want. So that’s what I’m going to try to be from here on out. A fighter. I’m going give this treatment thing everything I’ve got. I’m going to do it for you and for the child I never gave a chance. The truth is, I’m not sure that I deserve another chance, or that I even deserve to live, given what I’ve done. I know it doesn’t make a lot of difference. No matter what I say or what I do, the outcome will still be the same. But hopefully, now the situation looks a little clearer on your end, and you can see that I’m not cut out to raise a child—that I can’t even take care of myself. Hopefully, you understand that I never meant to hurt you. Sadly, though, I realize that’s all I’ve done.
Because of that, Jack, because of the pain I saw in your eyes tonight, I’ve decided that it’s no longer a choice for me to make. It’s a given. I have to go. I need to get better. I need to be a fighter, for you. I want to make you proud the way you make me. I want to feel like I am worthy of your love. You inspire me to want to be better and without you, I don’t know where I’d be. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you are my reason for trying. You always have been. I’m just sorry I lied about that before. But I want you to know it is the truth.
I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving this way. I just couldn’t take another goodbye. I couldn’t let you beg me to stay. I hope that you’ll write to me and that you know that I’ll miss you so. Maybe when I get out, we can take a trip together. Until then, I’ll focus on getting better. But no matter what, or where I am, I want you to know that my heart will always be somewhere with you.
Love,
Amelie
Unfortunately, for Jack, and for Amelie, her mother did not end up keeping the promise she’d made. It would be a very long time before Jack would read the words that Amelie had written that night.
Amelie’s mother flew her back home to Texas where she had agreed to spend thirty days in an inpatient mental health program. Thirty days that quickly turned into sixty, and then into ninety. The inpatient facility felt more like a hospital than anything, and to say that Amelie despised being there would be an understatement. Her days were spent going from therapy to group therapy and back to her room again. Every day was the same, and they blended together until she found that she had to check the calendar on her therapist’s desk in order to know which it was at all.
Sunday’s were her favorite because Sunday was visiting day, and that was when her mother would come to see her. Amelie looked forward to those visits more than anything else. One cannot know how it feels to be cut off from the outside world, from everything you know, until suddenly you are. Nothing is familiar, and everything is empty. Mostly, though, she looked forward to her mother’s visits, because that was when she would receive her mail. Her mother brought her letters sent from friends back at school in France and as well as from her grandparents. But it was always the letter that didn’t come that she’d looked forward to most. As the weeks passed, and no word came from Jack, Amelie’s mood grew darker and darker. She knew she really couldn’t blame him though—after all, the last words she’d spoken to him were to tell him that she didn’t feel the same way about him as he did her. She also knew he was probably angry about her leaving the way she did. Aside from all of that, she realized she had put him through a lot. Her letter had probably been too little, too late. In the following weeks, Amelie wrote two more letters, which her mother promised to send. After six weeks had passed with no response, she along with her therapist decided that it was probably in her best interest to let it go. They decided, in the interest of her recovery and release from the program, it was imperative she make progress. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy for her to move forward as they’d all hoped— which is how thirty days ended up turning into ninety.
On day one, Amelie refused to take any form of medication, so it was given to her via injection, against her will. As time went on though, she learned to play the game. She observed that there was a system and that her only job was not to upset it. Once she learned to blend in, life there became more tolerable. Someday, she would upset the system, she told herself, but that day would not be today. Defiance had a time and place, she knew. Her one and only purpose at the time was to get out of there. By day fifteen, her medication had been transferred to pill form. Pills, which the nurses administered, watched her swallow and checked her mouth for afterward. It took her until day forty-two to master the art of the “hide and spit.” This worked by using her tongue to push the pills up between her top teeth and cheek. She hid them there and then flushed them as soon as she was able. On the days when it didn’t work, she forced herself to vomit the pills back up as soon as she could get to a restroom. It wasn’t just that she hated the medication and the way it made her feel. Amelie knew she wasn’t ‘sick.’ She refused to believe the diagnosis or the labels that she was given.
Around day sixty or so, the funk began to subside a little, and she found herself passing the days by getting to know her fellow ‘inmates’ as she liked to call them. She took photographs and wrote Jack letters she knew she would never send. And although she had gotten past thinking anything would ever be different between them—he was still the reason behind everything she did. She made him her reason for getting better. Her reason for getting out of there.
On day ninety, Amelie was cleared for release having exceeded every expectation her team of therapists had for her. She had managed to not only win over the physicians, but most her fellow patients, as well—serving as a mentor, a friend, and much later, a voice for those who often had none.
FIFTEEN
Amelie tossed and turned in her sleep. She thrashed about entangling herself in her covers before finally waking with a start, cold sweat pooled around her. Panicked, she shot up and rubbed at her eyes, and in a quick attempt to discern her surroundings, she began patting at whatever was within reach. Finally realizing where she was, which was back at home in her own bed, she slowly caught her breath, laid back down and tried to recall her dream and just what it was that had caused her heart to race, her head to swim.
“Tell me about your father,” the male voice demanded.
The voice sounded an awful lot like her dad, only angrier, Amelie considered.
“What do you want to know?” she asked anxiously.
In the dream, she’d been back in the hospital lying on the couch in a doctor’s office that resembled the room where she spent her days in therapy—only it wasn’t.
“What was he like?” the voice insisted.
She raised her hand to speak only to find that she couldn’t. Her arms were tied down. She struggled to get free.
“I’m waiting,” the voice persisted.
“Take these off!” she pleaded as she inspected her wrists. “And I’ll tell you whatever it is you want to know.”
The booming voice laughed. “I’m afraid that’s not how this sort of thing works, my darling.”
Something, or more specifically, someone began stroking her head then, smoothing her hair. She’d attempted to shift upward in the direction of the voice in order to get a look at who might be touching her, but her head was too heavy for her to move. She swallowed back her fear and spoke quietly. “My father died. In a car accident. When I was seven.”
The man’s voice was rough when he spoke. “Ok. Tell me about him.”
“I don’t remember. Now, please take these off! I haven’t done anything…
I don’t understand why I’m being restrained.” Amelie cried.
“Surely you can recall something…” She felt the hand move down the side of her face and slide toward her shoulder. She did her best to move away, scooting a little, only it seemed there was nowhere to go. Her vision, and more importantly, her head felt too foggy to really give an escape much effort.
The hand moved further downward. “How does this feel?” the voice purred.
“STOP!” she screamed. “I don’t like it!”
“My darling, don’t you see? We’re playing a little game here. The sooner you tell me what you remember, the sooner our session will be over.”
Amelie spoke hurriedly. “He left for work one day… on a trip… he had a trip… and he never came back.”
“Ok. What else?”
She thought hard, trying to recall something, anything that might make the voice happy. She hated the man with the booming voice, but she knew, despite the fog clouding her thoughts, that she had to get out of this room. “He… he used to tuck me in at night. I… I was the apple of his eye. His everything. That’s what he used to tell me. He’d read me his poetry every night before bedtime… I think… whatever it was he was working on at the time. He told me about his travels. About where they were sending him next. I remember that whoever ‘they’ were… I knew I didn’t like them because they kept sending him away.”
“Go on,” the man urged.
“When he was home, I was happy. My mom was nicer. Every night was the same. He would read to me, and then he’d kiss my forehead and whisper my name. Amelie Rose, he’d say, and then he would smile. I remember that I have his smile. He’d say that my name was his greatest poetry. That I was the best thing he had ever done. That my heart was made of his and that it was better than gold.”