Finding Hope (The Heartmates Trilogy Book 1)

by J Grace

  My mouth hung open in disbelief that he was saying this to me. He had obviously been brainwashed by my parents into accepting their lies; he wouldn’t be so cruel if he knew the truth. Tears fell like rivers and my body shook with silent cries.

  “I know you’re a good girl. I know you want to be a better daughter. I can see that you have remorse for what you’ve done. But I need to know -do you plan to try this again? Or has the damage you’ve caused this time been enough to show you the error of your ways?” Everything inside me wanted to run away from this man, but I fought my urges like I always did because the fear of my mother’s wrath was worse than anything he could say. Something inside telling me he would report back to her rooted me to the seat.

  “No...yes.” I swallowed thickly, my mouth dry as the Sahara desert. He nodded and a satisfied smile crossed his lips.

  Does he really think he’s helping me?

  “Good. Good, your parents will be pleased to know that we’ve had a breakthrough.”

  I knew it. It doesn’t matter what the truth is, no one will ever believe me.

  I sat there staring at my socked feet and wept.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “I’m sorry. I…”

  The door swung open and the nurse that brought me to Dr. Wilson’s office stood in the doorway.

  “Let’s go.” He said with indifference to my tears or obvious frazzled state. I looked to Dr. Wilson, but he was already writing notes in what I assumed was my file. I stood on shaky legs and braced myself for a moment before I walked the five feet to the door. I was walking in a haze; a cloud of doubt, hate, and fear hung above me. I was cold and I didn’t know if I would ever be warm again.

  Thirty minutes later I was sitting at a table in the back of the cafeteria absentmindedly eating the tray of food I was given. It didn’t matter what was on it, I couldn’t taste anything anyway. Suddenly a tray was slammed down across from me. My heart leaped into my throat as I saw Sophie sitting there smiling at me.

  “What?” I growled.

  Woah, where did that come from?

  “So you’ve had your first meeting with Dr. Wilson, huh?” she said, undeterred by my gruff attitude. “He’s a peach, ain’t he?” I gave a soft laugh.

  “Yeah, he’s a regular Mother Teresa.” I deadpanned.

  “Ha! Good one, I’ll have to steal it. Look, I can tell you’re a first-timer. I mean, I kinda guessed that in the room, but when you freaked out with all the questions, I knew. Figured you wanted to be alone, so I left. I was a basket case my first time too.” She shoveled a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth and made a ‘yuck’ face, dropping her spoon on the tray.

  “And now you’re not?”

  “Nah, this is old hat for me, sweet cheeks.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I took a drink of water and watched her over the rim. She cocked her head to the side, watching me in return.

  “Well, you never told me your name so what else am I supposed to call you?”

  “Marjorie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Marjorie,” She held her hand out to me. I looked at it like it was the plague. I shook my head and sat back in my chair, setting the cup back on the table.

  “Sorry, I don’t like touching.” She took her hand back and shrugged, undeterred.

  “That’s cool. We all have our thing.” Her positivity was grating on my already frayed nerves.

  “Why are you here? You seem far too happy. I thought people who committed suicide hated life and shied away from human contact.”

  “Well, I am right now, but I wasn’t a week ago. I have bipolar disorder.” She said it like that explained everything, but it didn’t, not to me.

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Simple terms, like really simple cause I don’t want to blow your mind anymore than it’s already been, is that I have manic episodes of extreme happiness and extreme depression. Sometimes - not every time, but sometimes when my depression is severe I reach a point where life isn’t worth living. You gonna eat that?” she asked, pointing to the fruit cup on my tray. I shook my head no and she grabbed it swallowing it down in two gulps. “Man, I love these! Anyway, this last time I had been in my depressive phase for four months. Sometimes it’s hard to gauge cause it doesn’t just hit you all at once, it’s a gradual thing.” the loud bang of a tray crashing to the floor echoed in the room diverting our attention momentarily. “Job opening!” she shouted towards the kitchen attendant cleaning up the spill of mixed vegetables. She turned back to me chuckling. “That guy is seriously the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” she leaned forward and put her arms on the table, her fingers immediately began tapping loudly. “Anywho, where was I? Oh right! So the symptoms creep up on you slowly, the things that used to excite you or bring you joy just don’t anymore; relationships feel like weights dragging you down, and then one day the world has no color, no taste, and there isn’t a thing in this world that can spark the joy in you.” It was a little unnerving to see her talking about such sad things with a smile on her face. “And then there are the times like now that I feel happy and excited," she grabbed a paper napkin from my tray and started ripping it into little pieces without skipping a beat, "the world smells like chocolate chip cookies and everything is neon bright. You could kick me in the stomach and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t dampen my mood one bit. I might get annoyed that you’re trying to kill my joy, but I’d do it with a smile on my face and a lilt in my voice. You could be the biggest asshole and I’d still think you shoot rays of sunshine out your ass.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. To be that happy.”

  Any kind of happy would be great.

  “It’s just as bad as the depression. I suppose at first it’s nice. To be so positive and up, and ready to get things done, but then it all becomes too much. I become too much, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I want everyone to be happy and I have no idea why. I live in a ridiculous cycle of ups and downs. Sure, sometimes I’m able to reach my happy medium, but it’s really hard to regulate meds for kids.” Now that the paper napkin was in a million pieces, she set her sights on the rubber bands that she wore on her wrists, pulling it taut and letting it go. She didn’t even flinch as it popped against her flesh. “I have the opportunity to participate in a clinical trial where they sort of fluctuate meds instead of just a single set dosage. I guess the idea is that our moods naturally swing so it would make sense that our meds change too. Anyway, I’m hopeful that I get picked so that I can finally live somewhat of a normal life.” She held her hand up with her fingers crossed, her wrist red from abuse, and when I looked at her face, her eyes were too. I let out an involuntary laugh and she smiled. “There you are. I was wondering if I was gonna get to see the real you.” I flinched a little at that comment, but didn’t want to delve into what she meant by that. How could she know the real me when I didn’t.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” I asked nodding my head to her inflamed skin. She looked down at her wrist and tilted her head thoughtfully.

  “Nah. Well, not too bad. Just enough to help me focus on one thing at a time, which can be really hard when I’m in my current state.” she pulled her arms off the table and folded them against her chest. Almost instantly her legs began to bounce.

  “Have you always been bipolar?”

  “No. Well, not like this. I’ve always had bouts of unexplainable energy and excitedness and not being able to sit still or focus. But one year at school my teacher told my parents that she thought I might have ADHD so they took me to the doctor and he prescribed meds. As soon as I took them my mood altered. I was quiet and withdrawn, nothing had meaning. I lost a lot of weight and I started cutting myself just to feel something. I was twelve and that was the first time I accidentally tried to kill myself,” her face scrunched at the memory, “My parents immediately took me off the meds, but it was like the damage was done. I was back to my old self, but there was this voice in the back of my
head that told me it wouldn’t last, and it didn’t.”

  Her eyes shot to something beside me, and I turned reflexively to see what she was looking at. It was the girl I saw in the bathroom this morning. She looked freshly bathed, but the vacant look in her eyes was still there. “Hey Hilda, looking good!” Sophie said in a mocking tone. Hilda’s blank eyes swung our way, landing on Sophie. She stopped mid-stride and snarled as she held up her hand with her middle finger extended and mouthed ‘fuck you’ before continuing on her way. Sophie broke out into a riotous laughter and banged her hands on the table loudly. “Oh man, Hilda you. Are. A. Hoot!”

  When she turned back to me I gave her my best ‘What was that about?’ face.

  “Me and Hilly go way back. Popped our Psych ward cherries together. She hates me as you can see, but I’m determined to crack that nut if it’s the last thing I do. Back to what we were talking about.” I heard the pop of the rubberband from underneath the table and she nodded to herself. ”Right, so six months later I tried to kill myself on purpose. That’s when they finally diagnosed me with Bipolar Disorder. I mean it’s not as simple as that, but it’s the end result. I started meds again and it was going good for a while, but then somewhere in my thirteenth year, my hormones went crazy. The doctors adjusted my meds, but I’ve yet to be able to find that perfect place again.” She took on a wistful expression and her eyes misted over. “I was okay though, until I wasn’t, and now I’m here again.” Her voice ended on a high note as she shrugged off the thought.

  “You’ve been here three times?” I couldn’t imagine what she must go through on a daily basis. One day I hoped to escape my mom, but Sophie will never escape this.

  “No, I’ve been here six times.” she ran a hand through her short hair, snagging a finger on a knot and pulling hard. A few strands of hair came away in her hand and she rolled them around in her other palm until the formed a small ball. “My parents, God bless their hearts, are very nervous when it comes to me. I’m an only child, you see, so anytime I’ve been depressed for longer than a few weeks they’ve sent me here. They can’t afford to send me to an actual facility and even if they could there’s nothing that can be done besides labs and meds regulation. But at least for the week that I’m here they can get some sleep knowing that someone is always watching out for me,” She shrugged as if it was no big deal and I wondered which of the six times she was here that it stopped affecting her, “Anyway, that’s why I’m here. What about you?”

  “You stay here for a week? I thought it was just seventy-two hours.” My palms started to sweat at the idea that I would have to be here longer. It was hard enough to deal with three days, but a week?

  “Oh, no, you can be here as long as you want. Seventy-two hours is the minimum hold for suicide attempts. I’ve actually been here for almost three weeks. Like I said, this last time was bad.” My heart began to pound in my chest, Mom had said that I would be going to a facility, but she didn’t say when. Would she leave me here if she couldn’t find one? Cool hands gripped my fingers and pulled me forward knocking me out of my thoughts.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I know Dr. Wilson is as comforting as an ice block, but it’s not so bad here. It’s okay to be scared too. Look around, you’re not the only one, but nobody is going to hurt you.” I let out a shaky breath and nodded, pulling my fingers from her grasp.

  “Thank you.” She winked at me and smiled.

  “Anytime.”

  Sophie was right about Dr. Wilson. I met with him again on the second morning, but this time in a group session with four other people, including Sophie. He was as cold as he was in his office. He talked the whole time about the sin we committed and the pain and suffering we would have caused our families. Not once did he try to learn why any of us attempted suicide and I realized that it didn’t matter to him. We were sinners and our voices or reasons were unimportant. He left us with a nurse and a video that explained the effects suicide has on the living after a successful attempt. When it was over we were taken to the craft room where another nurse passed out supplies and walked us through making a bracelet like we were toddlers. How this was supposed to help me I didn’t know.

  At least the nurses were professional, if not empathetic, and the patients typically kept to themselves. Over the next two days, after meals, Sophie and I would sit in our room and I would listen to her tell me stories. She was nice and I appreciated the distraction she provided. I even found myself laughing a time or two, her false positivity unbelievably hard to ignore. Of course almost immediately after the laugh escaped, a bubble of guilt would float to the top.

  That night I lay in my bed staring at the patterns the light made across the walls as it filtered through the trees outside the window. It wasn’t like the stars or the clouds that Sierra and I used to watch, but it made me think of her nonetheless. The ache in my heart grew in strength the longer I let my mind linger on her. Tears streaked down the sides of my face wetting my pillow. I let a soft sob escape, thinking Sophie was asleep.

  “Hey, do you want to talk about it?” Sophie’s whispered voice was full of concern and caring, something I had been hard-pressed to find since Sierra died. Sophie was the first person my age that I had met that was like me and I felt like I could let my guard down around her. Still, I wasn’t ready to say Sierra’s name out loud.

  “I’m just missing someone who was very close to me.” my voice was rough with the emotion that threatened to overtake me. I heard the rustling of sheets and felt the dip of the corner of my bed.

  “Tell me about them?” I shook my head. “Okay, then tell me what was so special about them?”

  “Everything.”

  “Is it your boyfriend?”

  “No, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, before you ask.” she giggled and I felt her shift a little closer to me.

  “So, then who are they?”

  “Were. Was, my best friend.” she was silent for a moment, but it was like I could hear her mind running wild with questions.

  “Did something happen to ruin your friendship?” there was caution in her voice like she had an idea but didn’t want to say.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Look I don’t know your story, but I can see that there is something holding you back. And I’m not going to pry, but you need to find a reason to live. Even if it’s a small one at first like you want to see the first snow of winter or see Paris in spring. Whatever it is, make it good, make it something that will get you through the tough times.” I immediately thought of Sierra and my desire to make her proud, but I still had doubts and my mother’s voice in my head telling me I was worthless.

  “I don’t know how.” Sophie reached for my hand and instead of pulling away I let her hold it.

  “Sure you do. You’re just scared to fail, but you know what- even just trying is winning. And the really awesome part? You’re already doing it!”

  I looked at Sophie, her smile still visible through the shadows, and realized she was right. Everything I was doing since I woke up in this place was pushing me past my boundaries. I hadn’t realized that I had, through my suicide attempt, given myself the proverbial out that I was looking for from life as I knew it.

  “I think I have something.”

  “Yes!” she whisper yelled throwing her hands in the air and doing a little dance where she sat. Her excitement made me laugh, but then I let out a yawn, suddenly tired. She squeezed my hand and made her way off my bed and then bounced onto hers with a giggle. I turned over to face the wall and shut my eyes like I did every night, and pulled up the image of her face from the last time I saw her alive. A twinge of panic ignited in my belly that the image was wavering in its clarity. I focused a little harder, trying my best to push out all other thoughts and sounds from my mind.

  She was happy, in her cheer uniform, her blonde hair pulled high into a ponytail, her makeup perfect. She had just pulled over to the curb to drop me off a block away from home. My mother didn’t approve of me getting ri
des from Sierra. My mother didn’t approve of Sierra. Most days I walked the mile home, too scared that my mom would see us on her way home from the store or church. But on Tuesdays and Fridays, Sierra drove me. Today wasn’t a Tuesday or Friday, but she had insisted. There was something she needed to tell me. My nerves were shot by the end of the ride, my mind consumed by what she needed to say. Was she finally done with me? Had she made real friends and not want me dragging her down anymore? I was reaching for the door handle when she finally spoke.

  “Marjorie, I’m going to Gabriella’s house tonight for a party after the game so I won’t be able to watch the stars with you tonight.” I turned to face her. She was biting her lip, a look of worry scrunching her face.

  “Oh. Okay... is that it?”

  “Yeah.”

  I let out a relieved sigh.“I thought you were breaking up with me.”

  “What? Why would I do that?”

  “You looked worried; conflicted almost. I just thought maybe you’d finally had enough of me, having seen the other side of things.”

  “Well I was worried that you would be upset, but you’re my best friend and you always will be. Yeah, it would be great if we could have these experiences together, but I would never just drop you. What kind of person would that make me?”

  “A smart one.”

  She reached over and grabbed my hand bringing it up to her heart, placing the back of my hand against her chest.