My Deliberate Mistake

by Claire Svendsen

  It used to be a re-occurring nightmare of mine, standing there naked in front of the class. The kids all laughed at me, shouting that they knew my secret before pelting me with water balloons. I’d wake up screaming but of course no one ever came to see if I was alright. This time is different. It’s like my nightmare has been twisted into an erotic fantasy.

  I’m naked, standing in front of Mark as he replicates my curves and lines in the wet clay. Fingers slick and slippery as he works. Every now and then he pauses, looking at me with a serious face before continuing. Molding the tops of my thighs, my hips, my most private of areas.

  I faltered as he slid my underwear down, not used to being seen in the light. My usual sexual exploits conducted only under the cover of dark. The less you see, the less you know, the less the reality hurts you. But Mark just ran his hands over every inch of my skin, learning my lines and curves until I was a writhing mess. Now he replicates those lines as I stand naked, waiting for him to finish.

  I don’t know how long it takes. I’ve lost all sense of time. I watch as Mark takes my pain and turns it into something beautiful. Something that will last forever. Finally he stands back and rubs his hands on his jeans.

  “Not bad,” he says.

  I close my eyes, not wanting the moment to be over despite the fact that I’m freezing and my hand has fallen asleep. I close my eyes and imagine for a moment that I am the statue. Solid. Unbreakable. Then I feel Mark’s breath on my face, his lips brushing against mine. I’m kissing him, pulling his shirt off and he’s running his hands over my flesh, sending heat searing back into skin that was moments ago like ice.

  We don’t speak. I don’t think I can. He tastes every inch of me as I stand on this pedestal before him and I let him. His eyes meet mine, dark and full of desire. I wrap my arms around his neck and he lifts me down. Our hands roam over every scar, birthmark, every freckle. He’s pulling his pants off and tugging me down to the floor and I go with him, clutching him. We don’t come up for air. I don’t think either of us can. The only breath I can take in is his and I pull his weight against me, force him to crush me with his love.

  My body arches up to meet his as he thrusts easily into my wetness and I claw at his back as he enters me on the slippery, clay stained floor. Each stroke takes me someplace I’ve never been before. Every nerve end explodes as I orgasm quickly, clenching my feet around his waist to pull him deeper inside. I cry out as I peak and then wane but don’t let go and it builds until I’m coming again beneath him, raising my hips to meet his every move. His eyes lock mine, a strand of hair hanging over one eye as he kisses me roughly, his tongue in my mouth as he moans and comes. I’m lost in the pleasure, unable to move or speak, unable to breathe. Shuddering beneath him, I can’t let go.

  21.

  We run to his room, an actual room with a real bed unlike the broom closet I’ve been sleeping in.

  “Come on,” he tugs off his clay stained clothes. “Shower time.”

  “You have a balcony and your own bathroom? That’s so unfair.”

  “Well it’s not unfair now, is it?”

  He tugs at my clothes, tickling me in the process.

  “Hey,” I laugh. “That’s not fair either.”

  So I tickle him back and we rip our clothes off, leaving a dirty trail on the floor. He pulls me into the shower and I squeal as the first cold blast of water hits us.

  “Turn it up,” I say, jumping back from the stream of water.

  “It takes a while for the hot to come through,” he leans in closer. “Old pipes but I think we can wait.”

  He’s already hard again and I wrap my arms and legs around him as he slips inside me, my back against the wall as he rocks into me. He kisses my neck, shifting as the hot water streams over us but I hardly notice. I’m cocooned in a cloud of tingling skin and exploding nerve ends. When it’s over we sit together in the tub. I lean against his hard chest as he gently soaps my stomach. I close my eyes and can’t imagine I’ll ever be as happy as I am right now.

  When the water is finally cold, he wraps me in a fluffy towel and carries me to the bed. I look up at him and wonder what I did to deserve this. Part of me wants to believe this is my karmic reward for years of suffering but the other part is just waiting for the bottom to fall out.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I shake my head.

  I turn on my side, not wanting him to see my sadness.

  “You don’t have to worry,” he wraps himself around me. “I’m always going to take care of you.”

  22.

  I’m spluttering, choking. I can’t breathe. Water fills my lungs and this time it’s not a nightmare. It’s real. I’m underwater and a hand holds me down. Above me, distorted and opaque, is the face from the window. Green eyes burn as her face stretches into a smile. She opens her mouth to speak but instead of words, fish guts pour out. They splash into the water, muddying it until I can’t see her anymore. I’m thrashing and struggling against her hold but she won’t let me go. Maybe I should just give in, let her take me. But then I think of Mark with his sweet kisses and kind soul. I have to fight for him. With one final thrust, I surge out of the water, fighting off hands as I slip and fall. My head snaps against something hard and then there is black.

  The first thing I see is a face looming over me. I scream and try to get away.

  “You’re okay. It’s all right.”

  I see brown eyes filled with concern instead of the green eyes of my tormentor. It’s Mark. I stop fighting and fall back.

  “What happened?”

  “I found you in the tub. Don’t you remember?”

  “No,” I lie. “My head hurts.”

  He gently touches the side of my head where a lump has formed.

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry. I think you’ll live but we should probably get you checked out at the hospital just to be sure.”

  “No.” I sit up despite the throbbing pain. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

  “Maybe,” I say queasily.

  We’re sitting in a puddle of water and the tub is still full. I lean forward to look inside. No fish guts. Was it a dream after all?

  “Ana?” he says gently. “Were you trying to kill yourself?”

  “What? No.”

  I struggle away from him feeling weak and uneasy.

  “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  He runs a hand through his hair, looking concerned.

  “I found you in the water. Just lying there, drowning.”

  “No,” I snap. “I was trying to get out.”

  He shakes his head. “You tried to stop me from getting you out. You scratched me.”

  He points to three red marks on his arm. I reach out and run my fingers over them. I never wanted him to get hurt. I should have known Julia would never let me be happy.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I sleep walk. They’re night terrors.”

  He doesn’t look like he believes me. “Well, you’re still going to the hospital.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Ana, don’t be ridiculous. You hit your head and blacked out. You probably just have a concussion but you could have a skull fracture or something.”

  “Really? A skull fracture. That’s nice, thanks a lot.”

  I grab hold of the tub to pull myself up, ignoring the hand he offers me.

  “I told you I’m fine,” I say.

  Then I vomit and as I’m retching, the bathroom swims in my vision before disappearing completely.

  23.

  I don’t have to look. I know where I am. It’s the smell. There’s no place quite like it. That heady mix of rubbing alcohol, fear and plastic. My heart takes off like a racehorse and I hear the monitor I’m hooked up to start to chime. I force myself to take a deep breath only it’s not working. I listen for Julia, too scared to open my eyes. I hear nothing, just the racing of
my own heart and the monitor bleating like a deranged lamb.

  Someone comes in, probably a nurse. Her shoes squeak against the linoleum. She presses something on the machine and it stops sounding the alarm but I know my pulse is still in orbit. I hear her jiggle a few of the wires. She thinks the machine is faulty. I know it’s not. Her cool fingers press against my wrist to take my pulse manually but I flinch from her touch.

  “You are awake then,” she says softly.

  I open one eye, then the other. The room is dimly lit but I can see Mark asleep in a chair in the corner. My heart rate returns to normal. Mark hasn’t left me.

  “How long have I been here?” I whisper.

  “A few hours,” she says. “I should let the doctor know you’re awake. Do you know what happened to you?”

  I shake my head. If I told her I’d get a one way ticket to the psych ward. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

  “The doctor’s not going to like it,” she says as she turns to leave.

  I lie in the darkness, afraid to move. I don’t want to attract Julia’s voice in my head or the awful face I know she’s somehow become. So instead I watch Mark sleep. It must be nice to nuzzle in a chair and pass out without a care in the world. Every now and then he twitches like a sleeping cat. All I want to do is crawl into his lap and never leave. I wonder how much trouble he’s in for staying here with me. God the others must know by now. Crazy girl passes out in teacher’s bathroom. I’ll be lucky if they let me back in. Oh shit. That’s it. It’s over. It’s all over. Thanks a lot Julia. Way to ruin my life forever. Tears run silently down my face as the lights flick on and momentarily blind me.

  As the light flashes brilliant white I see her, standing next to Mark. Black dress sopping wet, dark hair tangled with pondweed and tape grass. Her hand reaches out to touch his face with slender, white fingers. She’s snorting like a scared horse, a rattling sound like her lungs are full of water. I try not to look at her but I can’t help it. She turns to look at me with that empty face and green eyes, sunken like buried treasure in the rotting flesh. She opens her mouth to say something but I don’t hear it. I’m already screaming as cold floods through my veins and water fills my lungs.

  24.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been out but when I wake up I’m not in restraints so that’s a plus. But my head is swimming in quicksand. It feels like Thorazine or Haldol, I can’t be sure which. Whatever it is, it’s definitely one of the big guns. I’ve been heavily sedated. I try and move my arm but I can barely lift it up off the bed let alone press the button for the nurse. I try to call out but I can’t move my mouth or make words. In fact it’s hard to keep my eyes open but I strain against the heavy lids, looking for the figure I know I saw. She’s not there and neither is Mark.

  I don’t know how long I drift in and out of consciousness. Every now and then I’m roused by a noise in the hallway or a nurse checking my vitals but I can’t stay in the now. I’m off drifting down a slippery slope of nightmares. Cars filled with water, lined up on the bottom of a lake like a parking lot. Children drowning inside, their petrified faces pressed against the glass as they gulp for air that just isn’t there. And above them all the girl floats, her gaunt face stretched in a smile as she waves her hands over the massacre like she’s conducting a symphony.

  By the time the drugs start to wear off, the sun is sinking below a bank of trees. A glowing ball slipping out of sight as it splashes pink hues across the sky. My head feels like it’s full of sand but I’m awake now. I won’t go back to the drowning lake again. They can’t make me.

  The room is empty. No creepy death girl. No Mark. My heart sinks. Now he’s seen the real me I bet he’s gone for good. Promises to take care of me null and void now that I’m a verified nutcase.

  The nurse comes in, an older woman with rounded shoulders and a tired smile. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me awake.

  “I knew your time was up,” she says.

  “Excuse me?” I manage to squeak.

  “You know, the drugs.” She fiddles with the monitors and checks my IV. “I can time them like clockwork.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “We’re not supposed to say.” But she leans in closer like she’s going to tell me a secret. “You had a paradoxical reaction to the drugs they gave you when you first came in. You’re fine. You’ll be going home soon.”

  Home? God I hope not. I want to go back to school and forget any of this ever happened.

  “There was a guy,” I say. Please let him still be here.

  “He’s out in the hall,” she smiles and pats my arm. “Must be nice to have a boyfriend like that.”

  My heart lifts. He’s still here, he didn’t leave me. I can’t stop smiling.

  “Can I get you anything? Water? Ice pop?”

  I nod when all I really want is a shower and a mirror. I feel dirty and ugly. I don’t want Mark to see me like this. I consider getting out of bed and going to the bathroom but after one attempt to stand, the room is spinning. I don’t need him to come in and find me on the floor again so I make do by running my fingers through my hair and wiping the sleep from my eyes. Not that it helps. I’m pretty sure I look like shit.

  “You look fine.”

  It's the doctor. He's waltzed into my room like he owns the place and now he’s looking down at me in my flimsy hospital gown like he's seen my insides and knows every secret I have hidden in there. I can't find any words so I say nothing. He steps closer. I pull the sheets up under my neck. As if that’s going to help. I focus on his five o’clock shadow and the coffee stain on his white coat so I don’t have to look him in the eye.

  “I'm Doctor Livingston,” he flashes his pen light into my eyes. “So what do you remember?”

  “Not much,” I lie. “Just bits and pieces.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  That's the one. The question they ask and you fall right in like a hole in the ground. How are you feeling? Well, I'm a little down and I don't know why. Oh and my palms are sweaty and I'm shaking inside. Any of those answers guaranteed to get you a referral to a shrink and some mood stabilizers. I try and put on my best, pained smile.

  “Fine but I have a headache.”

  “I’m not surprised. You hit your head.”

  “I know,” I feel the lump on the side of my head. “It’s still throbbing.”

  He looks at me and I can't read him. That scares me. Usually I can peg a doctor right down to his diagnosis and what he'll prescribe for it. Doctor Livingston looks at me like he's observing. He pulls up a chair and sits down. This is bad. He wants to talk. I just want to get back to my life with Mark and the pursuit of the stupid scholarship, if I haven't blown that one already.

  “You’re over eighteen so I didn’t talk to your parents,” he finally says. “But I think you should call them.”

  I don't say anything. I'm too busy trying to keep the look of panic off my face. Will they come here? Drag me back home? Is my dream of freedom over before it's even begun?

  “Why?”

  “Just to let them know you’re okay.”

  As if they’d care. The last time I was at Hillcrest, they never even came to see me but I think that worked out for the best. They always make everything worse.

  “Maybe,” I say. “So when can I leave?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. I can tell he’s weighing me up. I’ve been around tricky ones like him before. He thinks he’s better than me. That I don’t know what he’s up too. He’s wrong, I do.

  “I’m not sure,” he finally says.

  Liar.

  25.

  Doctor Livingston wants to do more tests. A CAT scan, an MRI, more blood work. I’m also under observation though for what I’m not sure. All I know is I’m stuck here and every moment I’m a prisoner in this room is time wasted.

  Now that I’m awake and lucid I thought Mark would come back. Dash in with a bouquet of flowers bigger than my head and showe
r me with kisses and smiles. I thought he’d be glad that I didn’t have a skull fracture but it seems instead he’s just glad to get away from me.

  “Did he come back yet?” I ask every nurse who comes in.

  They tell me no but I don’t believe them. He must be out there, he has to be. Maybe down in the cafeteria getting food or passed out in the waiting room, snoring his head off. But as minutes turn to hours I start to believe he truly has abandoned me.

  The television is on, even though I’m not watching it. Couldn’t tell you what was playing if you asked me. I have to look normal, act normal. But with Mark gone, the nagging feeling is back. The one that tells me I should climb to the roof of the hospital and throw myself off.

  Thank God I'm still dopey from the drugs. I spend my time dosing and staring out the window. When I'm dragged off for tests I tell them I'm scared and claustrophobic. I get tears in my eyes and try to look panicked. They give me drugs to calm me down and knock me out. I spend my time drifting in and out of machines on a cloud of nothingness. I don't want to feel. I just want it to be over.

  It's late when Doctor Livingston comes back to my room. I look up at him groggily, too tired to care what he sees now. Maybe I'll tell him everything and let him take me. Do what he wants. Perhaps that would be for the best.

  “I’m discharging you,” he says.

  “What?”

  I must have misheard him. By now I'm convinced I have a brain tumor. It's pressing on my cerebral cortex and that's why I'm going mad. It's inoperable and I only have two weeks left to live. How can he be saying nothing is wrong?

  “You're fine. You can go.”

  He's watching me. I notice his eyes are gray, the color of nothing. I didn't notice before. But behind the gray are green flecks that flash and sparkle in the sterile light. I shrink back. The certainty that it's the green eyed girl inside the doctor’s skin is more real to me than his words. They must be lies.

  “On one condition though.”