by Harlow Hayes
My office had a small desk that sat against the wall for my paperwork, and a big, comfy chair for me to sit in while my clients sat across from me on a small loveseat. Light shined through the windows that overlooked the northwest part of the city, and it gave life to the soft pastel green that decorated the room. I laid stretched out on the loveseat with my high heels dangling off my feet. I’d tried to look nice that day but I didn’t go overboard. I wore the same long black skirt that I wore to my meeting with Dr. Bradley, and a loose-fitted, cream-colored blouse. I couldn’t look unkempt here even if I wanted to, so I put in the effort to look as professional as possible; I even did my hair. However, I still had my bag with my sweat reserve to change into when it was time to go. I had almost drifted off when a knock at the door pulled me back to reality. Dr. Abbley let herself in before I got the chance to respond.
“Mara…” she said as she eased through the door. “How are things going?”
“Good,” I said, sitting up fast, reaching for the shoe that had fallen off of my foot.
“Don’t pay me any mind, I know it’s been a long day for you, but it’s almost over. Just one more to go,” she said, cracking a smile.
I smiled back, even though it didn’t reflect what I was truly feeling. I didn’t want the day to be over because when I wasn’t there, I knew that my mind would go back to Frankie and his proposal, or whether or not my rapist was out there waiting for a second opportunity to strike me or someone else.
I looked down at Dr. Abbley’s hand and saw that she had some papers.
“Oh, before I forget, here is the history form for your next client. She faxed it in earlier today and it completely slipped my mind.”
I reached out to grab them.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know I’m late getting them to you and I’m not giving you much time to prepare.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I don’t mind. It keeps me on my toes.”
“Good, because on your toes I’ll keep you, and remember, you are doing great, Mara. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
She left the room as quickly as she came in.
I moved to my chair and reviewed the paperwork, and at first glance it seemed like all of the typical stuff. Middle-aged woman, housewife, struggles with depression, etcetera. Until I turned the page, and there it was.
Have you ever been sexually abused or assaulted?
And the answer was yes. My lunch began to rise up in my stomach. Everything that I was hiding away from knew how and where to find me. I scratched my head as I tried to figure a way out. Dr. Abbley didn’t have any clients in this time slot; maybe I could convince her to take this one. I got up my nerve to go talk to her, but when I opened the door she was standing there, talking to another woman.
“Mara,” she said, her eyes wide. “I was just about to come and get you. This is Jennifer Adson.”
I couldn’t get out of it now.
“Hello, Jennifer, please come in,” I said, standing in the doorway trying to play cool.
She was a short woman, wide in the hips, with thin, frizzy brown hair. She was fifty-four years old and looked her age, but you could tell that she was accustomed to nice clothes and manicures. I gestured for her to have a seat on the couch. She looked happy, happier than the other clients that I had seen that day. I took a seat in my chair. “So what brings you here, Jennifer? What has been going on in your life?”
She sat her bag down on the ground next to her and smiled.
“Well…” She started to laugh.
“What? What’s so funny?” I asked, amused.
“Well, I was recently diagnosed with MS, and my doctor and my husband felt that I should be talking to somebody about that, so here I am.”
“So, you didn’t want to come here?” I asked.
She laughed again. “Not really.” She leaned back further into the couch. “But what the hell, right? I’m sure I’m gonna need all the help I can get. I got a support group to go to next week so at least my social life is improving, even if my health isn’t.”
“That’s an optimistic way of looking at it,” I said.
“I think it’s the happy pills the doctor gave me, in all honesty.”
“Hey, we all got to start somewhere,” I said, taking notes.
“Yes, we do. So when does this party start?” she asked as she clasped her hands and placed them on her knees.
“What do you mean? It has started,” I said.
“I mean when does it get interesting in here? When are you going to drudge up my childhood? You know, how my parents ruined me and all that good shit.”
I laughed. “We’ll get there. All in good time. Today I just want to know how you feel about your diagnosis and your life in general.”
She leaned forward.
“Well, I’m just your average middle-aged housewife. The good part is that I have a loving, supportive husband and a twenty-two-year-old autistic son, and MS. Well, maybe not so good… but I guess it depends on how you look at it. So life could have been incredibly sad or undeniably beautiful, but I haven’t figured out which one it is.”
I liked her. This one was going to be interesting.
* * *
Clinic made me feel better, but when that was over, the focus was back on me. I felt dazed and numb to the rest of the world. I could have been stabbed by a thousand needles and probably wouldn’t feel a thing. I probably wouldn’t even notice myself bleeding to death. If the paranoia didn’t kill me, the apathy was the next best contender.
It was the train that calmed me. The rocking, the screeching, and the swaying. It wasn’t crowded, and everyone riding was so consumed with their phones they didn’t even notice me. I had survived my first day back and my dreams didn’t seem too far out of reach, but I couldn’t make another mistake, not again, and I knew that my negative thinking wasn’t doing me any favors, either. I knew that what had happened to me really wasn’t the problem anymore, but it was my thoughts about what happened that were destroying me. What happened had happened, and there was nothing I could do to change that. The truth was a hard pill to swallow, and the truth was that I was poisoning myself and bearing witness to my own slow and painful death. Pain. It was there, but what was I supposed to do with it?
I didn’t have to do it but I did. I needed to write down what I was feeling, and the urgency of my feelings didn’t let me hold back. I pulled the journal out of my bag and wrote.
June 16
PAIN
Pain. Where does it go once it leaves you? I don’t believe that anyone has been able to tell me exactly. The whack cliché that time heals all wounds is exactly that, cliché and played out. No one ever tells you that pain is selfish, that it will try to overshadow your joy just to be acknowledged. How much time does it take for the pain to leave? I still feel the sting of pain now, and many still feel it after what could be considered a lifetime. From my observation, the pain stays, but if you are lucky something beautiful and abundant may come in and outshine it. Pain wants to be seen, heard, and felt, and its voice has a message to convey, but its vocabulary is harsh. I swear my pain whispers to me in my sleep and calls me constantly. I want it to leave but the truth is I fear losing it, because I can’t see life any other way, not anymore, and that’s the problem. I have let it become a part of me. How insane is that? I am afraid that my pain will kill what little hope or happiness I have left but I’m not brave enough to try and stop it. Am I willing to let this one piece of me kill the whole me? Maybe if it catches me weak and I feel weak.
* * *
When I walked through the door to the house, Rosalina, Melanie, and Kate were curled up on the couch. Melanie was the first person to look back.
“Mara.” She seemed excited to see my face. She must have been feeling better. It had been about a week since Matt called things off, so I guess she was back in a routine.
“How was your first day back? Did it go well?” she asked.
I walked into the living space, drop
ped my bag on the floor, and sprawled across the long end of the couch next to Rosalina. Kate pulled out the remote to pause whatever it was that they were watching on Netflix.
“It was fine, just a little draining,” I said. There was pizza sitting on the ottoman so I reached for a piece and stuffed it in my mouth.
“Yeah, go ahead. Help yourself,” Kate said, her voice sarcastic.
“Sorry. I’m hungry. What about you guys? How was your day?” I asked, mouth full of pizza.
“Lazy,” Kate said. “We’ve been sitting here binge watching. I think my brain has disintegrated from the lack of stimulation.”
I was surprised to see that Rosalina wasn’t at work.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“They switched my hours at work so I’m off today. What about you? You look sick. Are you feeling all right?” I knew what she was asking.
“I’m fine, just needed some food,” I said.
Silence fell over the room, creating a moment of awkwardness.
“Can I turn the show back on?” Kate asked as she held the remote up to the TV.
“Hey, why don’t we all go out? You know, someplace fun?” Melanie asked. Her face lit up at the thought of us bonding.
I knew she was going to start pushing for more of this group connection stuff. We all looked at each other and I sunk further into the couch.
“I don’t know, I have a lot of studying to do and I’ve put it off long enough,” Kate said.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” I added. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah,” Rosalina said. “I don’t have the tolerance to be out dealing with drunk people all night, you guys can go if you want.”
The silence resumed and a disappointed look grew on Melanie’s face. I didn’t want to make her sadder than she already was and something inside me was edging me on.
“All right, I’ll go,” I said, and the rest followed suit. We got up, changed, and dragged ourselves out to a bar.
Chapter 11
The room was spinning, or I was, I wasn’t completely sure. We had left the apartment and decided to go to some place Melanie said a lot of young people went, so we ventured into the city. It was a Thursday, so I was surprised when the place was packed. I instantly regretted my decision to come out with them the moment I stepped into the place. I looked out into the sea of drunkenness and felt my energy deplete. All the girls were scantily clad in dresses and caked-on makeup while I stood there looking like the dust in the dust pan after sweeping the floor. I did deserve some recognition, though, because I did retire my sweat pants for the night and put on some boyfriend jeans, but my bare face, the zip-ups, and Chucks remained.
“Let’s dance,” Melanie said. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the dance floor with Kate behind me and Rosalina trailing. We had sectioned off a little piece of the dance floor and as the music played, it drowned out the sound of the surrounding chaos and the chaos in my head, and I finally mellowed out a little. I had only one Long Island, but I immediately felt its affects. I wasn’t sure why I was reacting to it so quickly, most likely it was the drugs, considering my body had become a pharmaceutical wasteland over the past few months. I was toxic through and through, and there should have been a skull-and-crossbones branded on me, letting everyone know it for their own safety.
Rosalina, of course, was the most responsible. I think she had one drink the entire night, non-alcoholic. She looked awkward on the dance floor as she moved, her face wrinkling up every time someone bumped into her. I knew that she dealt with enough mentally deranged people at work, so I was sure that her idea of a good time wasn’t having her feet stepped on by rambunctious, drunk early-twenty-somethings. At my age, I couldn’t justify acting like that so I faded into the background and watched. Kate wasn’t the greatest dancer but she could wiggle a little, so I didn’t mind her dancing next to me because she didn’t draw much attention. But Melanie, Melanie did. Her dancing was on another level. I blamed it on the alcohol, but Kate had been drinking, too, and she didn’t look like that. Melanie became an all-out booty-popping ass-dropping mess, drawing the gaze of men and women. When she finally collapsed, Rosalina and I went to pick her up off of the floor while Kate stood there with droopy eyes, looking more high than drunk.
“All right, honey, it’s time to go,” Rosalina said, grabbing Melanie’s arm.
Melanie ripped away from her. “No, I don’t want to go. Kate, they want me to go.”
“What!” Kate jumped in and grabbed Melanie by the waist. “No, you can’t take her. I won’t allow it. I object!” she said with a drunken twinkle in her eye.
Rosalina looked at her, then me, and shook her head in disbelief, unsure of what to say.
“No, you’re overruled,” I said. “It’s time to go home.”
Kate stuck out her lip and sulked.
Before we could leave with them, a tiny, young twenty-something inserted herself in our circle. “You are so, such a good dancer,” she said, staring at me with glassed-over eyes.
“Thanks,” I said, directing my attention back to Kate and Melanie.
“You’re so pretty,” she said again as she staggered closer, speech slurred. “You’re so pret…”
She leaned in and kissed me on my cheek, then staggered away.
“Did she just kiss you?” Kate asked, three octaves above her normal voice. “I would go wash my face right now… She probably just had some guy’s balls in her mouth.”
“Yeah,” Melanie said. “Some guy’s dirty balls… I want another drink.”
“Can we stop talking about balls, please? It’s time to go,” Rosalina said, her face red and scrunched up in anger.
I tried to straighten out my face so as not to piss off Rosalina more than she already was, but I couldn’t hide my smirk.
“All right, but we need to get them sobered up,” I said.
“Freaking lightweights,” Rosalina said.
“I’ll go get them some water.”
I walked over to the bar, leaving Rosalina to deal with the inebriates. It didn’t take long for me to get the bartender’s attention. He had slipped me his number earlier on a napkin but I threw it on the floor.
“Two waters, please,” I said.
He smiled and winked at me before he started filling the glasses with ice. I rolled my eyes.
“You are very rude,” someone next to me said. I turned around to see who made the snarky comment, then I saw him. The chef. My body tensed.
“What?” I said, picking up my waters.
“You are rude. That’s what I said.” He leaned against the bar with a drink in front of him. Hair still long and pulled back and tattoos completely visible thanks to the short-sleeved white V-neck he wore.
I frowned at him.
“If you are talking about the restaurant, I wasn’t being rude.” I waited for his response.
“No, you weren’t rude there, but you are rude to the bartender and rude at the counseling center.” He grabbed his drink off of the bar and tuned to face me, still leaning, so calm and collected.
“The counseling center?” I asked.
“Yeah, you bulldozed me a couple of weeks ago. Always buried in your phone, never paying attention.” His eyes latched on to mine, waiting for an apology.
That’s where I knew him from.
“Oh, yeah,” I said as it came to me. “You’re the guy with the smartass mouth.”
“That would be me,” he said, raising his drink up before he pulled it to his lips.
“What’s your name again?” I asked.
“Nikolas,” he said. “Nikolas Almeida. And you?”
“Mara,” I said hesitantly.
“No last name?” he asked.
“No last name I’m willing to give,” I retorted.
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, then,” he said, flagging down the bartender for another drink.
A sigh of relief came over me. It was all beginning to make sense.
He had to be i
n his late thirties, but he had a youthful edge to him. He seemed like he didn’t fit there. Not at a place like this. The chef did not belong here and my curiosity got the best of me.
“What brings you here tonight? This doesn’t seem to be your kind of place.”
“Aren’t you perceptive?” he said as the bartender placed his new drink in front of him. “It’s not. A business associate of mine owns it, so I came here to see him. Just hanging here until he finishes up. What brings you out?”
“Just out with my roommates,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could.
He nodded his head. “I see. Well, I won’t keep you. You enjoy the rest of your night.” He turned away from me and headed back to the bar.
“Thanks, you too,” I said, ready to leave when some drunk guy crashed into me, knocking the waters out of my hand. The sound of the shattering glass made me jump along with the cold water that splashed up onto my legs and saturated my shoes. He put his drink down and stepped closer to me.
“Are you okay?” He reached across the bar to grab a stack full of napkins and handed them to me.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I looked over at the bartender. “Two more waters, please.” The chef smelled so good I was somewhat disappointed when he stepped away from me.
“Thanks,” I said, staring a little longer than I should have.
“No problem.” He stepped back to grab his drink.
“Well, it was nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you around,” I said, sounding sarcastic.
“Maybe,” he said, and he grabbed his drink and walked down to the other side of the bar.
I walked away and I didn’t look back to see if he was watching me. I wasn’t completely comfortable with the thought of him watching me walk away, but there was something about him.
I walked back to our spot on the dance floor with the waters, but when I got there they were gone. I stood there looking all around when I heard Rosalina yell at me from across the dance floor.
“Mara!” she said, and she motioned me to come toward her. I made my way through the crowd, but when I got to them I realized that they were standing in a long line that that led to the bathroom.