by Hiba Basit
David emerges from upstairs, tightening his tie around his collar and sprinting down the stairs. Discounting her, he walks into the kitchen and reappears seconds later, lifting the keys from the table. She instinctively takes his arm.
‘What is it?’ he asks, distractedly, trying to free himself.
‘When are we going to talk?’
‘Talk about how you have a child with another man?’ His voice is unnaturally soft and she tries to imitate him, but hers comes out high-pitched and breathless.
‘That’s not fair. You haven’t even asked me for an explanation!’ He doesn’t answer. Panic sprouts in her chest. ‘Don’t you care about us at all to ask me?’
Her words catch in her throat. She longs for his touch, for him to hold her in his arms. She moves forward so that his lips are inches away from hers. ‘I miss you,’ she whispers and kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in, but he stops her, resting his forehead on hers.
‘You lied to me,’ he says, his eyes closed. ‘You said you never wanted kids. You never told me you already had a daughter and that was the reason why.’ His eyes flash open. ‘You missed my birthday for five years!’
‘I’m sorry! David, I love you so much!’
He shakes his head. ‘You don’t do this to someone you love. Let go of me.’
She releases him. In one swift movement, he leaves the house, closing the door as quietly as if no one left.
The light flashes on. Only in my head. I realise I’ve been daydreaming. I’ve been absent in my thoughts once again. But I was thinking of something important. Something that could change my life. Could it change someone else’s too?
‘Alex, what are you thinking?’ She’s watching me, so I watch her too. I look her directly in the eyes, hoping it will faze her. It doesn’t. She looks different today. She is beautifully dressed as always, though it is too hot for a high-neck top, but her eyes let her feelings show. The same eyes that watch me as I enter the room or wait patiently for a reply when I don’t answer now gaze blankly at a place far behind me. No one else would notice. She is doing a perfect job at hiding her feelings, but I can tell.
Her attention is not on me today and so I know this is the day. Today, I will find out the truth about her.
‘I’ve been having dreams,’ I say.
She is alert, nodding once, twice. ‘Do you mean the nightmares?’
I shake my head.
She nods again, uncrosses her knees and leans forward. ‘What dreams are these?’
I watch her rub the end of her manicured nail with the skin of her index finger. I suddenly want to hold her hands in my own. Hers are full of colour, moving with grace, as if they are capable of surviving alone, as if they have the power to command by the mere lift of a finger, as if they’ve been made for a purpose. They’re unlike my own hands, skinny and pale, the skin dipping into my knuckles and drying up around my nails, which are chipped and jagged at the edges. The unsightly appearance of blue veins bulging from my skin sickens me to the point where I might gag. The veins follow an uneven path to my fingers, like water trickling from a fountain and finding its way to a river. Pale brown patches lie like vomit splattered over my arms. My knees are sickly pale with muddy scabs that are no longer bandaged but naked to the world. If only I could peel them off, one by one like a plaster, I’d be clean. But these marks will stay, just like the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
‘Alex. Would you like to tell me about your dreams?’
But this is not the way my mind works. It makes me set a goal and find a way to achieve it and then it changes its ways, setting me up to fail on purpose and leaving me weak and scared.
‘Don’t remember.’ She looks at me with a kind of expressionless expression only she can make.
‘It’s safe to tell me,’ she says.
Realise, please, just realise.
‘Can you try to remember?’
I decide to give her a chance. Here it goes. I look at her and scrunch my eyes together as I’ve seen Andrei do when he’s thinking.
‘In my dream,’ I begin. ‘I’m outside, high up in the air. I’m standing on a line that people walk across.’
‘Tightrope?’ she offers. I nod.
‘I’m barefoot. As I look down, I see faces looking up at me. I don’t know who they are or why they’re there, but I know the only way to get down is to get to the other end, so I lift my foot but, even though I lift it slowly, it shakes too much. So I stay in the same spot for hours, knowing I can’t stay here forever. In a few more minutes, even balancing on the spot will be impossible. Just as an idea hits me, I feel someone’s eyes on me and even though they’re with the rest of the crowd down below, it’s like she’s right next to me.’
‘She?’ I bite my lip. Maybe I’m not as good at this as I thought.
‘I want to look to see who it is.’
Luckily, she lets it pass. ‘What will happen if you look at them?’ she asks softly.
And the truth is, even as I’m testing her, what scares me the most is that she’ll pass the test. She’ll give me hope. If I have hope, the bang will be twice as loud when I fall down again. The backs of my eyes start to feel heavy. I don’t want to cry but I feel the tears pearling in my eyes.
‘I’ll become steadier.’
‘How does that feel?’
My mind is feeling dizzy just thinking about it. ‘Horrible,’ I say, my voice sounding blurry to my own ears.
‘How comes, Alex?’
‘Because I’ll always be a wobbler.’ And the effort of trying not to cry leaves me. I look up at her and I think she knows. She tells me how well I’m doing and I know I’ve said too much. I don’t want to talk any more but the words are sitting in my mouth, ready to explode. How can you stop talking to someone when that person is the only one who listens to you?
‘What do you mean?’ she asks.
‘I can’t say,’ I mumble, wanting to leave.
‘What makes it hard to say?’ she asks. ‘I know it’s difficult to put your thoughts into words but give it a try. You’re doing so well, maybe it’s easier than you think.’ She waits for me to say something but I need to be alone.
‘I can’t say, Miss. I can’t say!’
Miss unexpectedly calls me into her office the next day. I sit, instantly wishing that she would open one of the windows. I am sweating beneath my clothes and strands of hair stick to my skin. I ask her if she can let some air in, but she switches the fan on instead. Fresh air, I tell her, but she says she can’t open any of the windows for safety reasons. My safety reasons! The fan is on full blast but the air feels hot on my skin. I scowl as I watch its futile circular movements and listen to its indignant roaring. Fuck off fan. Fuck off, because you’re not helping me, you’re simply delaying the fated outcome.
I turn to her and study her as I do every session. She looks beautiful once again. Usually, she has her hair tied back in a tight twisty ponytail but, today, the curls bounce off the surface of her cream silk shirt whenever she moves. Her eyes are still sad and grey. I find myself wondering why they look so glassy, but I have to instantly remind myself that it is none of my business, that it’s wrong to care about someone other than Andrei. I do not care about her glassy eyes, even if they shatter into pieces.
But I can’t pull my eyes away from the dull red marks on her neck, bulging through her foundation. It’s like my eyes have laser vision, catching all the bruises and scars hidden beneath the skin. Damaged goods, I call it, my own eyes being the damage. I know that Andrei was the cause of her injuries. No one knows this, but I overheard one of the nurses chattering away about how Andrei had “laid his hands” on her and how the “visits have not offered any assistance in dealing with the matter”. Was the matter me? As I sit in her office now, I want to talk to her about him and ask her what she thinks about him. Does she like him? Does she love him the way I do?
‘Alex, how are your legs?’
‘Fine, Miss.’ She smiles
warmly.
‘You can call me Annette. I hear your physiotherapy sessions are going well. They’re really pleased with the effort you’re putting into them.’ She waits but I’m in no mood to talk today, since I’m not even meant to be here. What does she think; that I need extra sessions because I’m so disturbed? I hear Andrei’s voice telling me to hit her, to run, to do anything than to listen to her babble. ‘How about –.’
‘No!’ I shout, and then clamp my palm over my mouth. I feel her staring at me. I have never spoken to her like this. I’ve never spoken to anyone like this after Andrei warned me about what will happen if I shouted. But I have a feeling that he’ll be happy that I shouted today. It crosses my mind that she might hit me but she doesn’t. She doesn’t even tell me off. She just watches me, how I flap my hands on my lap, how my fingers dig into the corners of my skin, ripping the layers one at a time, until spots of light pink blood appear.
‘Mary told me you had a nightmare last night.’ My ears go red as I remember waking up soaked again. I try and focus on the sky behind the bolted windows, but my head is thumping, making me feel muddled and jittery.
‘Alex?’
‘What?’ I shout, and this time, I don’t want to apologise. Still, I clamp my mouth shut with my teeth. She gets up and moves towards her desk. Just when I think she is going to call Mary to get rid of me, she pulls something out of her drawer.
‘This is for you.’ I stare at the marbled cover of the art book in her hand. ‘I heard you like to draw in your room.’ I take it and study the beautifully coloured patterns, knowing that this book is special and that I’ve never been given anything I can call mine. She sits next to me. ‘You can draw anything you like inside. No one will look. You could take it to bed with you. Maybe hold it for comfort as you fall asleep?’
‘I can put it under my pillow,’ I suggest.
‘Yeah, that’s a great idea,’ she says. Was this why she called me in, to give me the most beautiful book in the world?
‘Miss, I really like it. I really do!’
‘I gave it to you hoping you’d like it.’ I feel confused.
‘Did someone force you to give it to me?’
‘No. Alex, what makes you think that?’
‘Why else would you give it?’
‘Because I thought it could help you.’ I meet her gaze and it’s soft, affectionate almost, as if she might care about me. This is so confusing. She’s so nice and kind, but Andrei told me not to believe kind people. He never told me how hard it would be. I hug my art book closer and take a deep, shaky breath.
‘I want to tell you about my dream,’ I say.
‘Ah, yes, the one from yesterday. Go on.’
‘In my dream, I’m on the tightrope. Someone’s watching me. I try to look at them but I nearly fall over. Everyone gasps. But a voice stands out from the rest. That’s when I slip. My feet fly in the air as I try to find my balance, but it’s too late. And just as I imagine the sharp thud of my body against the ground below, the rope catches me and I am saved.’ I let it out as quickly as I can and smile, feeling excited that I finally did it. Seeing me, she smiles too.
‘Thank you for sharing your dream,’ she says, but her face looks wrong. ‘Alex, I thought we’d do something different today now that you’re back on your feet, but tell me if your legs start to hurt.’ Before I can say anything, she reveals a body-length mirror. She ushers me over and my tummy tightens. I pace my steps, trying to think of a way I can escape.
‘Do you know what trust means?’ she asks, as I slowly approach her.
I nod.
‘Go on,’ she says. ‘Give it a try.’
‘It means you can tell someone anything.’
She nods. ‘Good, that’s a really nice way of putting it. It can also mean that if you need someone, you can trust that they’ll be there for you.’ I think about this for a while and it makes sense. ‘Our session today is all about trust.’
I quickly move back as I remember lying in front of the mirror with the machine in my hand and the video camera on. Andrei shouts at me to do something but I am trembling too much to move. Do anything, he screams, so I turn it on and shake even more.
‘Alex, are you all right?’ She’s kneeling in front of me, a worried look in her eyes. I want her to move away and nod a bit too forcefully. She looks unconvinced, but lets it go. ‘This is one of my favourite exercises. Can I?’ She takes my hand and my hairs stand on end. ‘If you stand in front of the mirror here, I’ll stand behind you, like this.’ All of a sudden, the memory is too real. I knew she couldn’t be trusted. She wants to do the same things to me. Fear rises inside me causing hot, sticky tears to run down my face. I feel the snot bunch up in my nose. She kneels in front of me and hands me a tissue.
‘What’s upset you, sweetie?’ I wipe my face with the back of my hand. ‘We can do something else if this is too scary.’ I feel so scared that she’ll hurt me that I step back, but I also want someone to hold me right now. I hear Andrei telling me to toughen up, telling me that I don’t need to be held in anyone’s arms. ‘I promise you, Alex, this is safe. All I’m going to ask you to do is fall back.’
I am surprised. ‘Fall?’
‘Yes. I’ll be standing right behind you. Can you see me in the mirror?’ She waves.
‘Yes.’
‘Good! I will always be here to catch you, so that you don’t fall and hurt yourself.’ I try rocking back and forth to see how it feels. ‘If you’re happy doing this, I’m going to take the mirror away and ask you to fall back without seeing me. This is where the trust comes in. Without the mirror, you won’t be sure I’m behind you when you fall. I will tell you that I’m here, but you have to trust me to believe it. Does this make sense to you?’ I rock on my toes again. ‘Remember, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to fall backwards. If you feel you can’t trust me, it’s fine. I won’t be angry.’
I nod. She stands behind me. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’ I squeeze my eyes shut and fall back. She catches me and it feels horrible. I forgot there’d be touching. Her fingers beneath my armpits make me feel sick. ‘Well done! But try to keep your eyes open.’ I look at her in the mirror and fall. She catches me again and leads me away from the mirror. ‘OK, Alex, I’m right behind you.’ I look straight at the picture board, and my feather-like body quickly lands into her grasp.
‘Well done! That’s very good! Now, I’m going to place myself at an angle in front of the mirror and you won’t see my reflection. So, you’ll be falling backwards but seeing no one behind you.’ I fall instantly, before she says ready, as hard as I can, and she comes into sight. Her grip is firm around the back of my shoulders. I wait for her to lift me up, but she doesn’t move. In the mirror, I stare back at her. It’s then that I notice I’m shaking.
‘Are you all right?’ she asks.
And, for some reason, I feel like she’s pleading with me to tell her the truth. But she has to guess it. She lifts me up, walks over to her desk and scribbles something into her notebook. I stand near the mirror, not knowing what to do with myself. I watch as she returns to her chair and follow her, sitting down and looking at my hands as if I’m interested in the monstrosity of my chipped nails.
‘That was very impressive,’ she says. Her tone has changed. She knows, I think, and I feel a wave of panic rising inside me. She’s going to tell the nurses and they’re going to lock me away where no one can find me. Worse, where I can’t find him.
‘It’d be more impressive if I thought you fell back because you were starting to trust me,’ she says softly, and my heart sinks. I suddenly feel like shouting at the top of my lungs for everyone to leave me alone. But when everyone’s done just that, I feel too alone.
‘Let’s finish for today,’ she says, already summoning Mary and whispering something to her. Within seconds, I am being escorted out of the room, away from her. Mary is talking to me but I don’t hear her. I turn around in time to see her closing the door. And before I can stop myself, I
run in the direction that I came from.
Annette stops at the sight of Alex. She isn't surprised to see her. Just now, she could see that Alex was finally starting to think about things, allowing herself time to process her own thoughts and feel the emotions these thoughts brought about. On a more serious note, Annette had also clocked on to just how dangerous her thoughts were. In contrast to the mute child she’d observed only a few weeks ago, Alex had become unusually chatty, and not in the normal way of children. In fact, Annette felt that her words were selected, pre-planned and even deliberate. Her instinct sent her strong warnings that they might have been designed for a purpose. This is why she had arranged an impromptu session, similar to a crisis intervention, focusing on establishing trust with her, because she had an inkling about what was happening and wanted to be around when Alex felt able to talk.
‘What did you say?’ Alex asks. Her voice is soft and sharp at the same time. Annette ushers her inside and sits her down, signalling for Mary to wait outside.
‘Are you asking me what I said to Mary?’ Annette says. ‘I told her to look after you.’
‘Why?’
‘Alex, you’ve been at St Anne’s for a while now. Do you understand why you’re here?’
‘I said why?’
Annette senses the urgency in her voice. She mentally weighs the costs and benefits of telling her the truth in the next few seconds. She decides to go for it.
‘Because I know you want to hurt yourself again.’
Alex scowls and tightly clutches her artbook. Annette keeps her tone soft, almost reflective. ‘For some reason, I don’t feel like the exercise helped you to trust me.’
‘It did,’ Alex answers, not missing a beat.
Annette nods, acknowledging this. ‘I also don’t think you’ve been having the dreams you told me about today.’