Destructive Release

by L. U. Ann

  Five and a Half

  “Oh, my God, Lacey!” Lane cries on the other side of the phone line.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I ask, worried.

  “Someone’s there.” I bring my eyebrows together and wonder what she’s talking about.

  “Who is where?” I question.

  “Her. He has her living there,” she stammers through sobs. “Lacey, how can he have someone living there.”

  “Wait, rewind. Take a breath and repeat that.” My heart races in anticipation hoping I heard her wrong.

  “I called Dad’s and a woman answered.”

  “WHAT?”

  “I know! I asked her who she was and why she was answering the phone.” She cries and I allow her. I’m stunned and cannot believe this is happening. “She asked who I was and told me she lives there.” I gasp, tears pooling in my eyes. Months… in a matter of a few months, he’s moved on…

  “What else did you say?” I ask, hoping she told the lady off.

  “I told her that she could tell Dad that I said goodbye and to have a nice life, and then I hung up. How could he, Lacey. How can he move on so fast? Remember how angry he was when we were fishing around her office to find out what she took?” I silently nod knowing what she’s about to say because I’ve already thought it.

  There is no need to hear her reasoning… Our father pushed her… Our father may have had a very active hand in helping our mom end her life.

  “You never cross the ocean unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

  ~Author Unknown

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lacey,” Dr. Offutt says greeting me a little too keenly.

  “Hi,” I hesitate to say, taking a step into his office. Do all doctor’s offices have white walls? What does the color white symbolize? Think, Lacey! Oh, yeah. Goodness, innocence, and perfection. Well, we can fucking scratch all of the above off my list. There is definitely none of that here.

  He motions to have a seat in one of the chairs wearing a smile as if he is truly happy to see me. Yeah, it is that, or more likely, the money filling his pockets for telling me how messed up I am. My jungle of emotions are all over the place. Why did I say I would go through with this? These people were supposed to help my mom. What makes Devon so sure they can help me?

  Am I helpless? A knot forms in the back of my throat as tears begin to surface. Blinking them away, I sit. “Can I just say something before we begin?” I blurt out before getting too comfortable in the chair.

  “Of course, Lacey. This is your time to talk about anything that’s on your mind.” The expressionless doctor replies.

  “Okay,” I take a deep breath for confidence. “My mother committed suicide, and if you tell me she was going to do it regardless of who or what helped her, I’m walking out that door right now and will never come back.” My hands shake at how liberating it was to get that off my chest. It was how I felt, and I will not be ashamed or listen to anyone negate and reject what I believe to be true. Oh, my, a small sense of pride flashes through me.

  “Wow. Well, that’s very fair. I will respect your wishes, but may I ask why you felt the need to say this?”

  I tuck my hands under my legs to calm my nerves. “You aren’t the first professional I’ve seen since my mom died. The bimbo I saw told me suicidal patients usually succeed regardless of treatment.” I shrug looking down at the dark brown carpet. Blah, it is ugly. Kind of how I feel inside.

  “I see,” he leans back in his squeaky chair that has seen better days. The light brown leather is worn with a hole here and there.

  “I think the best way to proceed is through questions. I will ask. You answer. How does that sound?”

  I nod agreeing.

  “Good. Tell me who all lives with you at home.”

  “My husband and son.” I smile inside knowing someone will be added to that list soon.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “I have a sister.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Yes.” Why does that matter?

  “Good. Is she someone you can go to with any problem?” Oh, now I get it.

  “Uhm... I guess.” I shrug. How the fuck do I answer that? I have kept plenty of things from her. I was silent thinking that would protect her.

  “That’s a start. What is your favorite childhood memory?” My eyes jump to his, transfixed in my seat. With my heart pounding, I find it hard to breathe.

  “Lacey?” he asks as tears begin to spill over. Favorite childhood memory.

  “May I ask why you are crying? Did something happen to you, Lacey?” Can he please stop saying my fucking name? All I want to do is curl up in a ball and hide. Why did I not realize this would come up, and why did that come to mind first? It has been buried for so long. I don’t know why my thoughts immediately went there! Oh, my God, I want to become invisible.

  “Take a deep breath and try to relax. You are safe here and everything you say stays in this room.” I pull my hands out from under me to wring, looking out the window to see if I can fixate on something other than vomiting out emotions for this guy to analyze.

  Swallowing hard, I begin.

  Deep breath... uh, no. One more...

  “The year I was born, my father sexually abused my mom’s brother who was living in our home at the time. My grandmother fell ill and my mom took in her sister and brother and helped raise them. Little did my mom know she was bringing them into the lion’s den.”

  Breathe.

  With a shaking breath, I continue. “I don’t know how many times my father abused my uncle. I never asked for details.”

  Breathe.

  My chest is tightening. I unquestionably do not want to be here. I look around the room looking for something else to focus on because the outside is not working. I cannot look the doctor in the eye when I tell my hauntingly disgusting story. I do not like going to this place in time. I feel like an empty shell whose skin is tingling as the contents inside evaporate.

  Breathe.

  Oh, no! Tears! No tears. Fuck! The flood gates are open. Okay, I need to get myself together or he will start asking more questions. The faster we move on from this, the better.

  “When I was four, my father was arrested for the sexual abuse. Unfortunately, my grandfather dropped the charges because he didn’t want my sister and me to grow up without a father.” I wished they locked him up and threw away the key. My mom would have still been there. “My father never did any time for the crime he committed. My father never touched me. However, my uncle did. I do not remember how long it went on. I blocked it out. I do not want to know. I only know I was first violated at eight years old. I was at my grandparents’ home. My uncle lived there at the time.

  “He told me he wanted to show me a toy he just got in his room, so I followed him in.” I wipe the tears rapidly running down my cheeks. “I quickly turned around remembering he shut the door and that was odd. He put his finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet. He was going to show me this toy and it was so special it was a secret. He was so excited to show me, too.” I forcibly swallow whatever is trying to move up my throat. “I wish I had never gone into that room. I wish I never wanted to see the special toy. He showed me the toy and a couple of others. I did not think they were that special, but then he started touching me. I froze. He told me to lie down and not move. He said he found out a trick he can do with his body and wanted to show me. I didn’t like it.” I cry, pleading that the doctor believes me.

  “I was not supposed to have my shorts off. My mom always told me that was private. Why was my uncle showing me a trick with my shorts off? I remember holding my breath. Next, he was between my legs telling me it was going to feel really good. He told me how much he liked it. He said he wanted to have our secret play date whenever I came over. He told me he loved me so much and if my parents found out, they wouldn’t love me. It would make my stomach hurt. I did not know what to do. He kept reminding me it was a secret. A s
ecret I could not tell Mom or Dad or I would be in trouble. I did not tell. I just prayed we would not visit Grandma and Grandpa anytime soon. I did not like their house.

  “I did not tell anyone about that first afternoon. I did not tell anyone about the next or the other times. At least, not until one evening at the dinner table I nonchalantly said my uncle touched me.”

  I jump and open my eyes when I feel a hand on my shoulder. A box of tissues. Dr. Offutt is offering me a box. Fuck! Where the hell was I?

  “Shit, where’s—” I look around and the doctor motions to a door. Throwing it open, my stomach lurches as I lose everything I have eaten or drank in the days leading up to this appointment.

  Once I am certain everything in my stomach is gone, I wash up. Turning on the faucet, the white soap lathers across my skin, and I rub my fingers back and forth creating a thick layer that covers my hands. You can no longer tell what color my skin is, nor how old or whether they have history of hard labor. They are hidden by the white suds. How can I make all the grief hide under a masked layer such as this? Cover it so that others cannot see. Didn’t I already try that by remaining silent? My fingers wiggle while I move them under the spray that washes away the mask. I wonder if perhaps the white lather was cleansing the surface so that the under layer could feel rejuvenated. I close my eyes and think that maybe I truly had lost my mind. For me to be comparing soap to cleansing grief. Good Lord, I definitely need to talk to a shrink. I guess I’m in the right place.

  A knock on the door startles me. I crack it open. “Lacey, would you mind if I bring Devon back here?” I shake my head and turn to the sink. I need more cold water. Devon! He is going to be mad at how upset I am.

  Moments later, I’m sitting in the God forsaken chair where I sat reliving such a vile part of my childhood with Devon by my side. “Lacey, I asked Devon to come in because I’m concerned about you. I do not think you are suffering sadness.” He leans forward with his hands together in front of him on his desk. “I am afraid it is more than that. You are depressed. You have clearly experienced some serious traumatic events and we are just breaking the surface.” He tilts his head to the side waiting for my reply.

  “No,” I shake my head. “I’m never going back there again. I am done talking about that. There is no surface breaking needed. I promised myself I would never shed another tear for him and what he did. We can move on.” I finish with shoulders squared and my head held high.

  Devon reaches for one of my trembling hands. “Sweetheart, no one is going to make you talk about anything you don’t want to. I am so sad you have gone through all of this. I would do anything to protect you from these awful events.” I turn, finding tears blurring his gorgeous blue eyes. The water intensifies their beauty. “But, you also need to know that I love you with my whole heart, and I will no longer sit back and watch you destroy yourself. We have different opinions on what happened with your mom. You know I blame myself.” I shake my head in trepidation as he continues. “Dammit, Lacey. Don’t you dare dismiss that!” I snap my head back to him. “I wish you would see it from my perspective for once. Take the fucking blinders off! You told me she needed help, and I encouraged you to distance yourself.” My chin quivers at his harshness. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you need to stop. I cannot let you do this anymore. If not for you, if not for me or Evan, do it for our baby.” He cries, “Please do not fight me on this. We have been to hell and back. It’s time to start letting go.”

  “No, if I let go, then I’ll be even guiltier!” I shout, shaking my head. He may have encouraged me to distance myself from Mom, but I was the one who acted upon it. The one who’s guilty is me. No one else is to blame. If someone shows you their gun and you wind up shooting it and killing someone, it isn’t the person who allowed you to borrow their gun who’s guilty, it’s the shooter. In my mind, I’m the shooter because I could have stopped the deadly shot.

  “Hold on, Devon. Lacey, what has you feeling such guilt? This goes back to your demand when you first walked in, doesn’t it?” I nod my head. “Okay, I think maybe you’ve had enough for today. Would you like to pick up where we left off next time?” I nod again. “In the meantime, I think it’s wise to begin an antidepressant to help ease some of the sadness. Zoloft is a great option for you. It will take a couple of weeks to get into your system, but you might notice a difference as soon as a week after you begin.” I open my mouth to speak with him intercepting. “It is safe to prescribe during pregnancy.” I give him a slight smile acknowledging his insightfulness. “Now, let us set you up with another appointment. How does next Tuesday sound?”

  We left his office in a blur.

  I do not remember much of what we did the rest of today. I have been on autopilot since we left almost six hours ago. I hate going to new doctors. I hate it. I hate it. I hate remembering. I have trained my brain well so far to forget things that hurt. Reliving my mom’s suicidal tendencies is one. Nevertheless, having to tell the doctor the event that changed my life forever was torture. I have not gone back to that day for a while, and I want to keep it like that. Unfortunately, the doctor does not feel the same way.

  Lying in bed, I blink at the ceiling praying for sleep to take me, so I can put this day behind me. So that I can forget it all again. I do not like being sad all the time, but guilt keeps me in limbo. Even though medicine is the very thing that killed my mom, I also know I need it. I’m fighting emotions daily and at this point, I’m possibly losing sight of life, too. I hope this medicine helps keep my raw feelings at bay so that maybe I can live.

  Kisses tickle my skin, waking me from my forgettable sleep. “Good morning, Sugar Pants.” I smile turning into Devon for more. Shit, I need to brush my teeth!

  “Hold on!” I jump out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom.

  “Mommeee!” Evan happily greets me with his warm smile running into our bedroom.

  “Well, good morning, Sweet Pea. Did you have sweet dreams?” I ask looking back at Devon to offer an apologetic smile.

  “Uh-huh,” he nods in my arms.

  “Let Mommy wash up and I’ll fix breakfast.”

  “Meee phitz,” he illustrates with such a serious face I cannot help but laugh.

  “Okay, you can help Mommy,” I concede.

  Evan is so excited to scramble the eggs that it swishes and swooshes all over the counter. He is in heaven while he takes control of those eggs. It reminds me of the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. Just like the popular Chef, Evan has a unique cooking style. If he starts tossing food around, I might need to step in. I smile just as something burnt touches my sense of smell.

  Crap! I forgot the toast. “Evan, you are doing such a good job! Are those eggs ready for the stove?” I ask, wondering if perhaps they ever will be. Maybe I should begin a separate batch.

  “Something smells good in here.” Devon wobbles into the kitchen and toward the island to sit on a barstool.

  “Honey, you’ll be more comfortable on the sofa. I’ll bring you breakfast.” I look around at our cluttered apartment. Moving day is tomorrow and I cannot wait to wake up in our home safely tucked away behind doors where Caine doesn’t know where we live. The house is unbelievably beautiful.

  “I’m okay, babe. I’d like to stay here and watch our little man cook me some breakfast.” He smiles big for Evan, who replies with a grin so big his nose scrunches. Hmm... Evan is too cute.

  “What’s on the agenda for today, Sugar Pants?” He winks.

  “Well, I thought maybe we could take a drive over to the new house and figure out where we want the furniture so that it will be easy to tell the movers tomorrow. And then, I’d like to finish packing our closets.”

  “What’s left to pack after that?” Devon asks confused.

  I look around to see what is left to do. “I think that’s it besides the few dishes we’re using now. I figured after we eat, I’ll wash and pack them away.” I sigh. I’m relieved to have accomplished so much in the last few weeks but to also kno
w Caine will not know where we are.

  Devon has done it again. Caine is relinquishing his rights because of my mastermind husband. It’s amazing what someone will do so that they don’t have to pay for child support. Caine conveniently missed the last two months. Between grieving my mom and Caine taking Evan, we were preoccupied and didn’t realize he hadn’t paid. Devon felt it was important for Caine’s Commanding Officer to hear about his neglect to his child. Lucky for Caine, Devon wasn’t able to get through to the C.O., and he intervened the conversation. It was then Caine understood the lengths at which Devon will go to ensure Evan is legally his.

  Grandma Pain cornered me a week after our return regarding what she thought might have happened between her grandson and me. I reluctantly told her the truth. She can read me and lying is the last thing I want her to think I’d do. “That son of a bitch!” she yelled numerous times. “I’m going to cut his balls so that he’ll never do this again. I’m so sorry, Sweet Child. I knew it, but with everything we were all trying to sort out, I didn’t want to put more stress on you by questioning that night. I’m so sorry.” She had pulled me into a tight hug and we cried together. We sat up all night talking about better things—the baby, our potential move and the most exciting thing, Mr. Walker. She’s admittedly smitten.

  The gears began to turn while I sang the popular lyrics of Fiddler on the Roof’s famous song, Matchmaker.

  Between Grandma Pain’s threats and Devon’s revelations of how much he should tell Caine’s Company Commander, Caine came around. He saw the glimmering light and hoped that all could be forgotten if he walked away.

  Six and a Half