The Tutor

by K Larsen

  “I told you, Lotte will come to us.”

  Eve slams on the brakes and I lunge forward.

  “Stop that. You don’t know if that’s truth or not.” She grips the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white. “You’re done with the past but it is not done with you.” She glares at me. “Lotte still needs you.”

  I clamp my mouth shut. No one has any faith in me and it is beginning to grate on my nerves. We spend the next forty minutes driving in silence. Everything seems narrow. Choices have been made and I’m here and can only continue on as I am. The car beneath me shakes. Or maybe it’s me shaking. A heartbeat of guilty judgment but I don’t know why. There’s a whisper that echoes through my mind—Go to him, he waits for you.

  When we arrive home, Eve switches on the TV. The local news station mentions my name. Calls the situation a miracle. I ask Eve why anyone would call it a miracle. Eve laughs joylessly and says that because they found me alive after nearly twenty four weeks, the reporters are calling it a miracle.

  “But you were found alive after longer than that.”

  She shoots me a look I can’t quite figure out. “Yes. I was.”

  “Was there news coverage like this for you?”

  “Sort of. No one had reported me missing. Not my friends, no one.”

  Her eyes are full of sadness. “So, the media didn’t pick up the story like they are now.”

  She nods. “Right. I did everything I could to make people listen. To make people think about Charlotte. But it just didn’t catch.”

  I reach out my hand to her. She hesitates but soon takes it. “I’m sorry, Eve.”

  She drops my hand and mumbles something about being thirsty, before disappearing to the kitchen. I switch the TV off and hobble to my bedroom. When the door is shut and locked, I undress myself. Standing before the full-length mirror, I stare at myself for the first time in many, many months. My hip bones show. My collarbone, too. There are lingering bruises, whether from the accident or Holden, I cannot be sure. My hair is dull and ugly. I turn slowly. The reflection of my back is the last thing I look at.

  A map.

  A map carved in my skin. I wish it wasn’t constellations. I wish it was a map to point me back to Holden, but it is not. It is a patchwork quilt of slices and scars connecting my freckles. I angle my head over my shoulder to get a better view.

  It is not art. It is a reminder. There is no beauty in it. He hasn’t come for me. I am not special. I pivot on my good foot and hurl a crutch at the mirror. It shatters. Glass littering the carpet under it. Maybe one day I will be strong enough to get through this mess but right now, I want Lotte to see her sister and Holden to wrap his arms around me.

  Eve knocks at the door. “Are you alright? Nora? Nora?”

  I sigh and bend to pick up my crutch. “I’m fine.”

  “Can you open the door, please?”

  I eye a shard of glass and momentarily think how easy it could be to pick it up and draw my blood to the surface.

  “Nora?”

  “I’m naked,” I say.

  There is no response from Eve. On the edge of my bed, I pull on my bathrobe and stand again. I unlock my bedroom door but do not open it. I can hear Eve release a breath from the other side. She does not come in, instead her soft footfalls grow quiet as she walks away. I gimp to my bed and lay down. I do not clean up the glass. I do not do anything, except think of what a mess my life is.

  I jam my hand into my nightstand drawer and retrieve a journal. As I flip to a blank page, I skim old musings written by my hand. They are meaningless and trivial now. What could I have possibly known about life before? I tear out a blank page and put it on the closed journal to write on. My hand moves furiously across the page as I write a letter to Holden that he will never read. When I finish and read it, I am struck by the fact that it looks like the musings of a woman gone mad. The chicken scratch on the page is angry and harsh. The words run the gamut of emotions. I love you, I hate you, I need and want you, I wish we’d never met. I am split in two. Each side wars to slay the other. What has happened to me?

  Aubry

  Swallowing against the tightness in my throat, my eyes lock on her bedroom door. Eve heard something break last night and asked me to come over first thing in the morning. I’d wanted to come right then, but Eve said to let Nora be for the night. That there were things she was going to have to work out on her own. Part of me wants to argue with Eve, let her know that I know Nora best but there is another part of me that doesn’t know Nora at all now. A part that needs to trust this stranger, Eve, because she experienced things that Nora did that I will never be able to imagine.

  I knock on the door and turn the knob slowly. “Nora?”

  There is silence. I push the door open a hair and stick my head in. Nora is sleeping. I enter her room. The full length mirror is shattered. Glass shards make the carpet sparkle in the morning sunlight. I tiptoe to her bed and ease myself into bed next to her. Asleep, she is still my Nora. I wrap an arm over her middle and snuggle her.

  “I’m awake, Aubry.” Her voice is groggy with sleep.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.”

  She rolls to face me. We are face to face on her pillow. “I don’t know how to help you.”

  “I don’t need help,” she says. A sliver of my old Nora resonates in her simple answer. She is lying. I can spot a terrible Nora lie a mile away.

  “But Nora, you do.”

  She smiles at me. My eyes fill with tears. She watches silently, as I let them fall. A pale, slender finger wipes away the wetness.

  “I am never going to be your Nora again. You will have to learn to love me as I am now.” A sob tears from my chest. I don’t want any of this to be true. I don’t want to accept it. “Shh,” she says and puts her hand in my hair. I wish she would come back to me. I wish she would banish this new Nora. She needs to stop believing she is broken.

  “Please don’t let him win. Please, Nora. Work through whatever happened. Come back to me. Nothing’s been the same since you left. College is no fun without you. My other friends don’t give me what you did. No one knows me like you did. I need my best friend back.”

  I mush my face into the pillow. I am embarrassed I just vented all this to her when she is so fragile but I couldn’t hold it in.

  “Way to make it all about you,” Nora whispers in my ear. Horrified, I look at her, prepared to apologize for my idiotic rant but Nora is grinning. She arches a brow at me and a glimmer of my best friend shines through. I half laugh, half sob. It comes out in an unladylike snort. Nora’s smile grows and she pushes my head away from hers.

  “I am still here. But I’m changed, too. Do you understand, Aub?”

  I nod. “But Nora.”

  “Yeah,” she says, staring at the ceiling.

  “You do need help. You can’t go through this alone.” She reaches over and clutches my hand. We lay on her bed, staring at the overhead light, holding hands in silent solidarity. It is the only way I know how to be there for her at the moment. Whatever she needs, I will do.

  Dr. Richardson

  Nora is chatty today. I do not want her to stop, so I sit quietly and let her go on about love.

  “Ashley told me that people only experience three kinds of love in a lifetime. I was fourteen and didn’t care or understand what she was rambling on about but now—looking back—it makes sense. She said first love was idealistic, in that people think it will be their only love. The forever love. How naive. Then would come the hard love relationship—the one that would teach lessons about yourself and how we, as human beings, want or need to be loved. But, she said, this is the kind of love that hurts because it’s unhealthy, unbalanced or narcissistic. There will probably be emotional, mental or even physical abuse or manipulation—an emotional roller coaster of extreme highs and lows and like a junkie seeking a fix, people stay through the lows on account of the expectation of the high. And the third love is the one no one sees coming. The one
that usually looks all wrong and destroys any abiding ideals we’ve clung to about what love should look and feel like.

  The kind where the intense bond is unexplainable and makes you feel like the world has tilted on its axis. It isn’t what you envisioned love to look like, nor does it obey the rules. It reveals that love doesn’t have to be what we mused in order to be true. I remember thinking, sounds like love is a fickle thing.

  Now, looking back on my time with Holden, I think it makes sense that I love him. How could I not? I think he was somehow all three of my loves this lifetime. He was first. He was hard and I never saw him coming. To everyone else, our love looks wrong. It’s not what any sane person would hope for. But it exists, nonetheless.

  When I was tired, he laid down with me so I could sleep. When I was down, he brought me wild flowers. When I lost . . .” She stops abruptly. I watch her carefully as she tries to school her features.

  “When you lost what?” I ask.

  She’s silent a beat. “My mind,” she says.

  But I can tell that isn’t her first answer. That isn’t what she was going to say. There is more to her story that she still isn’t ready to tell. Or perhaps I haven’t earned her trust yet.

  “When do you start physical therapy?” I ask.

  “In two days.”

  “How are you doing at home? Are you sleeping?”

  “Yes. Everything is okay.” Her body language suggests she is being truthful. She is not losing sleep. I make a note and continue on.

  “Nora, will you tell me when something isn’t right?” I ask.

  She smirks at me. “Probably.”

  I look to the clock. Our time is almost up.

  “What are your three words for the day?”

  She half-smiles at me. “Tacenda, novaturient and nemophilist.”

  I wish I had a better vocabulary as I scratch the words down on my pad. I know none of them and will have to look them up. I look up from my notes and smile at her.

  “Till next time,” she says and stands. I nod. She hesitates at the door. “I forgot I got you something.” I stand and cock my head. She hands me a small thick square package from her purse.

  “Thank you,” I say. She laughs gently before leaving.

  I retreat to my borrowed desk. Fondling the package, I wonder what prompted Nora to bring me anything at all. I don’t think she likes me much. I rip open the plain brown wrapping and laugh out loud.

  A word a day calendar.

  She’s observant.

  Him

  I want her closer. I cannot sleep without her. My day is incomplete without her love. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I never wanted a woman’s love before. Her body—yes. Her skin—yes. But her love—no. I’ve lost control and she’s the only one who can save me. My conscious begs for her. My chest constricts a little more each moment she is away. Even Charlotte seems bland and in a permanent mood without Nora to finagle her out of it. I waiver between rage and sorrow. Nora became the magic that made my life meaningful.

  Rage, I am familiar with, but sorrow is new for me. I haven’t missed any of my girls before. The only real affection I’ve ever missed is my sister’s. Nora’s absence feels like a sort of death. I know she knows that she has hurt me. Charlotte needs a mother. I need her. I’m almost ready to get her back. I’m boiling over.

  Ma stomps into the room, her face clouding as she spies the broken lamp on the floor. “What. Happened.” Her voice is the sort of calm that comes before a giant explosion. I watch Laura’s entire body begin to quiver. “Girl, now,” she barks. Her words put into motion a chain of events that I cannot undo.

  My mother was a monster. I tried to protect Laura. All she wanted was a friend. A normal life. It was too late for me by the time Ma passed, but I could use my needs to give Laura what she needed. A friend. A female role model. Interaction with someone outside our family. And me? I would get to exorcise my demons. I, too, could use someone. I could not continue to mark myself. It was not satisfying any longer.

  Nora

  All around are familiar faces and landmarks but it doesn’t soothe me. I want to drown my sorrow. Sometimes I burst out laughing in my therapy sessions. She talks at me. Says things like Stockholm syndrome or PTSD or extreme anxiety. But she doesn’t understand that I really love him. I loved him. Isn’t that love, though, I asked. Isn’t love combustive? Isn’t it supposed to hurt and lift and devour? Holden most certainly would have devoured me, if I had stayed. All I keep inside eats at me. While I dream, he creeps in and I dream of the time spent with him. The clock ticks next to my head. I think of him. I’m sick. I want him to come for me. I know it’s a death sentence, but a secret part of me still wants Holden. Misses him. Logic and emotion war endlessly. He hurt me. I hate him. He loved me. I need him. I want him to hurt. I want him to feel powerless. I want him to change. There’s the curse. I want to change him. I want what Holden gave me before he crushed me. I want that brief moment in the sun. Those stolen glances across the table. Those innocent touches that made me feel. I want the rare smile and the deep belly laugh. I want his hand in mine. I hate that he has saturated all the things I hold dear. He’s there, lingering in the shadows of my thoughts. Rooted in the recesses of my heart.

  “What’re you thinking about?” Eve asks. She’s leaning against the door frame of the living room. I don’t know for how long. I sigh. “Him again,” she states. I nod.

  “I don’t mean to. I know I shouldn’t,” I admit.

  She limps into the room. Her limp is a permanent reminder of Holden. I didn’t notice it before, not until she came home with me. It is small and barely noticeable but there. My limp won’t be from him but rather my escape. I got my soft cast put on this week. It is a nice change from the plaster one. I feel more mobile.

  “I thought he loved me, too, for a while.” The way she says it, exudes shame.

  “Don’t,” I say. “Please. It makes a knot in my gut every time I hear about someone else he . . . had.”

  “Don’t romanticize it. It was all a game. He was the only one who knew who was playing but it was still all a game.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t believe that.”

  Eve rolls her eyes. “Did he take you to town? Hold your hand? Did he buy you strawberry shampoo? How about the funeral story—that was my favorite. He looked so handsome in a suit.” She laughs coldly. I blanch and jump up, as bile rises in my throat. I barely make it to the toilet in time. Wave after wave of vomit bubbles up and out. I grip the toilet seat and squeeze my eyes shut. I fell for it all. All the things I thought were mine, were not. From behind me Eve says, “I’m sorry, Nora.” Her hand rests on my back and rubs gently. “I just want you to understand. To really understand what happened to you.” I nod into the toilet because I don’t have the gumption to look her in the face right now. “I want my little sister back. I want him to pay. I’m sorry. I should be easier on you. I had a whole year to process everything. You’ve had weeks.”

  I slump down to the side of the toilet and lean against the wall. Eve slides down next to me, clutching her knees to her chest. With the back of my arm, I wipe at my mouth.

  “I didn’t even question the funeral a month in advance.” Who knows a month in advance they have a funeral to attend. I was so blinded by my desire for him, that it never even struck me as odd when he said it.

  “Did you have boyfriends before him?” I ask. She looks me over and nods.

  “I didn’t,” I tell her. “I had made out before but, well I . . .”

  “Say it, Nora. It will make you feel better,” Eve urges.

  “Before I took the job, I was raped by my best friend’s brother.” Eve sniffles and leans her head on my shoulder.

  “Aubry’s?” I nod. “I’m sorry.”

  “That was my first time. Then it was Holden.”

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I . . .” Eve begins to cry. Sob actually. I lay my head atop hers and let my own tears fall because—what else is there to do?r />
  “While I was there, my birth control ran out,” I whisper.

  “Did you get,” I cut her off. “Yes. I was pregnant.” Eve repositions herself and wraps her arms around me. She pulls me so tightly to her chest, that my nose is mushed into her breast. She and Lotte smell alike. Without thinking, I reach two fingers up and press them against her neck. A strong pulse pushes against the pads of my fingers. It feels so good to feel the beat.

  “Lotte,” she cries into my hair.

  “We’ll get her back. We’re going to get her back,” I say.

  Lotte

  Something happened to Nora when he brought her inside. She wasn’t the same as before. Then after the baby, something snapped. She seemed desperate to please him. She did not seem desperate to escape. But the day he hurt me, she seemed to fracture again.

  Nora squeezes my fingers so hard, I cannot feel the tips. I brush my other hand over the top of hers, and she relaxes. “If we don’t all do our chores we won’t make it through winter, Lotte,” Holden yells.

  “Yes, sir.” I answer.

  “Don’t be flippant. Do you want to die?” he shouts.

  “Holden, stop it. She’s just a girl.”

  “Just a girl? Do you know what I was subjected to at her age?”

  “Please, she understands. Don’t you, Lotte?” Nora looks to me. I nod vigorously at them both.

  “I didn’t ask you to speak,” he says. Nora cowers and tries to tuck me behind her a bit. Holden’s hand snakes out and tears me away from her. I try not to yelp but it sneaks out anyway.

  Nora rushes Holden, pleading. Begging.

  With a swift motion, he backhands her. The force of it sends her crashing into the table. The crack of her body hitting the wood echoes in the small space. Terror builds in my gut. Laura, Laura, Laura. All over again. Tears stream down my face when Holden holds me up by my shoulders, until I am eye level with him.