“Abby says that Room 105 was created by human imaginings. How is that any different from a vision board?”
“It just is. Now let me get you home, where you’ll be safe.”
Safe? Nothing felt safe to me now, especially the place where I lived.
When we got there, the house seemed like a prison and my aunt seemed like the warden. She was in the living room, watching TV in her sweats and slippers. I hung back, behind Duncan, not wanting to get too close to her.
She took one look at us and said, “Oh, my God. What happened? Is Vanessa all right?”
She jumped up, and I shooed her away. She stepped back and sighed, as if she’d seen me behave this way thousands of times before. Then she gazed at Duncan, as if he had the power to make it better. In a sense, he was her warrior, too.
Did that mean Carol and I were on the same team and that she wasn’t the enemy I’d made her out to be?
“I’m sorry,” I said to her, wishing I wasn’t the cause of her distress. I didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s pain.
“Oh, honey. It’s not your fault. But please tell me what happened.”
“Duncan told me about Abby. He says I’m the one who is ill.” I sat on the sofa. I was too exhausted to stand. My legs felt feeble.
Carol sat across from me. “You’re not ill all the time. Sometimes your disease is under control.”
Duncan remained standing. He’d chosen a spot beside the fireplace, where my childhood pictures were. Had Abby destroyed the photographs she was in? Or was that something I’d conjured to explain why there were no pictures of her?
As if on cue, Carol said, “You were a sweet child, Vanessa, but you were shy and socially awkward, too. You didn’t get along well at school. The other kids picked on you. You were extremely close to your mother, and she always managed to make you feel better. It was her idea to start homeschooling you.”
It sounded as if she was talking about Abby and not me. I didn’t remember being that kind of kid.
Carol continued, “You fell apart after your parents died. It was terribly traumatic for you. You kept asking me when they were coming back. I tried to make you feel better, but I was falling apart, too. I missed them as much as you did.” She paused as if to collect her thoughts. “Then one day out of the blue, you started talking about Abby. When I asked who she was, you rolled your eyes and said, ‘My sister, silly.’ I didn’t know what to think except that you’d created an imaginary sibling to help you cope with your loss. It never occurred to me that you were ill. I didn’t know anything about schizophrenia. But as time went on, I realized that something wasn’t right.”
Struggling to make sense of it, to separate reality from fantasy, I asked, “What happened after I was diagnosed?”
“Instead of accepting your illness, you gave it to Abby and, in your mind, she became the schizophrenic. You insisted that she was seeing people.”
“She does see people,” I argued.
“Because you make her do that. Abby isn’t ill. You are,” she reiterated.
I recoiled from myself, sinking deeper into the sofa. If I was the one who was sick, then it was me and not Abby who went through bouts of not bathing, or washing her hair, or brushing her teeth. Yet that didn’t mesh with my memories. None of this did. “When my disease is under control, do I know that Abby isn’t real?” I was still struggling to comprehend it.
“Yes. And when you’re relapsing, like now, you get confused. The doctors say that you block it out.” She glanced at Duncan. “It’s a lot like his amnesia, I suppose. Only yours comes and goes.”
I glanced at Duncan, too, and noticed how quiet he was, leaning against the mantel in that powerful way of his.
Even as confused as I was, I knew that his situation was off-kilter. He believed that his amnesia was the result of a childhood trauma, yet he didn’t want to know what that trauma was. Duncan being an advocate for mental illness didn’t make sense, not if he wasn’t going to do anything about his own messed-up mind. If I was feeling stronger, I would have called him out on it. But I was too scattered to force his hand.
“Is The Manor a real place?” I asked Carol. At this point, I couldn’t be sure.
She replied, “Yes, it’s real. You were a patient there a few years ago. It was your idea to check yourself in. You wanted to learn to manage your disease and live a productive life. It was a wonderful experience for you. Afterward, I hoped and prayed that you would remain well for good.”
“But I didn’t?”
“No. Abby came back and you talked her into staying at The Manor. Since the staff knows you, they allow you come onto the property and sit in the garden on visiting days.”
And pretend that I was talking to Abby? I crossed my arms in front of me. I wanted to die with shame, with fear, with the loss of my sister. If all of this was true, how was I ever going to face myself in the mirror again? But worse yet, how was I going to tell Abby that she was a hallucination? She would never believe it.
“Do I take medication?” I asked.
“Yes. I put them in vitamin bottles. That’s what I did when you were first diagnosed to get you to take them, and now it’s become a habit because I never know when you’re going to relapse.”
“Is it true that I was anemic when I was younger or did you make that up?”
“It’s true. You needed extra iron back then.”
I felt anemic right now. Sick and dizzy. “My medication must not be working very well.”
“It’s better than you not taking them. Otherwise, you’d be really bad off.”
It felt plenty bad to me. “Where’s the prescription bottle?”
“It’s in my room.”
“Can I see it?”
She nodded. “I’ll be right back.” She got up and went down the hall.
While she was gone, Duncan and I made eye contact. But we didn’t speak. The air between us had grown thick, like my emotions.
Carol returned and handed me the bottle.
I looked at the label and frowned. Carol was wrong. She’d made a mistake. “It says this is for Abigail Winston. This is Abby’s medication.”
“No, honey. It says Vanessa Winston.”
I shook my head and extended it toward Duncan, praying that he would see what I saw. “Read what it says.”
He came forward and took the bottle. He glanced down. “It has your name on it, Vanessa.”
Tears welled, threatening to fall, to blur my vision. “Are you guys trying to drive me crazy?”
“You know we’re not,” Carol said.
I steadied my breath. One false move and I would be blubbering like a baby. I dabbed at my eyes. I couldn’t bear to cry in front of Duncan.
After a painful stream of silence, I asked my aunt, “Why don’t you love Abby?”
“Because I’ve never met her. She isn’t real to me. It’s a lot like you having never met Abby’s people. It’s hard to get close to someone you can’t see.”
Perplexed, I thought about Abby’s people. “Why can’t I see them? If I created Abby, then shouldn’t her people be visible to me, too?”
“You created Abby’s people as your scapegoats. Her people are part of her schizophrenia, not yours. Seeing them would defeat your purpose.”
I couldn’t keep track of my purpose. I couldn’t think clearly. I didn’t know what to make of myself or Abby or her people. Or Duncan, for that matter. He’d set the prescription bottle on the mantel, next to my childhood pictures.
I said to him, “I’m tired and I want to lie down. Will you stay here and tell Carol about the warrior? And will you tell her your theory about vision boards, too, and how you and I have a cosmic connection?”
He smiled, ever so slightly. “Yes, of course.”
I recalled how good it had felt to laugh and talk and eat marshmallows with him at the beach. But all of that was different now, changed in way that couldn’t be undone. Still, I couldn’t imagine not having him as part of my life. “Will yo
u come into my room and say goodnight before you go home?”
He nodded. “I’d be glad to.”
I left him and Carol in the living room. I got ready for bed, making sure I washed my face and brushed my teeth and did everything a sane person would do.
I put on a peachy-pink nightgown. It was from the consignment shop. Mostly everything I wore was from there. When I was younger, I didn’t like wearing used clothing. I made Carol shop for me at the mall. Abby did, too.
I shuddered to myself. I could’ve sworn that it was her name on the medicine bottle. Sworn it on the Bible. Or on our parents’ graves. Or on anything that would’ve proven me right.
Because I didn’t want to lie there in the dark, I left a nightlight on. I closed my eyes, but I didn’t sleep. I was waiting for Duncan.
About twenty minutes later, he knocked on my open door. “Can I come in?”
“Yes.” I turned to face him so we could see each other.
He sat on the edge of my bed. I wanted to pull him under the covers with me. I wanted to hold him and never let go. He looked beautiful in the pale light. But he always looked beautiful.
I said, “Did Carol understand everything that you told her? Does she believe that I drew you to my life, even if I didn’t create you?”
“Yes, she agreed with me that cosmic connections are possible.”
“That’s because it probably sounded credible coming from you. She would’ve never believed me if I’d been the one to tell her.” I heaved a weary sigh. “I’m a lot of work, Duncan. You shouldn’t date me anymore.”
“But I want to keep seeing you.”
A pang of sweet pressure tugged at my heart. I couldn’t imagine him wanting someone like me, yet his interest hadn’t waned. “Why?”
He reached out to stroke my hair, smoothing it with his fingers. “Because I like you. Because you’re nice and pretty and fun.”
“And schizophrenic, if what Carol is saying about me is true.”
“That doesn’t matter to me. I understand the disease. I can cope with it.”
“Even if I can’t?” This was becoming more than I could bear. “What if I want you to walk away?”
He flinched. “Do you?”
“I don’t know.” My confusion was running rampant. I was torn between keeping him forever and never seeing him again. “I don’t think I could stand it if every time you looked at me, you saw a shattered girl.”
“You’re not shattered. You just need to get some sleep.”
Sleep wasn’t going to cure what ailed me, but I was too tired to argue my frazzled point.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” He adjusted my blanket, treating me like a broken child.
I wished that we were having sex instead.
“Night, Vanessa.” He stood up and turned out the light before I could stop him.
Leaving me alone in the dark.
***
I slept until noon, then got up and went into Abby’s room. I looked through the closet and noticed a scattering of clothes, things she rarely wore. Abby had taken most of her belongings to The Manor.
Or that was I how I remembered it. But if my memories were false and I was delusional, then this was probably just a guest room with some of my clothes in the closet.
I considered going to The Manor to see Abby, and debated what would happen. First scenario: Abby wouldn’t be there, and I would fall to my knees and cry for my loss. Second scenario: she would be there as usual, babbling about 105 and warning me that Carol couldn’t be trusted.
Because both scenarios scared me, I decided to stay away from Abby for now. If I was sick, I wanted to recover. But on the other hand, if I got well, I didn’t want my sister to disappear.
I went into the living room. Carol was there, running the vacuum. She always cleaned when she was troubled. I used to think that her biggest dilemma was her guilt-ridden shame over Abby. But now I had to cope with being the one who was causing her shame.
She caught sight of me and turned off the appliance, tapping the button with her foot. The silence was immediately deafening.
We stared at each other, and she forced a smile. I could see how taut her face was. Everything about her was tightly wound.
“Good afternoon, sleepyhead,” she said. Her chipper tone sounded forced, too.
“Why aren’t you at work?” came my reply. I didn’t want her staying home because of me.
“I asked Gina to cover my shift.”
Gina was our full-time employee. She’d been working for us for as long as I could remember, which wasn’t saying much, considering the condition of my memory. Still, I knew that she was a bright-spirited woman who was married to a quiet-natured man named Stan. He worked at the store, too, mostly in the furniture section, as our pick-up and delivery guy.
I tugged at my nightgown. I hadn’t gotten dressed yet. “Do they know about me?”
“They?”
“Gina and Stan? Do they know that I’m supposed to be sick?”
“Yes, they know. But they understand. Their oldest son is bipolar.”
“Is everyone crazy?” I asked, and made her laugh.
I laughed, too. It felt good to laugh, even if I wanted to cry and never stop. In that conflicted moment, I studied my aunt and noticed how exhausted she looked. Her hair hung limply, framing her like a mop, and she had shadows beneath her eyes.
“Do you ever wish that you hadn’t gotten saddled with me?” I asked.
“Oh, Vanessa.” Her voice broke a little. “I wouldn’t give you up for the world.”
I wanted to fall into her arms, but she was holding on to the vacuum cleaner handle. “Even when Abby gets paranoid of you?”
“You mean when you get paranoid of me?”
“Yes, me,” I reluctantly said.
“It doesn’t make a difference, honey. I love you, either way.”
I loved her, too, but I was too overwhelmed to say it, afraid of the tears I’d yet to cry.
She changed the subject. “Have you eaten yet? If not, why don’t you go fix yourself a sandwich and take your vitamins?”
“You mean my meds?”
“Yes, your meds.”
I followed her orders and headed for the kitchen. Luckily, I wasn’t paranoid of her today. Abby probably would be, though. Real or otherwise, my sister had always been cautious of Carol.
In the logical side of my brain, I knew that it didn’t make sense for Carol to lie to me. If she said I was schizophrenic, then it stood to reason that I was. But that didn’t change how I felt about Abby.
I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and wolfed it down like a kindergartener. I took my stupid pills, too.
Carol had resumed vacuuming. I could hear her running it along the carpet, cleaning the same area over again.
I went into my room and got my phone. I saw that Duncan had sent me a text. He was at work on a locksmith job and was wondering how I was. I sent a reply and said that I was fine. I was doing my best to be fine.
But as the day wore on, I went batty, bored out of my baffled mind. I took a chance and sent Lori a text to see if she was around. She was, and she was as bored as I was.
Soon we were making plans to hang out, with me going to her apartment to make Mexican food and strawberry margaritas. She even suggested that I spend the night.
Suddenly I felt as normal as normal could get. Lori didn’t know that anything was wrong with me. To her, I was like anyone else.
I relayed my plans to Carol. She was leery at first, but she gave in, especially when I argued that if I was going to get over Abby, then I needed a girlfriend to do girly things with. I didn’t mention how painfully conflicted I was over my sister. Instead, I tried to sound as if I was anxious to start over.
I also didn’t mention that Lori and I were going to drink. Alcohol sometimes affected schizophrenics in negative ways, either intensifying their symptoms or interacting with their medication, so I was going to be careful not to drink too much. That was the onl
y solution I could think of, without giving up the experience altogether. I wanted at least one margarita.
Carol came into my room and reminded me to bring my medication. My welfare had become second nature to her, the way Abby’s had always been to me. But now, just thinking about my sister made me ache.
After I finished getting ready, I packed an overnight bag and left the house, desperate to soothe my wounded heart.
Chapter Eight
Lori greeted me at her door, wearing cutoff shorts and a ribbed tank top. Her flat-ironed hair flowed down her back. She looked like a pinup girl. Her apartment was equally impressive. She lived in a glamorous triplex in West Hollywood, a mere block from Melrose Avenue.
“So this is the building your mom owns,” I said, with my bag slung over my shoulder. I was determined to be upbeat, to make the most of my first sleepover. “It’s totally great.”
“I more or less manage it. That way I can rent the other two units to whoever I want.” She flashed a pretty smile. “Needless to say, I have cool neighbors.”
She invited me inside, and I glanced around. “I love how you decorated.” She’d combined eclectic furnishings, sequined accents, and pop art.
“Thanks. Let me show you to your room.”
She took me down the hall, and we entered a bedroom with an art deco vibe. It even had its own bathroom. I set my bag on the floor, peered out the French doors and saw a view of the backyard, glittering with a kidney-shaped pool.
“Are you hungry? Should we get started on the food?” She waggled her brows. “And the cocktails? I make killer margaritas. Strawberry is my specialty.”
“I’m starving.” And I was eager to try her specialty margaritas, even if I’d promised myself that I would only have one.
We proceeded to the kitchen, a charmingly cluttered room with embroidered curtains and a glass-topped table.
She removed the taco fixings from the fridge, and we joined forces. She fried the meat, and I chopped lettuce and diced the tomatoes. I also made the guacamole dip.
“We’ve been thinking about planting an avocado tree in our yard,” I told her. “We already have a vegetable garden. We compost, too.”
Beautiful Confusion (New Adult Romance) Room 105 Page 9