Boundaries
Jessica Aiken-Hall
Copyright © 2020 Jessica Aiken-Hall
First Edition.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact http://jessicaaikenhall.com/contact
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, products, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9993656-1-8 (paper)
ISBN-13: 978-0-9993656-2-5 (e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020906694
Moonlit Madness Press
Cover Design © Victoria Cooper Art
Editor: Proofreading by the Page
*Warning- Contains sensitive subject matter including, but not limited to childhood sexual abuse, domestic violence, and suicide.
jessicaaikenhall.com
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Acknowledgments
Resources
About the Author
Chapter One
I broke a nail trying to unlock my office door. I already knew it was going to be one of those days. My coffee spilled as the door jarred open. Thankfully, it only hit my shoes and luckily, I hadn’t broken out my new Birkenstocks yet. The clock on the wall reminded me I was twenty minutes late, again.
The phone rang as I tossed my tattered, purple tote bag and shook the coffee off my foot. "Good morning, Lawrenceville Regional Hospital, social services department, this is Valerie Williamson. How may I help you?” I hated they made me say all that stuff. It took a full minute before I could even hear the other person speak.
“Val, it’s Jeanine, don’t you ever look at the caller ID to know who’s calling?” She let a heavy sigh escape. “I need to talk with you about something.”
“I’m sorry I was late…again. It’s just…”
"Save it, Val, you're not in trouble. Just get up here as soon as you can." The phone clicked down on the receiver before I had the chance to redeem myself. I had worked for Jeanine for five years, and going to her office only meant one thing… more work for me. I pulled out my teal compact and quickly looked at my teeth. I hadn't had enough time to brush them before running out the door.
I wasn’t sure what was going on with me, but I couldn’t leave my apartment on time if my life depended on it. I couldn’t sleep, either. There were too many thoughts racing through my head. Gabriel was the only one I talked to outside of work. He’s the only one I can trust.
It was hopeless, there was no way I was going to make myself presentable enough for Jeanine. She doesn’t understand me. No one does. I tucked my compact back into my tote bag, locked the door to my office and made my way to the stairs. Jeanine’s office was on the third floor, mine was in the basement. Four flights of stairs were better than taking the chance of sharing an elevator that long with someone else.
Everyone at work teased me. They called me the "anti-social social worker." They were not too far from the truth. My office, just two doors away from the morgue, is where I spend most of my time. They said I spent more time with the dead than the living. I liked it that way. Death was a big part of my job. Maybe, my favorite.
When I reached Jeanine's office, the smell of orange and lavender overpowered me. She said it was the perfect combination to bring peace and harmony and disinfect the air at the same time. It was a hospital, after all. God forbid we catch what our patients are in here for. When I knocked on Jeanine's door, I saw her round head poke up from behind the computer. Her tight, dark brown curls were moist with hair gel to make sure they didn't move. She had to be in control of everything, even her hair. The reflection from some website glared on her cat-eye glasses. She pushed up her tan cardigan sleeve and looked at her knock-off Rolex. “What took you so long? You took the stairs, didn’t you?”
I took that as my cue to go in. I shut the door behind me as I heard her mouse clicking. I pulled up a stiff, black, pleather chair and sat in front of her desk. I could feel her topaz brown eyes judging me as I sat across from her. Jeanine and I were nothing alike. Nothing.
She shook her mouse around on the mouse pad and sighed as she feverishly clicked. "Just a minute. It's here somewhere." She didn't take her eyes from the screen as she continued to look. "Oh… here it is." She pressed print and pointed to her printer across the room and nudged her head for me to go retrieve it.
I stood with my back to her and rolled my eyes as many times as I could while I waited for the paper to spit out of the machine. She’s so lazy. I picked up the paper and walked it back over to her. Still saying nothing. The longer I stayed quiet, the less of a chance she could talk me into doing something else. I already worked close to fifty hours a week and barely got paid for forty. A nonprofit hospital with no money for anything.
She pushed the paper back at me. “Take a look at what they are proposing.”
I took the papers and quickly scanned them. They were always looking for ways to get more grant funding. This time, they wanted to start a weekly trauma support group. “No.” There was no way I was getting roped into this. I cleared my throat. “This is not something in my scope of practice. I’m not comfortable with any of this.” I could feel the heat radiate off my face as I attempted to hand the papers back to her.
“Val.” Her voice softened as she went on. “You are more than capable of doing this. That’s why I’m asking you.”
I shook my head. "No, Jeanine. No, I'm not." The anxiety bounced around inside my stomach, reminding me I hadn't eaten breakfast yet. "You know I don't excel at public speaking. There is no way I can do this."
“I’m not asking you to give a speech. I’m asking, no, I’m telling you to start a support group. It probably won’t be many people anyway.”
"I'll do anything else you need." I stood up, ran my fingers through my messy, blonde hair, and fought back tears as I looked at her.
"I'm sorry, Val, there is no one else to ask. The hospital needs this funding. The group needs to be up and running by the end of the month.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s next week. This is cra...”
“Thanks, Val. I knew I could count on you.” Her eyes left mine and went back to her computer screen. “Please close the door on your way out.”
I took the papers with me and slammed her door behind me. I knew I should have started looking for a new job long ago, but there was something about Jeanine. I just couldn’t disappoint her. She made me furious, but she always won. She always got her way. I wish I could learn to stand up for myself.
I stopped by the cafeteria to grab something to bring back to my office so I could start researching trauma groups. There was no way I was going to be able to concentrate with an empty stomach. Vanilla yogurt, strawberries and granola. It was what I got when I forgot to have breakfast, which lately was every day.
I carried my tray back down the stairs, past the morgue to my office, and remembered I had locked the door before I went to Jeanine’s office. Frustration grew as I searched my sweater pocket and fished out the keys. I felt the tray start to slip out of my hands as I fumbled with the doorknob and key. When were they going to fix this thing? Every other door had keyless entry. But down here, in the hallway of death, no one ever stayed long enough to fix anything. That might have been my least favorite part of my job, until about ten minutes ago.
I sat at my desk and began to search for information about support groups. I had never run one before, I hadn’t even attended one. The more information I found, the more inadequate I felt. How was I going to lead a group, when I couldn’t even get myself to work on time?
Where would we have it? We couldn’t ask people to come down here. That in itself would be traumatic. I was the only one not creeped out by having an office down here. That's why I was given the job of Deceased Patient Coordinator.
The more I fought it, the more I knew I would hate it. I had to talk myself into this thing. There wouldn’t be any time to advertise it, so maybe no one would show up. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Chapter Two
After hours of researching support groups and trauma, I was drawn into the cause. The more I looked, the more I found. One click led to another. Trauma affected far more people than I had ever imagined. Sexual abuse, sexual assault, physical abuse, emotional abuse, psychological abuse, neglect, domestic violence, the death of a loved one; the list was endless. The more information I found, the more I wanted. This assignment awoke something in me, it made me feel things I had not felt in a long time.
As my thoughts took me down memory lane, a knock at my door made me leap out of my chair, my heart pounded fast and steady in my ears. Jesus Christ. “Just a minute, I’ll be right there.” I always kept my door locked; I didn’t like to be surprised when people entered unannounced. With no windows, I got to escape from the outside world for a little while. I liked it that way.
Jeanine was on the other side of the door, impatiently waiting for me to open it. Her arms were crossed as she peered in at me. "I was beginning to think you weren't in there."
“I’ve been doing research. You told me I have a group to start. Next week. By the way, thanks for the notice.”
“Ha. Ha.” Her arms were still crossed as she walked through the door. “My God, it stinks in here. Do you ever take out your trash?”
"That's not in my scope of practice," I smirked as she sighed. “Is this what you came down here for? To insult my housekeeping skills?”
"You mean lack of housekeeping skills?" She took the files from the chair and placed them on the desk before sitting down. "No, Val, I have a job for you."
“Another one? Jesus, Jeanine, what do you think I am?”
"Funny, Val." She looked directly into my eyes. I hated it when she did that. I know it’s serious when she makes eye contact. “I need you to go up to the emergency department, room three. There was an... accident.”
“Accident? What kind of accident?” Jeanine knew I didn’t go to patient rooms. I strictly worked with families after patients died. I worked in the conference room on the first floor and the morgue. That was it.
“Well, it’s unclear.” She bit her bottom lip. “She’s young... only nineteen.” She shook her head as she closed her eyes.
“You know I don’t work with the living.”
“I know.” Her eyes shot open. “We lost her shortly after they brought her in. They said she did it to herself, but I'm not buying it.”
“What do you mean?” I brushed the hair out of my face as I leaned closer to her.
“I think her boyfriend did it. He’s in there now, with her body. Her mom is, too. I need you to go in there and tell me what you think.”
“Me? How about the police?” Rage began to boil inside me. I didn’t understand why just hearing about this had me so upset.
"They have been called, but her mom needs you. And I want to see what you think. Size him up."
“Ahh, shit. What’s her name? Her mom’s name?”
“Carmen. Her mom is Jane.”
I stood up and put my hair up in a bun. Jeanine followed me out the door, she put her hand on my shoulder. I usually push her off of me, but this time, I accepted the warmth of the gesture. Jeanine went for the elevator, as I headed for the stairs. I needed the extra time to think before reaching her room.
At the door of room three, my body sprouted goosebumps. I took a deep breath before I knocked on the door. “Social Services, this is Valerie.” When I opened the door, I was not prepared for what I saw. I let out a gasp as I got closer to her. Her t-shirt was covered in blood, and her wrists were both wrapped in gauze. Her petite frame was being cradled by her mother as she sang her a lullaby. And he just stood there watching, hovering over them. I could feel the anger pouring off of him. He did not act like he just lost someone he loved. Not in the least.
My desire to hurt him overpowered the devastation of witnessing a mother’s pain as she mourned her child. I wanted to slap him across the face to see if he would even feel it. I wanted to cause him the pain he obviously caused this beautiful, young girl. Her blonde hair framing the sadness on her face.
I asked him to leave and he refused. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me.
“Sir, I just need a few minutes with Jane. Why don’t you go get yourself some air?”
“I said, I’m not leaving.”
“Do I need to call security? Or are you going to step outside for a few minutes?”
He sputtered under his breath, “stupid bitch,” as he left the room. He had to be at least ten years older than Carmen, and the smell of vodka oozed off of him. I did notice the blood on his white t-shirt, as well as his faded blue jeans.
I made my way over to her mother and put my hand on her back. I began to rub up and down. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Jane. Is there anything I can help you with right now?" She let go of Carmen and grabbed hold of me and began to sob.
“Bring my baby back to me, bring her back. Please, God, bring her back.”
I didn't know what to say to her. I couldn’t bring her baby back, no matter how desperately I wanted to. I just held her as she sobbed, stroking her hair, and slowly swayed her back and forth as we stood together. “Oh, Jane, I don’t know what to say.” I sucked back the tears.
I took a step back so I could look at Jane’s face. “Do you know what happened to Carmen?”
“He said she did this to herself. I don’t believe it. My baby was happy, she wouldn’t have done this.”
“Did she ever tell you she felt unsafe with him?”
“No, never. Don’t you think I would have protected my baby if she asked me for help?”
“Yes, of course. I just wanted to see if we could figure out what happened to your beautiful girl.”
“He’s just upset, he’s not a bad guy.” She looked down at Carmen, “He loves her, I know he does.”
The door to the room opened and he walked back in, with a Mountain Dew in his hand. He paced the room as Jane and I watched him. “I gotta get outta here. Come on, man, we gotta go.” He scratched his greasy, ash blonde hair.
“I’m not leaving her. I can’t… not yet.”
His agitation increased with the volume of his voice. “We need to get the fuck out of
here now.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to keep your voice down. Jane’s not ready to leave yet, be patient with her.”
“She’s fucken dead. Let’s go.”
Jane’s sobbing filled the room as she fell to her knees and rested her head on the side of Carmen’s bed. “Noooo.”
"Get out." I walked to the door and held it open for him to leave. A nurse in the hall stood and watched.
“Val, you need me to call security?”
"No, thanks, he's leaving. Right?"
He blew past us and ran to the elevator, pushing buttons and banging on the doors, waiting for it to open. I couldn't tell what was wrong with him. I had seen grief look many different ways, but never like this. He was hiding something, that was obvious. I needed to know what. I had worked with countless families who had lost loved ones before and never had they hit me like this one did. Never did anger get to me like this. Never had I wanted revenge.
Chapter Three
When the police showed up, I slipped out of Carmen’s room and headed for my office. I didn’t want to be in the way, and Jane had already forgotten about me when the officers arrived. My heart broke for her. I’ll be haunted by what I saw for the rest of my life, I can’t imagine how painful this must be for her. Things like this are one reason I keep to myself. You just never know who you can trust.
Boundaries Page 1