Phobia

by Mandy White

  I closed my eyes to rest. I didn’t want to be awake in a world with no Colin. Maybe if I was lucky I’d slip back into the coma, where he waited.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t fall asleep again, so I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed. Hours passed, or at least it felt like hours. I still didn’t trust my perception of time.

  The clatter of metal on metal in the hallway woke me some time later. It seemed I had managed to fall asleep after all. I’d heard the sound before, but this time I knew it wasn’t an earthquake rattling pipes on an alien world. It was merely the meal cart approaching, laden with whatever culinary hospital horrors awaited me. You’d think someone who hadn’t eaten in weeks would be salivating at the prospect of a hot meal, but I had no appetite. My meal sat untouched long after it had gone cold.

  Soft footsteps entered the room. It was a nurse.

  “Hi, I’m Ruth. Nice to finally meet you.”

  “Hi.” I barely lifted my face from the pillow to acknowledge her. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey, why so sad? I know this must be very disorienting for you, but you’re going to be just fine.”

  “I know.” I sniffled, reaching for a tissue. ‘It’s not that. I’m just – I’m alone. So alone.”

  “Well, I’m sure you won’t be alone for long. He should be in to visit you this evening, like always.

  He?

  “Who? Who is coming to visit me?”

  “Why Colin, of course. That young man has kept vigil beside your bed day and night, except when he’s in school. We’ve gotten to know him very well around here. He seems quite taken with you.” She sighed. “It’s so romantic. Just like a fairy tale.”

  “I don't understand. How? How did he find me?”

  “Pretty hard for him to miss you, on account of he's the one who hit you.”

  “He hit me?”

  “He felt so awful. Even though the accident wasn't his fault, he felt responsible for you being here. He even paid to have your car fixed good as new.”

  My mind flashed back to the day of the accident. The rain-soaked roads; the blinding spray on my windshield; the pickup flipping over on the road ahead; the SUV with a man behind the wheel. I strained to see his face-Colin's face- but all I could remember was a mouth open in shock seconds before impact.

  “When does he usually visit?”

  “Like I said, he's always here, except when he has class – evenings, weekends, sometimes early in the morning before school. He brings his homework here and does it right beside you. Sometimes he reads, sometimes he writes and sometimes we hear him reading his work out loud. I guess you're a good listener. He sometimes listens to recordings of group therapy sessions and writes notes while he listens. Some kind of research stuff, I guess.”

  “The group sessions.” I whispered.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “I heard them. The group sessions. I heard HIM!”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! He talked to me and I heard him! Is that possible?”

  “Yes, of course it is. A coma is like a deep sleep. Some sleep deeper than others. If you heard him, that's a very good sign. It means you may not have suffered any brain damage. I'm no doctor, sweetie, but I have a feeling you're going to make a full recovery. You'll be good as new in no time.” She patted my hand and then left the room.

  Good as new, I thought. No, she was wrong. I was not as good as new. I was better. For the first time in years I felt free. Free of the shackles of my fears and insecurities. I didn't know what my future looked like, but from where I sat it looked pretty bright.

  I wrapped my arms around the thin hospital pillow, pretending it was Colin, and drifted off to sleep.

  ~*~

  ~ 24 ~

  Awakened

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” a soft voice said. “Dana? Can you hear me?” Colin sounded anxious but hopeful.

  I sighed with relief. I was back in the dream world with Colin. I didn’t care if I spent the rest of my life in a coma, as long as I could hear his voice.

  “Please come back to me,” he begged. The desperation in his voice brought a lump to my throat.

  I felt a hand in mine and smelled the delicious aroma of his cologne. Colin’s cologne.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Do I dare?

  My eyelids flickered, betraying my uncertainty. Then my eyes opened fully.

  The man at my bedside was about my age; tall; slim but muscular. Dark brown hair fell over the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen on a man.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” was all I could think to say.

  “I thought you were never going to wake up. Pleased to finally meet you. I’m Colin.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “What? How?”

  “You’ve been with me.”

  “Yes, of course I have. I’ve been with you ever since…” He paused to take a shaky breath. “Since the accident,” he finished.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “What happened to you was my fault. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” Great. I sound like a goddamn parrot.

  “I’m the one who hit your car. I nearly killed you. I’m so sorry…” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’m the reason you’re here.”

  “Don’t cry,” I reached over to touch his hand. “I kicked the Devil in the nuts and walked on by, just like you told me to.”

  Colin’s cheeks flushed. “You heard that?”

  “I guess I did.”

  “I’ve been here with you every single day, except when I had class. I even did my homework in here so I could spend time with you. My sister has been nagging me to leave you alone and focus on my studies.”

  “Is her name Carly?”

  “Yes. I guess I must have mentioned her at some point.”

  “Carly’s a bitch,” I muttered, remembering the dog-woman who had stood between us in my dream. Realizing what I had just said, I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth. “Colin, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I think my brain’s a little mushy. Please forgive me.”

  Colin laughed. “No, you’re right. I told her to mind her own business. My sister can be a real bitch sometimes.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” I stifled a giggle at the memory of Carly with fangs and a tail.

  “I’ve managed to do both. I’ve kept up with my studies and tried to spend time with you every day. Sorry, but I missed a few days during exams week. I’ve talked to you, told you my life story, I’ve even read some of my homework assignments to you. Pretty boring stuff. I hope I didn’t put you deeper into a coma.” Colin sniffled, then smiled through his tears. “You’re a great listener, by the way.”

  “It wasn’t boring at all. I learned a lot. You’re the best therapist a girl like me could hope for.” I frowned, thinking. “What about the group sessions?”

  “You mean this?” He held up his cell phone and clicked a button. It was a sound recording. I heard him begin the session by introducing the members, then the first one began to speak.

  “Of course,” I said. “You recorded your sessions…”

  “And I listened to the recordings while I was here, to review the sessions.”

  “I thought I was part of it. I even thought I had a fake name, until someone else started using it.”

  “Really? What was your fake name?”

  “Amona.”

  He smiled. “You were close. One of the group members did use the name Ramona. Didn’t say much at first, but eventually she opened up.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you heard all of that.”

  “I was so afraid, Colin. But you were always there for me. I always answered you, even when you didn’t hear me.”

  “Like I said, I’ve been here, by your side every single day, just to be near you. I’ve been talking to you, staring at you, watching you sleep.” He leaned f
orward to caress my cheek. I lost myself in his incredible blue eyes. “They kept telling me not to get my hopes up; that you might not wake up, but I knew they were wrong. I never doubted for a minute that you were in there. My biggest fear was that you would wake up and then hate me when you learned it was me who caused you to crash.”

  “I could never hate you, Colin.” I placed my hand over his. “You were right, I was in there. And boy, do I have a story to tell you!”

  I began to laugh, recalling the eerie dream world I had experienced. All the while I had been here in the hospital. I’d heard the sounds around me and my brain had interpreted them as other things. None of it had been real.

  Or had it? I couldn’t deny the breakthroughs I had made in my ‘therapy’, even if I’d only done it in my mind.

  I remembered the phobia list I had developed and what I’d learned in the process. Understanding the roots of my fears made them less frightening and even manageable.

  I had found the courage to face the snakes, and that strength still felt alive inside me. I had jumped off the cliff and survived, and even swam underwater. I still believed I had the courage to swim in real life, even to dive.

  Somehow, without even meaning to, Colin had helped me find that strength.

  Call it real or imaginary – what mattered was the reality of my experience from my perspective and its profound effect on my life, on my future.

  One thing I knew was legitimate – the way I felt about Colin. My feelings for him were as real as he was. For so long I’d yearned to see him, and now I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  “Dana, I know it sounds completely crazy, but I’ve been falling in love with you.”

  “Colin?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hold me. I’ve been waiting all this time for you to hold me.”

  As Colin took me in his arms and our lips met, I felt confident that for the first time in my life I had nothing to fear.

  ~*~

  THE END

  ~*~

  Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this book (or even if you didn’t), please take a moment to leave a review on Amazon to let other readers know what you thought of it. Word of mouth is integral to an independent author’s success.

  Please read on and enjoy this bonus short story:

  ~*~

  The Good Husband

  A short story by Mandy White

  Harold was a good husband. His mother taught him that a good husband should cater to his wife’s every whim. His father had left when he was two years old, so he didn’t have much basis for comparison. On her deathbed, his mother begged him to find a good woman and hold onto her.

  “Promise me, Harry. Don’t chase after some bleach-haired floozy. Find a sensible woman who doesn’t sleep around and put a ring on her finger. Be a good husband. I want you to be taken care of.”

  “I promise, Mama.”

  True to his word, Harold ignored the flirtations of his lovely secretary, Linda, who was clearly waiting for him to ask her out. His mother would not have approved of Linda. She would have called her frivolous. Linda’s long, manicured nails, perfect makeup and unnaturally crimson hair meant she was a high-maintenance woman who probably spent all of her free time at the beauty salon. Personally, Harold wouldn’t have minded if his wife spent extra effort on her appearance, but he had made a promise to his mother. If nothing else, he was an honorable man who revered his mother above all others.

  He met Bernice at a charity fundraiser. He was obligated to attend on behalf of his employer, and she was one of the volunteers. She was a solidly built woman; a little on the heavy side. Her angular face was free from makeup and her dishwater-blonde hair was twisted into a tight bun, without a single stray strand. Linda wore her hair up as well, but she always had a few loose strands wisping over her smooth, rouged cheeks. Mother would have approved of Bernice.

  Harold proposed to Bernice after just two months of celibate dating, foregoing intimacy to consummate their marriage the way a proper husband and wife should.

  The dream honeymoon he had planned didn’t turn out quite the way Harold hoped. He wanted Hawaii, but settled on Niagara Falls because Bernice felt it was more practical to drive a few hours away than spend all that money to fly over the ocean to a resort filled with starved bikini-clad sluts. Howard acquiesced, intent on pleasing his new bride. His spirits weren’t dampened much; the promise of sexual release made mere details like location unimportant.

  The honeymoon proved to be a disappointment. After one obligatory roll in the hay, Bernice refused to let him touch her. Like a good husband, Harold respected her wishes, confident that she would warm up to him when she was ready. She took his credit cards and spent the entire week shopping, leaving Harold waiting patiently in the hotel room.

  Weeks passed, then months, still with no intimacy. To compensate for his nonexistent sex life, Harold threw himself into his work, quickly climbing the corporate ladder and bringing home increasingly larger paychecks, like a good husband should. Bernice sat on the couch eating snacks, drinking gin and watching the Home Shopping Network, spending the money as quickly as he could earn it.

  Harold did his best to please Bernice, but she was never happy. She rarely spoke to him without yelling. Not much of a cook, she insisted on being taken out to eat frequently, which he dreaded because she took every opportunity to humiliate him in public.

  Harold was miserable, but never allowed his feelings to show. He endured Bernice’s abuse meekly, replying only when asked to.

  “Yes, Dear. You’re right, Dear. Whatever you want, Dear,” became his mantra. He recited the words automatically, often without even hearing what she had said. He knew his mother would have been proud of him for being such a good husband.

  He wanted out, but there were only two ways he knew of to get out of his miserable marriage: divorce or suicide. Neither seemed like a viable option. Divorce meant lawyer’s fees, a hefty settlement and alimony. If he committed suicide, Bernice would get to keep all of his money and possessions. It was win-win for Bernice, with Harold ending up the loser in both cases.

  As the years passed, Harold’s desperation grew, as did Bernice’s waistline. His eyes had been wandering for some time; after all, he was a man, and only human. His secretary Linda grew lovelier the more he watched her, and he spent many afternoons with his office door locked while he satisfied his urges, imagining various scenarios involving the two of them.

  One day, his fantasy came true. Preoccupied with the low-cut dress Linda was wearing, he had forgotten to lock his office door. He was on the verge of climax, eyes closed and head thrown back in ecstasy when the door opened and Linda walked in.

  “Mr. Benson, I need you to sign these requisitions for…” She froze when she saw him, sitting at his desk with his pants wide open.

  Harold scrambled to cover himself and recover whatever dignity he had left. Linda’s next stop would be Human Resources. He would be publicly humiliated and probably asked to resign. His career was over.

  What happened next was unexpected.

  “Can I help you with that?” she asked, voice dripping with honey.

  Unable to speak, Harold merely nodded. Linda leaned back against the door, shutting it. He heard the lock click into place.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, slipping out of her dress and letting it fall to the floor.

  Every fantasy he’d ever had was about to come true. For one sickening moment, Harold was certain he was asleep and dreaming; that he would wake up just as she was about to touch him.

  When Linda climbed onto his lap and made love to him, he didn’t wake up from a dream. He did, however, experience an awakening of another kind.

  His affair with Linda continued, and as the months passed, Harold gradually felt his confidence returning. For the first time in his life he felt like a man. He accepted the possibility that his mother may have been wrong. Subservience didn’t make him a man. It made him a d
oormat. Standing up for what he believed in was the mark of a true man, and he believed that he wanted to be with Linda.

  He made a decision. No more would he endure Bernice’s abuse. He would ask for – no – he would DEMAND a divorce that night.

  * * *

  Harold ducked to avoid the half-full tumbler of gin and tonic Bernice hurled at him. The glass exploded against the cupboard door behind where his head had been a second earlier.

  “A divorce?” she screeched. Her cheeks flushed with alcohol-fueled fury. “Oh, you think so, do you? You think you’re just going to put me out on the street like some used-up old whore?”

  “I believe you actually have to have sex to be considered a whore,” Harold said calmly. He never would have dreamed of speaking to her that way before. Now, he felt cool and confident. He was unafraid of her, and his new-found courage was liberating.

  “What did you say to me?” Bernice roared, wobbling a bit in her drunken haze as she looked around for something else to throw at him.

  “You heard me.”

  “Well, let me tell you something, Mister Smartypants.” Bernice grabbed her bottle of Tanqueray and took a swig of straight gin. “It just so happens, I know a thing or two.”

  “Do tell, Dear.” Harold made sure he made ‘Dear’ sound anything but endearing.

  “I know about your little affair with that slut in your office.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “DON”T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” she screamed.

  “Calm down, Bernice. It’s quite simple. I don’t love you. I don’t know if I ever did. This marriage has been a sham from the beginning and I want a divorce. I’ll see that you’re well taken care of. I don’t think we have much else to discuss.”

  “Oh yes, there is, you cheating bastard!” Bernice squinted, curling one side of her mouth into a sinister sneer. “I know. I know everything. About Linda, your little office grope-fests, those nights you were supposedly ‘working late’. A while back, I got an anonymous call from someone in your office. Someone cared enough about the sanctity of marriage to tell me what you were up to. I didn’t care much. If you were getting it from her, then you wouldn’t be always trying to put your perverted hands on me.”