In My Head

by Schiefer, S. L.

  “Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!” The car lurches forward as he picks up speed driving down this back road. The road we’re on is one of those roads that has loose gravel on it and I’m afraid if he makes one sudden move we’re going to lose control of the car.

  “Can you please, please, please slow down? I’m begging you!” I do let out that sob I was holding back. I have tears running furiously down my cheeks, I’m powerless to stop at them at this point.

  “Can you just fucking shut up! God you stupid bitch!” Spittle flies out of his mouth as Bronson screams at me. As soon as he’s done talking we’re both thrown forward. I scream and the car is rear ended again. I throw my arms out and hold onto the door and put the other on the dash in front of me. Trying to brace myself if we’re hit again.

  “God! They fucking followed me! Are you fucking happy? If I didn’t want to fuck your tight cunt one more time, I would have been out of this fucking county before they could have caught up to me!” He goes to hit the gas again, and at the same time the truck behind us hits us again.

  The back end slides out, and Bronson starts turning the steering wheel trying to get the back end to catch traction again. I can’t even scream. I’m so fucking frozen right now. I’m scared but I can’t even move. I can’t force my mouth to make a sound.

  The car skids again to the side. Bronson turns his head slowly and looks at me. Dropping his hands from the steering wheel, his mouth starts to move. “I’m sorry, Lyla.” And the car is hit again. I close my eyes and pray. For the first time in my life I pray to God. A God that I hope really does exist and can somehow get me out of this alive.

  “LYLA!” I CAN HEAR MY name being called but it sounds like it’s miles away. I try to open my eyes but they feel like they weigh ten thousand pounds. “That’s it, Lyla. I can see you’re trying to open your eyes. I need you to open them for me.”

  I’m able to crack my eye lids open a tiny bit, but the bright light shines through and causes a pain that was just a dull ache in my head explode like I was just hit with a hammer. “Someone turn the lights off!” I hear an unfamiliar voice shout out orders.

  “Okay, Lyla. The lights are off, can you try to open your eyes again?” I try again and it takes me a few minutes to blink them open completely.

  “Don’t try to move, we have you strapped down so you don’t hurt yourself. You have an intubation tube down your throat, we’ll get that out in just a minute. But I need you to keep those eyes open for me, okay?”

  The stranger talking to me is an unrecognizable blur in front of me. I try to nod, but stop immediately when the pain from my head starts to travel down my neck. Someone comes up next to me and starts taking tape off of my face.

  God, what the fuck happened?

  “Try to breathe through this, I’m going to pull the tube out of your mouth now.” Comes a gentle voice.

  I start to gag on the tube as she slowly removes it. “We have to leave your arms restrained. You have a broken collar bone and a broken arm. So I need you to really try to stay still.

  I cough, attempting to clear my throat so I can speak. Blinking my eyes, I try to bring everything into focus. So I can see who I’m talking to.

  “Once I check you over, your husband wants to come in to see you. I’m Dr. Miller, I saw you when you first came into the ER. We didn’t have to do any surgery, thankfully.”

  I clear my throat again and lick my lips. The voice was coming from my left side, so I very carefully turn my head to look at him. My eyes are focusing a little more, I can make out the outline of his dark blue scrubs.

  “B—” I have to stop and cough before I can try to say it again. “Baby?” It comes out like a croak, and almost inaudible. But he hears me.

  “The obstetrician on call came in and checked you out, and everything is fine with the baby. You suffered no injury to your abdominal area, thankfully.”

  Instant relief courses through my veins. Then I instantly stop breathing. My head snaps to look at the doctor, before he can leave the room though, I call out to him a weak voice. “What about . . . the guy in . . . the car . . . with me.” I have to stop and wheeze throughout the sentence.

  “Lyla, there was no one in the car with you.” My eyes choose that moment to focus. The guy standing in front of me looks eerily familiar. “Are you sure someone was in the car with you? No one else was brought in. From your injuries and how they tell me the car is totaled, there is no way someone would have walked away from this with no injuries.”

  I close my eyes. What the hell is going on? Bronson was in that car with me. “What happened?”

  “You wrecked your car. You hit a tree, that’s what was on the sheet when you came in. Your husband said you were driving out to your parent’s house to get your kids.”

  “No, no, no. That’s not right! I was with someone in their car. Not mine!” I glance around the room and take in the faces of all the people standing in here. I take in their pitying looks. “What the hell is going on?” A mix of panic and disbelief is filling my voice.

  “Lyla, you need to calm down. Tell me who is in the car with you?” His face looks like he’s only placating me right now. But I’m not stupid I know what happened! I know I was with Bronson!

  “What’s the name of the person who was with you, Lyla?” His voice brings me back into focus.

  “Bronson. Bronson Miller.” The doctor stumbles back from my bedside. Complete and utter shock crosses his face, before he turns and schools his features. I hear him mumbling to another nurse, before I feel the prick of a needle in my thigh. And moments later I’m being pulled under. Away from the truth that’s going to shatter my life.

  WHEN I COME TO again, I have that weird sense that I’m being watched. My eyes snap open and I take in the new room. They must have moved me while I was out. As my eyes search each corner of the room I notice I’m no longer strapped to the bed, but I’m in a sling and a cast. I move past looking at my injuries to try to find the offending person.

  My eyes meet the kind eyes of an older looking woman in the corner to my right.

  “I’m glad you’re awake. I’m Dawn, I’ve been waiting to talk to you for a little bit.”

  “Water?” It’s the only thing I want to that about right now. I don’t care what the fuck they want to talk about.

  “Sure, let me go grab some for you.” She places the notebook, something I missed, on the windowsill. She leaves my room, but before she shuts the door I catch sight of the hallway. I’m in a completely different part of the hospital. Just as the door latches and clicks shuts, I hear a god awful scream coming from someone’s room.

  Cold dread spreads throughout my body.

  A few moments later the door reopens and this lady reemerges with water. She brings the cup over to me and holds the cup level with my face. Placing the straw between my lips for me, I greedily take huge sips.

  My stomach threatens to protest against the water but I breathe through the instant nausea.

  “All right, Lyla. Now that the water is out of the way. We really need to talk.”

  I close my lips, presenting her a face of indifference. “What do we need to talk about?” I ask nonchalantly.

  “I’ve spoken to your parents. Given what you said to Dr. Miller. It raised a lot of concern.”

  “What concern? Concern that I’ve been cheating on my husband?” I snap at her. Instantly raising my walls to guard myself from what’s about to open.

  There is that look again, that look of absolute pity. “Lyla, after talking to everyone and coming to my own conclusion I know that’s what you think has been going on.”

  What I think has been going on? “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure what everyone else has told you, but there is still a lot that your parents never told you. I’m aware that you only recently discovered that you were adopted.”

  I nod, agreeing with her. Not sure where she’s going. But she’s not asking me any questions so I’m going to allow her to continue for now
.

  “Your parents thought it would be best if I told you the other thing.” She pauses. For dramatic effect or what but her pause is grating on my nerves. “You were in an accident when you were eighteen. I know you know that, but there was something your parents left out when they were filling you in on what memories you lost. You were in the car with a guy, and he wrecked his car. But he died in the car.”

  “No, this just all happened. That’s why I’m in here right now!”

  She doesn’t look surprised by my outburst. “What kind of car do you think you were in that you wrecked?”

  “A Mustang. I was in a Mustang with a guy named Bronson Miller!” I’m on the verge of yelling. These people need to listen to me!

  “Lyla, you were found in your black Tahoe.” She stops to let that sink in. That’s not right, is it? I was with Bronson in his Mustang. What the hell?

  I start to panic. I don’t know what’s going on. If I was found in my car, then what the hell?

  “Lyla, I’m going to bring Dr. Miller in here. He’s going to try to fill in a lot of the blanks for you.” She stands and goes to the door again, and opens it up. Gesturing to, who I assume is the doctor, to come in.

  He steps through the door. His grim expression doesn’t bode well for me at all right now. “Hey, Lyla. I’m sorry to be meeting under these circumstances.” Again with the pausing, he looks down at the floor before going on. “Well, this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

  I stare at him. Really taking him in, trying to place if I’ve ever seen him before. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember if we’ve met.”

  “You wouldn’t. You lost your memory of when you first met Bronson up until the car accident.” He looks at me waiting for me to make the connection.

  “This lady is saying I was in an accident with your brother back when I was in high school! This just happened!”

  Dr. Miller shakes his head. “No, the accident you were just in involved you hitting a tree. When Bronson wrecked his Mustang, he was forced off the road by drug dealers, that happened when you were eighteen. I’m sorry, but she’s right.”

  “Lyla, I just have one more question. Have you been ‘seeing’ Bronson a lot recently?” she asks me, her pen poised to write in her notebook.

  “Yes, for the past six months or something like that.” She nods and scrawls in her notebook.

  “This is just my opinion, but I believe that you may be suffering from Schizoaffective Disorder. When you’re discharged I have the name of a psychiatrist I want you to schedule an appointment with. This psychiatrist will further diagnose you, but I’m positive that is what they’re going to tell you.”

  My head spins. I stare at the doctor and at this therapist. “What do you mean? What is that? How do you know?”

  She takes everything I say in stride. She slowly tries to explain it all to me. “You’ve been hallucinating visions of what I’m assuming are memories from when you were seeing Bronson. You can suffer from depression and bipolar tendencies with this, but unlike it’s cousin, you won’t have the multiple personalities. From talking to everyone and listening to what you have to say, and from Dr. Miller telling me that his brother passed in a car accident is what has helped me come to this conclusion.”

  I break down sobbing. I can’t even hold my head in my hands as I try to soak up everything that they’ve said. More guilt is pressed against my chest, the crippling fear from what Ben is going to say about all of this is freaking me out. I just sit there and sob. The knowledge that I’ve missed out on a huge part of my life from my parents leaving something else out of my life is pressing against me too.

  How the hell do I move on from this? How do I learn to live with my new reality? Will Ben stay by my side when it’s proven to him that I’m as broken as how I felt for the past six months?

  IT’S BEEN ABOUT A week and a half since the accident and I’m sitting in a second psychiatrist’s office, getting a third opinion on my diagnosis. The days after the accident were a very emotional time. I talked more to Bronson’s brother, Silas, and he was able to fill in the blanks about Bronson. The Bronson I knew, definitely wasn’t the Bronson that everyone else knew. How he was the day of the accident was how he was with everyone.

  Sometimes it’s hard to come to deal with all the memories, knowing that they’re fake, but them seeming so real.

  But, just as the doctor from the hospital and the first psychiatrist, this one is telling me the same thing. She wants to try some different therapies though, to help me remember everything prior to the accident. She thinks if I remember everything, then my brain will no longer have anything to show me. Meaning the hallucinations may lessen or they may not. But, it’s worth a shot.

  She also wants to start me on a couple different medications that are supposed to help me. It’s going to be a trial and error thing to find the right combination that works for me.

  When Ben first walked into the room, when I was still on the psych level, he was an emotional basket case. He broke down with me and just held me. Having to sit and tell him everything that had gone on, in my head, was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. Even though, knowing it was all fake now, I still feel like I betrayed him on such an intimate level.

  He asked the therapist at the hospital every question that had rolled through my head. How do we deal with this? What does this mean for living a normal life? Is there something that can be done to lessen the hallucinations? Will they ever go away?

  No one could give us an definite answer on if they’ll ever go away. They say if I can keep my stress down and stay on the medications prescribed that they should definitely lesson.

  It isn’t what any of us wanted to hear. But we’re going to take it one day at a time. That’s all you can do when you’re faced with a life changing diagnosis.

  My parents have been another story. They have been popping into the house as much as possible. They feel awful for everything that’s happened. But what do you do? They thought they were saving me from having to remember a highly emotional time of mine.

  Instead I relived it in the worst way possible.

  IT’S BEEN SIX weeks since the accident. I’m going to have the cast removed from my arm today, which is perfect timing since this shit itches like crazy. I’m growing bigger by the day, it seems like. We still haven’t picked out a name, but we have two months left to really start deciding.

  Ben has stood by my side through this entire thing. He let Chris take over on the remaining renovations. So, he’s been home a lot more. He’s able to help me with the kids, help me clean, and just pick up whatever slack from me.

  Showing me he truly is the best husband any woman could ask for.

  “Babe, you ready to go?” Ben’s voice floats through to the living room from the kitchen.

  “Just about, I stand up from the couch. Clutching my arm close to my side, it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it used to, but if I jostle it wrong it definitely starts to ache.

  Robert has been over too, after he heard what happened he came to the hospital to check on me. He’s been around so much that Kay has started calling him Granpa Rob. His eyes light up like the Fourth of July every time he hears it too.

  He’s over here today to watch the kids for us, so we can go to the doctor. He’s cleaned himself up considerably since I first met him. The Robert I met is a shadow of the person standing before us today.

  I haven’t gotten a new car yet, I don’t feel like driving myself or the kids around yet. After learning about the accident, and more details about the one I don’t really remember, it makes me jittery about getting back behind the wheel.

  “All right, Ben. Let’s head out.” He walks into the living room and holds his hand out to my free one. I lace my fingers with his. “Kay? Be good! I don’t want to hear that you talked someone into eating a bunch of candy again, Okay?”

  “Okay, Mommy!”

  We walk out the front door and Ben follows me to the passenger side of the t
ruck. Since it’s my right arm that was broken, I have a really hard time shutting the door behind me. When he gets my seat belt buckled, he shuts the door and then rounds the truck to the driver side.

  When he’s finally inside and starts the truck up, I wait a few minutes before I talk to him about something I want to do.

  “So, I thought of something that the more I think about it, I really want to do it.”

  Ben gives me a strange look. “Okay, care to share what it is you want to do?”

  “After I have this baby, I was wondering if you were okay with me getting another tattoo?” I glance at him out of the side of my eyes, trying to gauge his reaction. I’ve been kind of walking on egg shells around everyone because they have been doing the same. They’re afraid of any breakdown that may happen, and I do it just because I want everyone to stop hovering over me.

  He laughs. “You don’t need my permission to get another tattoo. You know that. What are you thinking?”

  I breathe in. This is what might make me choke up. “I want the word ‘remember’ on the top of my hand, like from my wrist to my thumb with a little compass before the letter r.”

  My husband starts to nod. He reaches over to take my hand in his and gives me a small squeeze. “I think that’s a perfect idea.” Facing forward again, he puts his eyes back on the road.

  Not that I need the tattoo to really move on from what’s happened, but it is a huge part of my everyday life. And I never want to forget what happened. I want the tattoo to be my anchor to this reality.

  I just want to go back to when I was the me living in the present, not the me who wants to relive the past. The past is right where it should stay, behind me. I just want to live my life the way I want to live it. Without fear of wondering if what’s in my head is happening or just a memory.

  My Dearest Ben,