Keeping Secrets

by Lisa Eugene

  Dr. Adams shook his head. “No, I don’t anticipate that she will. We were able to repair all of them. It’s just a matter of time. Her esophagus needs to heal.” He paused for a minute then turned to me. “Is she under the care of a psychiatrist?”

  I blinked, almost stunned that he’d asked that question. I opened my mouth to say no when her father chimed in.

  “Not at the moment, but she used to be.”

  “I understand that she has a long history of mental illness?” the doctor said to Mr. Kennedy.

  My heart stalled. Shock rang through me in loud, abrasive chords. I tried to force my mind to backpedal, to keep up with what they were saying.

  “Yes,” Mr. Kennedy sighed heavily. His hand found his wife’s knee. “We noticed when she was around fourteen that she had small cuts on her forearm. She was secretly cutting herself. The cutting became worse, turned into burning. At fifteen she was institutionalized for almost a year in a psychiatric hospital.”

  My head almost exploded. It was all I could do to force the breath in and out of my lungs. My stomach sickened, roiling miserably. How did I not know this? What is he saying?

  “She’d been doing fine since she started college. She excelled in school, did exceptionally well,” Mrs. Kennedy sobbed. “She stopped therapy. We thought that was all behind us.”

  “Some psychiatric conditions require a lifetime of treatment. Is there anything going on in her life right now, any reason she’d want to take her life?”

  Mr. Kennedy shot me an accusing glance and I wanted to punch him in the face.

  “She’s in medical school,” I supplied. “It’s been very stressful.” I didn’t recognize my voice. I was still reeling from what I’d learned.

  “Yes,” Dr. Adams said knowingly. “It can be. Either way, when she’s out of danger medically, she’ll need a full psychiatric evaluation.”

  “We understand.” Mr. Kennedy nodded.

  “I wish I had more answers for you. This is going to be a long haul. Like I said, she’s a very lucky young lady.”

  Dr. Adams stood, signaling an end to our meeting. I didn’t want him to go, felt like he was my only thread to Stats. Many more questions hung off the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t get them to jump off. Absurdly, I wanted him to sit back down and tell me that he’d been wrong, that he’d fully healed Stats and that she would be able to go home tomorrow, that we could start our life together. I wanted Mr. Kennedy to retract his words, to say that she didn’t have a long psychiatric history, that she was fine. Sane. Not suicidal.

  “Can we see her?” I almost jumped out of my seat.

  “She’ll be in the recovery room for a while, then she’ll go to the ICU. I’ll arrange for a short visit in the recovery room. You can only go one at a time, and really only stay for a few minutes. She’ll be asleep. And just so you’re aware, she’ll be attached to many tubes and machines. They’re all necessary to keep her stable, so don’t be afraid.”

  I nodded, feeling a boulder clogging my throat. How could this all be happening?

  I was the last one to go in to see Alexa. The recovery room was a bleak, sterile place of eerily still bodies and beeping machines. Although the doctor had warned us what to expect, I wasn’t prepared for how vulnerable and precariously frail she looked. Even though she’d had several blood transfusions, her color was a sickly pallor. Dark shadows had settled under her eyes and the bones of her face stood out in sharp relief. It seemed her entire body was invaded by tubes. The sight crippled me, almost brought me to my knees. I searched for Stats beneath all the trappings, for the woman I loved, for my best friend.

  I stood by her bedside, trying to hold myself together. The nurses shot me sympathetic glances from the corner of their eyes. Her nurse, Taylor, was standing at the foot of her bed, recording data in an electronic tablet. I was grateful when she turned away, pretending to not see me unravel. I’d thought that finding Alexa today was irrevocably soul-shattering, but seeing her like this was pure, unaccountable agony. I whispered words to her, words I hoped she could hear. I prayed they would somehow weave their way inside and give her the will to hold on, the will to live. Because I didn’t know what I’d do without her.

  When I returned to the waiting room, Henry was leaning against a wall, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. Alexa’s parents were gone. He was about to push the Styrofoam cup at me, but the look on my face arrested him. He shoved off the wall, eyebrows raised in question. I just shook my head, unable to find any means to communicate what was storming inside me.

  Henry sighed, scratching his jaw. “So, Tom and I got into a huge fight.”

  I turned and faced him, raising a skeptical brow.

  “He kicked me out for the night. I have no place to go. That bastard!”

  I knew where this was going. Henry was full of shit.

  “You don’t need to babysit me.”

  “Babysit? You? Puhleeze! Never crossed my mind. I just need a place to crash. I’ll have to do it at your apartment.”

  His dramatics provoked a weary chuckle. It was kind of him to want to stay with me. Perhaps he thought I’d attack the entire case of vodka this time, maybe drink myself into a stupor. That didn’t sound like a bad idea, but I needed to stay alert in case there were any changes in Stats’ condition. “I’ll be fine, really. You can go home. It’s almost midnight.”

  “I told you that bastard tossed me out! You know he can be worse than a fishwife sometimes. So, suck it up. You’re stuck with my ass.”

  I scrubbed a hand over my face. There was no use in trying to talk Henry out of this. Once he set his mind to something, he was as tenacious as a body rash and just as prickly.

  “You can use the apartment, but I’m staying here.”

  “Here?” He swiveled his head, frowning.

  “I’m not leaving until Stats is out of danger.” My voice cracked with emotion and I looked away. “I need to be here.”

  I’d told the nurse to come out and get me if there were any new developments. They weren’t happy that I planned on spending the night in the waiting room. The nurse manager had told me it was against hospital policy. I’d told her what I thought of the policy.

  Henry clapped my back, seeming to understand my need to be close to Alexa. It turned into an awkward hug before he pulled away and hopped on the couch.

  Tossing his feet up, he rolled over. “God, I hope you don’t snore—or feel a need to cuddle,” he mumbled.

  The key is control, Alexa.

  Yes, Daddy.

  Discipline and Control.

  Yes, Daddy.

  If you don’t have it, you will lose your mind. You will lose your soul.

  Alexa

  Everything hurt. I think even my nails and my hair, which was impossible. Was I dead? I’d heard voices: Jake’s. My parents. Dex. They’d all filled my head, whispered to me. Dex was hurting. The thought had more pain curling inside me. How could that be? I remembered his voice filled with anger. With disappointment. With regret. With fear. With pain.

  I tried to move but something held me down, strangled me. My body wasn’t mine. What had happened? Lethargically, I drifted though the smoke clouding my brain. I remembered being expelled from school, Dex leaving, a terrible sense of hopelessness and deep, renting despair, years and years of agony and depression smothering me. Darkness had taken over. I’d just wanted the pain to finally end.

  I’d entered the bathroom. I’d emptied my stomach. I’d sat in front of the mirror for some time—hours maybe…and…

  Voices whispered around me. Machines beeped with haunting regularity. The faint smell of bleach I knew so well teased my nose. Awareness sent shock waves rolling through me. My pulse pounded hard and fast. Monitors dinged in alarm. Another voice. Someone telling me to relax, not to struggle. This time it was outside of my head. Someone asked me to blink if I was in pain. There was so much pain, so much despair, even more putrid blackness. It wrapped around me, choked me.

  Oh, God! No! I�
��ve failed! I’ve failed. I don’t want to feel anymore. Oh God, make it end. I want it to end. I don’t want to be here…

  Dex

  It was around three a.m. when the nurse, Taylor, made an appearance. Barely courting sleep, I bounded from the couch where I’d been buckled. The action stirred a snoring Henry from sleep.

  “Is Alexa all right?” I asked.

  She nodded patiently, her eyes following my movements. Two pillows and two sheets were folded under her arm. “She’s awake. She was agitated, but she seems calmer now.”

  I exhaled a long breath. “Did she say anything?”

  “No. She still has all the tubes in, but some of them should come out in the morning. She’s stable. I just thought you’d want to know. She’ll be transferred to the ICU in about a half hour or so.”

  “Can I see her?” I said, forking fingers through my disheveled hair. Her words were answered prayers, but worry still circled like a spoiled meal in my stomach.

  “I’m sorry…” she started shaking her head.

  “Please…” The word tripped off my tongue on a broken appeal.

  She stood for a quiet moment of indecision, then I heard Henry’s sing-song voice chime in, “Oh, let him see her for God’s sake! Look at him. He’s a mess.”

  She sighed, compassion filling her eyes. “Fine. But only for a minute, okay?”

  I nodded, resisting the urge to turn and kiss Henry. I was a mess, that I couldn’t dispute. Taylor handed the pillows and sheets to Henry, giving him a queer look when he asked if she had anything in Egyptian cotton around six-hundred thread count. I shot Henry a warning glare then followed stiffly behind Taylor.

  “Your friend is a trip,” she chuckled, pushing through the door to the recovery room.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “You can say that.”

  I washed my hands at the sink and approached the bed, trying to harness my emotions when I saw Alexa, but her condition still leveled me, still caused my heart to falter. A barrage of questions scrambled around in my head. With them came guilt, helplessness. I knew this wasn’t the time, but I screamed for answers, for a logical explanation as to how we’d come to this point. It seemed like just yesterday she was hopping on my back as we’d raced for a cab, laughing and howling in the cold wind.

  Her eyes were closed as I approached the bed.

  “Stats…” I called softly.

  Her lids fluttered open.

  She was still connected to the equipment, still had a breathing tube in her mouth, but her color was markedly improved. That ominous stench of death had dissipated, leaving uncertainty lingering. We still needed more time to tell if she was out of the woods, but seeing her eyes open was a thread of hope I clung to. She tried to move and I brushed my palm over her soft hair, trying to settle her.

  “Shhh…babe…” I whispered hoarsely. “I’m here.”

  Her body stilled and I leaned over, putting my face right in hers. I needed her to see me. I needed her to see the love in my eyes, the desperate love that filled my heart. Everything inside me poured into her as I tried to fill her up. I needed her to feel that elemental connection that existed between us.

  “I love you, Stats…” I whispered, aware that my voice was barely audible. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

  Her lashes fluttered again. Her eyes splayed wide, irises bright and glassy like bursting full moons. Tears gathered and leaked from the corners of her eyes to roll down her temples. My thumb collected them, then wiped them away, my throat swelling with emotion.

  I hated seeing her like this. I’d give anything to make her better. Even my own life. Her tears came quickly, faster than I could smudge them away. Gripped by despair, my throat tightened painfully. A sting throbbed behind my eyes, blinding me. I tried to speak again and instead croaked weakly. Totally broken, I lowered my head and started weeping.

  She was out of danger. Thank God. The news glided like warm honey poured through my veins, a sweet relief. I’d never prayed so much in my life, never wanted anything so desperately. I left the hospital around eleven a.m. to head home, shower, and change. Henry told me I looked like shit and would scare Stats into a relapse if she saw me. After returning his gracious compliments, I thanked him and sent him home to ‘make up’ with Tom.

  The ICU had strict visiting hours. I made quick calls and worked from home until I could see Stats. By the time I got back to the hospital, I was jumping with nervous excitement, not sure what I’d say to her. That had never happened before.

  The entire day yesterday had completely shattered my world. It made me question everything I thought I knew about her, about myself—about us. I had to be patient, that I knew. I prayed to God to help me weave through this vast unknown, to help me understand, because I didn’t. All I knew was that I loved Stats, that I wanted her forever.

  The ICU was sectioned off with half-glass partitions into large cubicles. Each cubicle held two patients with one nurse. There was a sign-in desk with a receptionist, and a line I had no patience for. I stood behind a couple, waiting to check in. Turning my head, I got a partial view of the unit, hoping to see Alexa from where I stood.

  Even with my height, I couldn’t see much. The gum-chewing receptionist was engaged in a heated argument with the couple in from of me. They wanted to bring flowers to a relative, which apparently was strictly prohibited in the ICU. The couple wasn’t taking no for an answer. By the time the receptionist had sternly dispatched them and turned to me, she had her sword out, ready to do more slaying.

  “I’m here to see Alexa Kennedy.”

  “Name?” she barked, not even bothering to look up.

  “Dex Blakewell.”

  She pecked at a keyboard. Even her fingers had an attitude.

  “Sorry, you’re not on the list.”

  The words punched me in the gut, knocking the air right out of me.

  “There must be some mistake. I was on the list this morning.”

  “Well, you ain’t now.”

  Biting my tongue, I asked her to check again, cringing when I got the same snarky reply. My adoptive mother always said you’d catch more flies with honey than you would with vinegar. Although I was tired, cranky and wanted to swat this particular bug, I sprinkled sugar into my voice and decided to try again. My priority was seeing Stats. There was now a line of people behind me I ignored.

  “Sorry, Sir.” She sighed. “Now please step aside. There’s a line. I can’t keep people waiting.”

  My mood turned sour quickly. There must’ve been some mistake, maybe a computer error. I was just about to ask for a supervisor when I looked up and saw Taylor pushing a stretcher into one of the cubicles. I slipped from the line and tapped rapidly on the glass partition, incurring a slew of reprimands from the receptionist.

  Taylor looked up. Frowning, she made her way over and I explained the situation. I smiled, confident that she’d rectify the problem. Walking behind the receptionist, she typed at the keyboard, ignoring the annoyed sighs from the wench behind the desk.

  “I’m glad you’re still here,” I said to Taylor. “Thank you for checking.”

  “Pulling a double shift. I was just transferring a patient,” she explained, her fingers still working.

  She finished typing and looked at me with an apologetic shake of her head. “I’m sorry. It looks like someone took you off the list.”

  I wanted to lash out. Anger marched through me, swift and ferocious. I knew exactly who was responsible.

  “Let me guess—her father?”

  Taylor’s face crumpled with sympathy. She looked at me, slowly shook her head.

  “I’m so sorry. It was Alexa.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I promise I’ll be good! I swear!

  You must stop this behavior! It is madness! I’ll tolerate it no more!

  I will, Daddy! I swear!

  You will bring attention and disgrace!

  I will stay in control! I promise. Please, just stop…

  Alex
a

  Twenty-four-year-old Caucasian female with a long history of mental illness including depression, self-harm, bulimia, and panic disorder, was brought to the ER after an attempted suicide. She was found to have several esophageal lesions and ulcers. She underwent successful stenting and repair to her esophagus, as well as repairs to the radial and ulnar arteries. She…

  I heard the team of doctors talking and kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep. Sleep was what I did, mostly. It was a relief to sink into the darkness.

  Has psych seen her yet?

  Uh…not sure. We requested the consult yesterday.

  The medical student hadn’t done his homework. If he’d gotten here before rounds and checked my chart, he’d know that the psychiatrist had seen me twice already, and the psychologist had finished her intake late last night. He’d know that I was on suicide precautions, on one-to-one. I was basically babysat by an attendant to prevent me from hurting myself. Seriously? I shared a room with one other patient and a vigilant nurse. If I had a nose hair out of place, it was recorded.

  Staff was constantly in and out of this fishbowl. A cardiac monitor recorded my heartbeat, a catheter collected my urine, and an IV fed me through a central line. The chances were greater that I’d trip over one of the tubes snaking from my body and bash my head open than devising a more effective means of killing myself.

  It had only been two days and I was already sick of this place. Sick of it all. Sick of my circular thoughts that were physically and mentally taxing. My emotions were hyper-acute and extremely labile, too sharp, too intense. It seemed that every ten minutes I was bursting into tears. If anything, my mind would be the death of me.

  Dex

  I’d barely noticed that Christmas had come and gone. I’d been in a stupor. The cleaning crew I’d hired to clean Stats’ apartment had come on Christmas Eve. I’d let them in, then made the mistake of going into the bathroom, only to relive the nightmare.

  New Year’s Eve, Henry and Tom had barged into my apartment singing “Auld Lang Syne”. I’d given them vodka to shut them up. We rang in the New Year wasted. I’d needed to be numb.

  A few days later, I showed up at the hospital. I’d been coming every day. Every day I filled my heart with hope. Every day I was turned away. Stats didn’t want to see me. She wanted nothing to do with me. I tried to comprehend that, turned it over and over in my brain a million times. I still didn’t understand.