by Lisa Eugene
He’d force her to stare into the mirror, to look at what she’d done to herself. It became a battle between the two of them. The more he disciplined her, the worse it became. Finally, he threatened her with his lighters.” She moistened her lips. Her voice shook.
My hands balled into fists, nails digging painfully into my palms. Rage bubbled in my veins, hot like lava, but I forced myself to listen.
“He-he threatened to burn her…to set her on fire if she continued. He never intended to do it. You see…she’d been afraid of fire since she was a little girl. He just wanted to use that fear to gain her compliance. He placed his lighters all over the house. He’d set one on the dinner table, playing with it as we ate, letting the flames dance and flicker in front of her. I could see that Alexa was terrified.
“One day we found her in his study. She—she was in front of the mirror burning herself. I can still smell the awful stench. She was crying, in terrible pain, but she wouldn’t stop. Her hands. Her legs, hips. She said she hated herself, hated the way she was, hated the way she looked. That night, she was hospitalized. She spent almost eight months in a psychiatric hospital.”
A terrible pain ripped through my heart. I clenched my teeth, staring in horror. “Jesus Christ! He’s a goddamn monster. She was just a kid! How could you, as a mother, allow such things?” I grounded out, unable to help it.
She blinked and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. “I’ve asked myself that many times. I’ve had to live with that for many years. I didn’t save my daughter then, Mr. Blakewell. I’m hoping to save her now.”
“Did you know about her bulimia?”
She shook her head. “We thought Alexa was cured. When she came out of the hospital, she focused all her energies on school. She did exceptionally well. My husband encouraged her to apply to medical school after college. We had no idea she still suffered. She’d gotten off all her meds. She’d stopped therapy.”
I sank into the couch, pinching the bridge of my nose to control the splitting ache in my head. More than ever, I wanted Stats in my arms. Barely a teen, she’d needed help. She’d been an innocent angel requiring patience and understanding, someone to get her the care she needed. Instead, the devil had taken her to hell.
My gaze went back to Mrs. Kennedy, wondering what type of hell she might be enduring. There were shadows in her eyes. She had the look of someone who was battling her own demons.
“Alexa needs you,” she said softly. “She doesn’t let people in easily. She’s barely spoken a word to me or her father since…since it happened. I’m afraid for her.”
I turned my palms up helplessly. “She won’t talk to me, either. She won’t even see me.”
Mrs. Kennedy nodded. “I will have a talk with Alexa.”
Afraid to let hope seep in, I stared silently. If Alexa was barely speaking to her, what success would she have convincing her to see me?
“Are you aware of what happened at school?” I asked.
There was a deep sigh. “Yes. We met with Dr. Leon yesterday. We’ve initiated the process for arbitration, but I’m afraid he’s rather unyielding.”
“She had nothing to do with the theft.”
“We know. It’s not her nature. Dr. Leon stated that there was too much evidence to ignore. Another student informed him that she was planning on selling the medical equipment.”
“Did he say who it was?”
She shook her head. “That, he wouldn’t divulge. He only said it was someone who’d have no personal gain from lying. We’re going to explore other avenues in dealing with the school. She’s almost done with her degree. It would be a shame to lose everything now.”
“You could press a formal suit on the school on her behalf. At least it might prompt an investigation,” I suggested. “I’d be more than happy to absorb the legal fees.”
Mrs. Kennedy smiled politely and shook her head. She gave me a long look. “Thank you, Mr. Blakewell, but no. You’ve already done enough with the car deductible.”
My brow slid up. I opened my mouth and she silenced me again with a hand. I saw a bit of Stats in her expression. “I’m aware it was you who paid off the deductible on the Mercedes after the crash. Don’t look so shocked. I had to make many calls and become quite a pain in the ass to procure that information. My husband doesn’t know. I think it’s best to keep it that way.”
I nodded my agreement. “Please don’t tell Alexa. She’s stubborn.”
I stood as she headed for the door.
“I won’t. Thank you for your time, Mr. Blakewell.” She gave me an unexpected hug. A long one. “Despite everything, my daughter is an exceptional young lady.”
“I know that,” I replied, once she’d let go of me.
Left alone with my thoughts, I sank into the couch. The horror of what I’d just learned wouldn’t leave me. The thought of Stats having to endure such barbaric treatment under the guise of discipline sickened my stomach and filled me with fury. Her father’s cruelty and ignorance was unconscionable.
Stats had a mental illness and needed help. Mental illness wasn’t a plea for attention, or a character weakness. It couldn’t be controlled with meditation, self-discipline, or flagellation.
Since learning about Stats’ condition, I’d been trying to educate myself and raise my own awareness about mental illness.
From what I’d read, it seemed the exact cause of most mental illnesses was unknown, but it was becoming clear, through research, that many of these conditions were caused by a combination of genetic, biological, psychological, and environmental factors—not personal weakness or a character defect.
Stats and I were more alike than I’d thought. We were both broken, damaged by our past, marred with terrible scars.
We’d held our secrets close, allowing them to dictate the course of our futures, while nearly destroying our presents. Our secrets had burned fear into our hearts. Whether it was fear of rejection, fear of further pain, or fear of ourselves, we’d both succumbed to it. Those secrets had robbed us of the ability to love and trust wholly, to give fully of ourselves. Henry had always warned about keeping secrets. Now I knew they could do nothing but bring about more destruction, pain, and loss.
Two days later, I walked into the ICU and approached the desk.
“Hi, Loretta.”
Her head jerked up. She caught me off guard with her uncharacteristic smile. I’d grown used to a sarcastic twist of her lips. She cocked her head, giving me a strange look. I fought the urge to check my shirt for ketchup, or my fly to see if it was open.
“You again?”
“Am I on the list yet?”
“Guess what, Lover Boy?” Dramatic pause. “You’re in.”
I stared like a dumbass. “Seriously?”
“Yes!” She launched into a happy jig with her shoulders, and absurdly, I wanted to dance along with her.
I grinned back, my pulse skipping every other beat. Before she could say another word, I was already heading down the hall.
“She’s in room—”
“Seven! Yes, I know,” I tossed over my shoulder, taking long, determined steps. I’d seen Loretta make this trip every day, only to return with a sunken face.
I forced my feet to stop outside the door. The way I was feeling, I’d burst into the room and fling myself on Stats. I’d probably squeeze her in my arms until she deflated. I needed to calm down. I hadn’t seen her since the night in the recovery room. She’d been strangled with tubes, unable to talk.
Not able to withstand the anticipation another minute, I stepped into the room. My breath stalled at the sight of her, my heart rocking off center. She was sitting on the very edge of the bed as though she’d been expecting me. Bluer than I remembered, her eyes were large and round behind her glasses, beautiful, but lacking their usual spark.
Soft wisps of hair escaped her ponytail, brushing her pale face. Several wires snaked from under the blue hospital gown draped around her. The gown swallowed her up. She seemed to swallow her
self up, like she’d retreated somewhere inside herself. Starved for the sight of her, I let my gaze devour her. She made a small movement and my attention was drawn to her wrists wrapped in white gauze. The sight struck me like a lightning bolt.
“Stats…” I whispered.
She parted her lips to say something, then seemed to choke on the words. Her lips clamped into a thin white line and she looked away, her eyes collecting tears. I bit the inside of my cheek and tried not to lose it. My heart was an unreliable drum, reduced to a stutter. Taking a breath, I looked around the room, trying to gain composure.
There were three other beds. Only the far one was filled and a nurse hovered at the bedside. An attendant sat stoically in a chair not far from Stats’ bed. Light filtered in through large windows, slashing into the room. A thick beam dappled Stats in a warm glow, stamping her pale skin with polka dots.
I stepped toward the bed, standing right in front of her.
“Stats…”
She blinked and tears crowded on her lashes. “You know…you know everything?”
She looked at me then, as if trying to read my face. I nodded and she turned away again, squeezing her eyes shut.
“I’m so sorry. I…I don’t know what to say,” she admitted quietly.
I swallowed hard, then rested my palm lightly on her cheek, my thumb caressing her supple skin.
“Say that you love me.”
She leaned into my palm and a tear abandoned her lashes to roll down her cheek. My muscles froze. I waited. I couldn’t breathe.
After a few thundering heartbeats, she looked into my eyes.
“I love you, Dex. I will always love you.”
That was all I needed to hear. I sank onto the bed and pulled her into my arms. I cradled her head against my chest, feeling an ache soothed, a storm calmed. I dug my nose into her hair. I brushed my lips across her forehead. I wanted to gobble her up, but I knew I couldn’t.
I couldn’t begin to understand what was going through her head, why she’d done what she had, or why she wouldn’t see me. I still screamed for answers, for forgiveness, for understanding. Right now it was enough to have her in my arms, to smell her hair and feel life pulse through her body.
Shifting, she slipped from my arms, turning to fully face me. “My mom said she spoke with you.”
“Yes, she came to see me.”
“I had no idea she was going to do that.”
“I’m glad she did.”
Her blue gaze roamed my face. “She surprised me. It’s not like her to go against my father.”
My hands covered hers in her lap. I needed the connection.
“She seemed different to me,” I said.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s a good change, I think.”
“I’ve always thought she looked like you, but now I see some of your spirit in her. You two are very similar.”
She shrugged listlessly, her face blank, and I got lost in the mystery in her eyes.
“She shouldn’t have bothered you. You don’t need to deal with all this.”
“Bothered me?” Something like irritation rolled through me. I turned her chin, forcing her attention. “Stats, I’ve been devastated without you, feeling like I’ve lost a part of myself, like I’ve lost my best friend. Believe me, it was no bother.”
Chewing her bottom lip, she sighed, sinking further into herself, shutting off from me.
“I love you,” I said. “When I—when I found you, I was so afraid that I’d lost you, that you’d left me.”
“You left first,” she countered, surprising me. “But I never meant to hurt you. I felt awful about…about everything…all the lies. I understand your leaving. I don’t want you to blame yourself for any of this. It wasn’t about you. It was about me.”
Her words hovered like mist around me. I had trouble holding on to them, capturing them with any certainty. I would’ve been lying if I’d said I didn’t blame myself. I’d gone over that night in my head a million times, wishing I’d never left her.
“You don’t need to be here. I won’t burden you with my problems. I love you too much to do that to you.” Her eyes were wide, pleading. She sniffled, looking away. “Sometimes I think it would’ve been better if you’d stayed away,” she mumbled.
Bricks couldn’t have dealt a harder blow. Confusion and anger swept through me. I stared, horrified. I recognized her anger. She was hurt that I’d left, but she was angry that I’d come back, that I’d saved her. The truth of that floored me, sent shock waves ricocheting inside me.
I knew she had issues, that she suffered. I didn’t think I’d fully absorbed that until now. The fact that she might still be suicidal was alarming. The bald truth of her illness was startling. Whatever was going through her head, whatever was inside of her was real, and it was terrifying.
Thank God I’d gone back to her apartment. I was grateful to have her here. Alive. My heart rammed my chest so forcefully, I absorbed each blow. I gripped her chin, probably harder than I’d intended.
“Did you hear what I said? I love you. I need you. I know all about your past, Stats. About your cutting, your burning, your hospitalization, and the horrible things your father did to you. I know everything. I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, or even to have any of the answers. I’ll leave that to the professionals. But know this: I love you and I’m here for you. I want a life with you. I want a future with you. And I won’t let you push me away. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”
She was staring at me. Stunned. Tears coated her lashes again. I swallowed stiffly, trying to find my voice, trying to keep my shit together.
“I once asked you to trust me, to trust the honesty of my words and my actions. I’m asking you to do that now. To believe in me. In us.”
Her hands trembled as I brought them to my lips. I pulled her body against mine and I held her. I held her tight, not caring if she deflated.
I love you for who you are
Who you have been
And who you are yet to be
Alexa
“I heard you had a visitor yesterday?”
I nodded.
“Dex?”
I nodded.
“I thought you didn’t want to see him.”
I swallowed. “I didn’t—don’t.”
“Did you tell him that.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He didn’t listen.”
“Why did you see him?”
“Because I needed to tell him.”
A brow rose. “You needed to see him to tell him you didn’t want to see him?”
I didn’t answer. The point was made. I guess I could’ve easily called, or texted, or sent a rebuff through my mother.
Okay, I wanted to see him.
Amy, my appointed psychologist, came to see me every day. She usually stopped by for a few minutes just to talk, to see how I was doing. From what she told me, my treatment plan wouldn’t be fully implemented until I was transferred to psych. I liked Amy, despite the fact that she would always start off with seemingly innocuous questions, and I’d inevitably feel blindsided by the time she left.
Her gazes felt invasive, her conclusions too insightful. How could she deign to know me when I didn’t even know myself? She was an exceedingly petite lady who looked like she should be teaching kindergarten, rather than trying to get into people’s heads.
“How’s the journaling going?” she asked from the chair.
I followed her gaze to the spiral notebook beside my bed. The second day she’d met me, she’d given me the journal. My assignment was to reflect, to write down my passions or interests, anything that was meaningful to me. My reasons for living.
The pages were still blank.
I shrugged and she responded with a casual smile. “There’s always tomorrow, then.”
Nodding, I hoped those were her closing words. I had to pee. I didn’t feel like talking anymore. With my luck, the nutritionist would pop in
next for her daily visit. I’d never been so popular in my life. I wished they would all leave me the fuck alone.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, standing. Her gaze bounced around the room as she studied my roommates. One was asleep, snoring like a chainsaw. The other one, who’d moved in last night, was on a ventilator, the beeps like ambient music. I was the youngest one in the room by at least fifty years.
“The bed by the window is open,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to move there. You can have a better view, look outside…”
I shrugged again. Only one word came to mind: why? Why would I be interested in a world I felt no part of? The last week I’d fluctuated through myriad emotions, from anger and hostility to guilt and shame. Now apathy was creeping in. My gaze shifted to Marva, the attendant who was a permanent part of my decor, whose job was to prevent me from harming myself. She was glued to her spot and probably wouldn’t be happy about relocating.
“I think I’ll stay here.”
“Give it some more thought. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Despite my best efforts to stay asleep, consciousness found me. It pestered the shit out of me until I was forced to surface. I rolled over on the small mattress that was surprisingly soft. My lashes fluttered open. Dex was sitting on the chair at my bedside. He was fast asleep, his long legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his broad chest. My body stilled, afraid that he’d hear me and awaken. I couldn’t help but study his beautiful face in repose, chiseled features sweetly softened by sleep, and thick, dark lashes resting on his cheeks. His hair had grown out again, curling in soft waves over his ears. I could see a dark smudge of fatigue drawn under each eye.
Of all the emotions that bombarded me, the most wretched were my remorse and guilt over what this must be doing to him. I’d hoped to shield him from all this, from this screwed-up world in my head, from all the rotted emotions inside me. He didn’t deserve this. He’d been through enough in his life.
I’d never meant to hurt him. This was never about him. I’d tried to explain that, but it was hard to explain the feelings that had always crowded inside me, that had defined my existence for as long as I could remember. Fear. Anxiety. Worthlessness. They colored the endless blackness that filled the well in my chest and marred my quest for a perfection that always alluded me.