by J. B. Havens
Why am I doing this? Mark thought to himself as he stomped back into the apartment complex. Why did he care about some crazy lady who surrounded herself with such filthy disorder? But that faint spark of anger in her grey eyes kept him moving until he was in front of her door again. He knew even as he tried to deny it why he was doing this. Seeing Ms. Price brought back unwelcome memories that Mark was determined to erase. Maybe helping her would finally ease the burden he tried to say he didn’t feel. Maybe helping her would appease the guilt he still carried in his heart, guilt for the one person he should have been able to save.
Once again he found himself unlocking her door, then he began hauling stuff inside. Shouldering his way in, he found her in a heap on the floor, crying her heart out. She was screaming between sobs and pulling at her hair. He rushed forward and grabbed her arms, his anger and irritation draining out of him with every wounded animal noise she made.
****
He was touching me again, grabbing my arms and pulling my hands from my hair. He’s back? When did he get back? I started to panic and pull away, clawing at his arms, making him grunt in response. I backpedaled, my bare feet slipping on the dust-slick hardwood floor, scrambling for purchase. He clutched my arms yet again and shook me hard. My head snapped back and forth, and I was vaguely aware that he was yelling at me. I was still swamped in memories of smiles and joy, followed by terror and heartache.
“What, damn you! What do you want?” I screamed in his face, startling both of us. I was breathing hard, and so was he. His forearms bore bleeding scratches and welts. I did that? Reality was beginning to dawn again and with it came more tears and shame. I felt as though I’d cried enough for a lifetime, yet there always seemed to be more tears.
Don’t they ever run out? When is enough going to be fucking enough?
I looked down, and he was still gripping my arms, though more gently now. I began to shake as he drew me into his chest, smoothing my hair and murmuring to me in a gentle tone.
“Shush now, just hush now. It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you, Ms. Price. It’s okay now; I’ve got you.” Though I knew I was a mess and a stranger to him, it felt so good to be held. His chest was warm and broad and smelled faintly of soap and fresh air. He felt strong under my cheek. His giant hand was patting my back in the same soothing way you’d pat a child, smoothing his hand up and down my ratty robe again and again.
“Audri,” I mumbled into his shirt.
“What?” He let go of me at the sound of my voice and leaned back, studying my face. I knew he would find no answers there.
“Audri; my name is Audri. Ms. Price is a little too formal for people in this position, don’t you think?” I couldn’t laugh, but I managed a small smile. He was trying to help after all.
“Would you like to explain just what exactly is going on, Audri? Why is this place such a mess and why are you crying in the middle of it?” It was a fair question, but one I had no intention of answering.
“I don’t want to get into it. The better question is, what are you doing back here? It hasn’t been a week already has it? I can cry for a long time, but a week solid is beyond even me, I think.” Again I managed a small smile, wiping my nose on my sleeve.
“I got you some stuff to help clean this mess up. It isn’t much, just some bags and disinfectant. I want to help you, if you’ll let me. I know this is strange coming from someone you just met, but I’d like to think that someone would help me if I was in the same situation. Do unto others, and all that.” He shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, but failed. I could see this went a little deeper for him. I left it alone; the last thing I needed right now was someone else’s pain. I’m sure that he didn’t want to answer hard questions any more than I did.
I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say and told him so.
“I feel like a real fucking bastard for the way I spoke to you earlier. You’ve obviously got some serious shit you are dealing with, and if you’re willing to put me to work, I’m making myself available.” He gave me another palms up sort of gesture. Casual Mr. Fisher.
I just sat there like an idiot blinking at him. I was shocked by his language as much as what he was saying. It was like he was punishing himself with his language. My life seemed to always do this—change and morph—not by inches, but by miles, all at once. I looked around me, first at the disarray, then at the shopping bags, mop, and broom. I stared at my hands for what felt like a long time.
Did I want this? Did I need this?
Yes, I needed it, but what I wanted and needed were usually two very different things. The better question was, how could I possibly say no? This man, this kind stranger, had gone out of his way to help me when he should have done the exact opposite. I might be crazy, but I’m not stupid. I didn’t want to be thrown out of my apartment. This was my safe place, my sanctuary. With a deep heartfelt sigh, I forced myself to look him in the eyes and gave my answer.
“Yes. But I don’t know where to start or how to begin. I can’t even tell you how long I’ve kept myself locked up in here, and I won’t explain to you why.” I looked away from him then. His gaze was too intense. I felt too much shame to meet his eyes more than I already had. I picked at my dirty fingernails as I waited for him to respond. Here he was helping me, and I couldn’t even give him a straight answer. About anything.
“Well, first of all, we need to get you cleaned up. Normally when doing dirty work, I recommend leaving a shower until after the work is done, but in your case, I think the reverse is true. What sort of shape is your bathroom in? Is it functional?” There was no judgment in his voice, no censure. There was a job to do, and we’re going to do it.
My face burned with embarrassment as I led him to the tiny bathroom. He stopped to pick up two of the bags on the way. We walked past the cluttered, sagging couch and dusty TV down a short hallway with two doors. The first was my small bathroom; the second was my bedroom. I took a deep breath, trying to fortify myself. The fog and darkness had surrounded me for so long that I honestly couldn’t remember what the bathroom was like. Fear and shame burned a fire in my chest.
“To my undying shame, I can’t tell you what is behind this door. I don’t remember.” I hung my head and turned the knob, but before I swung the door open, Mark grabbed my hand. His palm was warm and firm on mine. Is he really this warm, or am I just cold? I wondered as he gently raised my chin so that I was looking at him.
“Undying shame? I don’t want to hear that anymore. You’re sick and have apparently been pushed to the brink by something. Instead of going over the edge, you’ve pulled yourself back. I’m here to help. I’m not here to judge you or criticize you. When and if you decide to tell me what has pushed you to this, I will tell you why I am postponing everything I was planning to do for the next week to help you. Deal?” His face was open and honest. It seemed like he really did mean every word of what he was saying. Could I trust him? What ulterior motive could he possibly have?
Flabbergasted. That was the only word that came to mind for me. Completely flabbergasted. The weight of my shame on my shoulders and the burn in my chest lightened slightly. I began to breathe a tiny fraction easier.
“Deal.” I reached a hand out toward him. Then I noticed his arms again. I’m not the only one who needed to be cleaned up.
“I’m sorry about your arms. I didn’t realize what I was doing. Seems I’ve made a really terrible first impression. Clawing you, pushing you, and screaming in your face; not to mention the state of this apartment." I touched his arm lightly, just below the scratches. I wished that I could offer him a first aid kit, but I didn’t know where it was.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from a cat,” he said, shrugging off my hand. He wiped at the blood with his shirt tail. Okay, gotcha, no touching allowed. I didn’t know what made me reach out to him anyways. He was probably just helping me so he could evict me sooner.
“Really, I’m sorry. I don’t know or really care what your motivation
for doing this is, just know that I’m grateful for it. You don’t owe me anything. It’s me who’s going to owe you.” His only answer was another shrug. He continued on as if I didn’t speak.
“Okay, deal. Here’s some stuff I got for you. I didn’t know what you had. Do you have any clean clothes?” He handed me the bags full of shampoo and soap and a lotion advertising that it smelled like peaches in a bottle.
“I don’t know. Let’s see the bathroom first.” I took a deep breath, and telling myself I could do this, I opened the door.
Inside it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Based on the rest of the apartment, you’d expect it to be terrible. The floor was gritty with dirt; the sink and toilet were unwashed, but not foul. There wasn’t too much of a smell besides a dirty, moldy sort of odor.
Mark crossed to the shower and flung back the curtain. Soap scum and some mildew greeted us, but it wasn’t anything that scrubbing bubbles wouldn’t take care of. He cranked the knob and water gushed out, making steam rise in a puffy cloud around us.
I began emptying the bags, placing things in the shower where they always went. There were no bottles of soap in there, so I supposed I’d used it all up, which explained why I hadn’t showered. Shopping had not been an option, so I did without. The fact that I couldn’t remember nagged at me. I didn’t like not remembering things, which was odd because the reason I had done most of this was to forget.
“Audri, you get in, and I’ll go try to find something clean for you to wear. Take your time and enjoy your shower. I’ll leave whatever clothes I can find by the door. Just throw your dirty stuff out and I’ll start a pile of laundry to take downstairs.” He walked out, closing the door behind him.
I took a deep breath, trying to fortify myself for what must be done. Everything was happening so fast, I felt as if I was spinning like a top. In the space of a few hours, I had gone from being an empty shell floating around a dark and foggy world, to a half alive person shuffling around a dirty apartment. Now that there was some light shining in and fresh air blowing on my face, I didn’t know how to handle this or if I even could. Deep down in the darkness inside of me, I knew that I needed this. I needed someone to take control and shake me loose. Both figuratively and literally.
For the first time in a very long time, it felt as if I was maybe taking a step forward, instead of treading water and splashing in a futile effort to delay the inevitable.
Mark is very efficient and direct, I thought as I untied my robe. Under it, I wore only a faded old bra and ratty panties. Neither were even worth saving. I looked in the mirror, really looked, for the first time in forever. The woman I saw staring back at me wasn’t me, wasn’t who I remember being. Instead of shiny chestnut hair, I saw greasy dark hair hanging in limp strands about my face and shoulders. There were thick dark circles under my eyes that looked sunken into my face. My skin used to glow with health, now it was clammy with old sweat and dirt. My hands sported broken fingernails where there was once a manicure. Mark showing up reminded me of all the things I used to have that I no longer wanted to think about. There was no one to notice the state of my fingernails, the softness of my skin, or the healthy shine of my hair.
I stripped the rest of the way, feeling exposed and naked inside and out, as I looked in the mirror again. This time, I looked past the surface and saw what was underneath the grime. I saw the large scar starting on my hip and running parallel across to my bikini line, nearly even with my belly button. I placed my hand on the white and pink puckered scar; it was a painful reminder of what was lost, and I started to remember that not bathing was caused by more than a lack of soap. I threw my things out the door and stepped into the hot shower. I scrubbed and buffed, desperate to wash away more than just dirt.
****
Mark stood with his hands on his hips, surveying everything around him. Deciding where to start was going to be a matter of priority. What did she need first? Clean clothes and a place to sleep. He headed for the bedroom at the end of the hall.
Inside was a queen bed with a dark blue spread pushed against the far wall, a dresser, and a table with a cheap plastic lamp and alarm clock. There were no pictures on any surface and nothing on the beige walls except for a few unframed Monet prints. Oddly, the worst of the mess seemed to be contained to the living room and kitchen. It didn’t seem as though she had spent much time in here. The bed was made and looked clean. Maybe the bedroom held some sort of significance for her? As if she was unconsciously keeping it pure and free of the sorrow that existed in the rest of the apartment with a tangible force.
Mark opened the top dresser drawer and found some shorts, underwear, and a t-shirt. Thinking these would do, he lightly knocked on the bathroom door, grateful to hear the shower running.
“Here’s your clothes, Audri,” he said as he stepped in. At his feet was the ratty blue robe she had been wearing for what seemed like months with her underwear balled up inside. Holding up the garment and really looking at it, he didn’t think it was worth saving. He threw it behind him, deciding it would be the start of a garbage pile.
“Thanks, Mark. I’m almost done, I think,” she yelled over the rush of the water.
“I’m going to start sorting clothes first. I’ll make piles. Things to be washed, things to be thrown out, and things you need to decide on. Sound good to you?” He didn’t wait for her response, just left the bathroom and got to work.
****
I heard the door close before I had a chance to say anything. Whatever I might have said didn’t matter anyways. I didn’t have much choice in all of this. I needed help, and he was willing to give it. It had been months now; it was time to greet life again, to try and leave this apartment. Just the thought had more panic rising in my chest and throat. I swallowed it as best as I could. It was always there, just beneath the surface, waiting to disable me and shut me inside.
Vowing not to think for as long as possible, I began to dress. With each layer of fabric, I put on, I also added a layer in my mind. A layer of steel, locking all of the unpleasantness inside, or at least attempting to. Brushing my hair and teeth added another layer of cold metal, as I tried to fortify my mind against what was to come. If I could build a strong enough wall, maybe I wouldn’t die in the process. I added a few swipes of mascara from the tube I found in one of the bags and smoothed lotion over my arms and legs. The smell of peaches surrounded me. I looked in the mirror and saw a bit of my old self there. My eyes were still sunken, and my skin remained pale and uneven, but I was clean and smelled nice. It was a start. Something about Mark was bothering me, though. It was right there in the front of my brain; I just couldn’t grasp what it was.
Chapter 3
I walked back out into the living room to what seemed an entirely different place. It was still a mess, but Mark had made real progress in the short time that I was in the shower. There was already a full trash bag by the door. He had yellow rubber gloves on and was sorting through the clothes and junk that were piled on the couch and all over the floor.
“You’ve made good progress, I see,” I said evenly, startling him. He jumped like a live wire. His face looked like he was miles away. “You okay, Mark?” I surprised myself by genuinely wanting to know.
“Yeah, I’m alright. Just lost in thought, I guess.” The smell of peaches greeted him when he turned to look at her. Gone was the dirty, unkempt creature he had walked in on. In her place was a very pretty woman. She appeared to be an unhealthy version of the classic ‘girl next door’. He wondered how old she was. She couldn’t be that much older than his own thirty-three. He noticed the touches of makeup and hoped it wasn’t for his benefit. That ship had sailed a long time ago, baby. He realized that he had been staring. Needing something to cover the awkward moment, he said, “There isn’t much of a keep pile. Most of the stuff out here is too far gone to save, I think. There are more gloves in the bag over there. Grab a pair and let’s get started. If you feel panic coming on, tell me. We have all week to
do this. I just want to make this as habitable for you by tonight as I can.”
I didn’t say anything, just put on the gloves in response. It wasn’t like I was a hoarder and attached to these things. I had just ignored everything. Cleaning and doing the wash were things that hadn’t mattered. Nothing had mattered. I’d been trying to disappear. I picked things up at random and shoved them into a bag. I wasn’t worried about saving too much. Besides the occasional pair of jeans or shirt that I tossed to the side, everything else went into the bag. I was crushing a pizza box when the thing in my brain that had been nagging at me finally clicked. How did he know that I felt panic like I did? Other than the obvious, it shouldn’t have been that easy to tell.
“How did you know that I have a panic disorder?” I stopped working and stared at him. If his answer was going to be what it logically must be, we had a problem.
Mark swore under his breath. Weren’t crazy people supposed to be unobservant? Seeing that she wouldn’t be put off, he told her the truth.
“I used to be a psychiatrist. I don’t practice anymore, but I recognized your symptoms.” He turned away, unable to deal with the anger sparking in those grey eyes.
“Did someone send you here? Are you even the building manager?” My voice was rising, and I didn’t care. If I’d been lied to, a little shouting was going to be the least of his problems. The panic was sticking in my throat, making it hard to swallow and sweat broke out on my brow. Not again! Three panic attacks in one day were more than enough. I was disgusted with myself. Why couldn’t I control this?
“Hey now, take shallow breaths. It’s okay. I really am the building manager. I just also used to be a psychiatrist. Take shallow breaths and walk around a little. Exercise usually helps.” Mark took her hands and stripped the gloves off. She was trying—really trying—not to have another attack. He should have told her from the first, but he was too wrapped up in his own pain to think about it. “Come on, Audri. It’s okay. Shallow breaths. You keep taking shallow breaths and walking, and I’ll tell you what I can, okay?” At her nod he continued, keeping a close eye on her breathing. Her face was sweaty, but not the rest of her. Paranoia and anger were still plain on her face, though. He had a feeling that calming the panic attack was going to be easier than dealing with her anger.