What Cat Lost (The Last Life of Cat Book 1)

by Chelsea Thayer

  “I’m so sorry,” Cat repeated, looking into her mother’s eyes.

  The nurse who had entered with them had busied herself checking all of Cat’s vitals.

  She cleared her throat, “I’m going to have to ask you a few questions about last night, Cathleen.” She was looking at her clipboard. “I will need the minor to leave the room,” she glanced towards Lili.

  Cat could see her sister’s reaction was quickly defused by her father’s offer to sit with her in the waiting room. Cat’s mother took a seat beside Cat and held her hand.

  “Alright,” Cat turned her attention to the nurse.

  “You were brought in by ambulance for an overdose of muscle relaxers found in your parents’ bathroom,” the nurse gave a quick glance to Cat’s mom, as if to say she was responsible. “Is this correct?”

  “Well, my parents were gone,” Cat began; she didn’t want her mother taking any blame for her actions regardless of who the pills belonged to.

  “A simple yes or no will suffice,” the nurse interrupted curtly.

  Cat swallowed, her throat felt drier than ever, “Yes.”

  “Upon your arrival at the hospital, your stomach was pumped. Your examination revealed bruises to your wrists and both sides of your face. Your blood tests also revealed high levels of alcohol and Rohypnol, a date rape drug commonly called “roofies.” Did you realize you were taking this drug?” The nurse’s stare was icy. It seemed to say, ‘You prep school kids think you have such a tough life with all your parties and easy access to drugs and alcohol.’

  Cat blushed with anger under her stare.

  “I said,” the nurse repeated herself slower, “Did you realize you had taken this drug?”

  “Not that drug in particular, no,” Cat responded.

  Her mother was shifting uncomfortably.

  “But you did realize you had taken a drug?” the nurse stared at her emotionlessly.

  “Yes,” Cat said quietly.

  “And were you raped?” she asked. The bluntness of the nurse caught Cat a little off guard.

  Cat didn’t answer. If she said she was almost raped, she would be asked to say who did it. Pressing charges against Samuel Alden would be ludicrous. They wouldn’t win. He would be able to bring witnesses that saw Cat getting drunk and dancing with him, and going upstairs with him of her own will. It would be no use.

  “There are no signs of forced entry,” the nurse informed her.

  “If you knew that, then why did you ask?” Cat snapped.

  “Procedure,” the nurse responded. “Mrs. Rhodes, may I speak with you and your husband?”

  “Of course,” Cat’s mother remained seated.

  “In the doctor’s office, if you don’t mind,” the nurse walked to the door and held it open for Cat’s mother to walk through.

  An hour passed but Cat still couldn’t move and was thirstier than ever. What was taking them so long? Cat wondered what would happen if she needed to go to the bathroom, then she noticed a thin tube that led from under the sheets to a clear bag of urine that hung on the side of the bed. She had a catheter in. That thought only slightly grossed her out.

  The door opened and a doctor came in, followed by the snarky nurse who had been there earlier.

  “Where are my parents?” Cat craned her head to see around them.

  “They will call you this evening,” the doctor smiled. “At our recommendation, they’ve agreed to place you in our Teen Therapy Group. It’s for teens who, like yourself, have tried to commit suicide. It will give you time to grieve your loss, and share your thoughts, in both an individual and group therapy setting.”

  “So? What are you saying, I come back a few nights a week or something?” Cat couldn’t understand why her parents had left her.

  “No, oftentimes, circumstances like the ones you’ve endured the last few weeks need more intense therapy to overcome. Particularly, if the grief has caused one to become suicidal,” the doctor’s voice was unnaturally pleasant and calm.

  The nurse chimed in, “Your parents have informed us of your situation. Many of the teens that go through our program have experienced a similar loss.”

  Cat couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “You mean … I have to stay here a few days?”

  The doctor paused, “Our program lasts a minimum of six weeks, but can be extended if it’s thought to be necessary.”

  “What the hell?” Cat was shouting over the doctor’s voice. She didn’t hear him go on about the benefits of the program and how much better she’d feel once she’d allowed herself to grieve properly.

  “Are you f-ing kidding me?” Cat yelled over him. “I won’t stay here. There’s no way! You can’t make me stay against my will!”

  “Actually, Cathleen, your parents signed your admittance papers. You are a minor,” the nurse’s voice made Cat want to scream.

  “Look,” Cat tried to remain calm, “I’m sure your program is great for people who really need it. But I don’t need it. I didn’t really want to die. I just want to go home.”

  “Well, it’s a little too late for that realization,” the nurse said as the doctor left the room.

  Cat began to cry. “Wait!” Cat called as the nurse turned to go. “I’m really thirsty. Could I please have some water?”

  “Your I.V. supplies all the fluid that you need,” the nurse replied haughtily. “Your lunch will be brought in two hours and you’ll be allowed to get up to eat and walk around the room — with supervision, of course. Then, you’ll have to get back in your bed.”

  “I have to stay strapped in like this?!” Cat squealed in horror.

  “You’re on suicide watch for 24 hours from when they brought you in … you only have 16 and a half more hours left,” and with that comment, the nurse left Cat alone to sob herself to sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The first week in the program, Cat’s emotions ranged from angry, to irate, to positively livid. There wasn’t room for any sorrow at this point. How could her parents have deserted her like this? She didn’t need group therapy. She needed to be home, to have some sense of normalcy. In the few weeks since Landon’s death, her entire world had turned upside down. It was as though the universe, as Cat knew it, was revolting against his passing. Cat had gone from being a happy, confident, trustworthy, straight-A student to someone who bombed her finals, attempted suicide, and got locked up in the nut house. Her social status as one of the Spence Seven was surely in jeopardy. They had probably already replaced her. Not that Cat cared about that anymore.

  Cat refused to eat the disgusting stuff they tried to pass off as food for the first four days. When she was threatened with being tube fed, she grudgingly obliged. The nurse who had been there when Cat woke up the first day was there every other day. The other nurse, who insisted Cat call her Nurse Misty, was actually quite sweet. Cat made a point to be kind to her. Maybe she could get Cat something better to eat. The other nurse, Cat found out, was named Nurse Nibyzik. Cat just called her Satan. She also thoroughly enjoyed muttering things about her under her breath, while in her presence, and then pretended to be confused when the nurse asked her what she had said. It was Cat’s only form of entertainment in this place.

  It was in the middle of week two when Cat realized that she probably should start playing nice if she wanted to get out when the six weeks were up. From that point on, she tried to be the perfect patient. Though, Nurse Nibyzik made it challenging.

  Each Friday, she was allowed a five-minute phone conversation with her parents. According to the program, complete isolation from every part of one’s life was necessary to pinpoint the area of turmoil. In Cat’s case, they knew her trouble was not related to her parents, so they made an exception.

  The first phone conversation was mainly comprised of Cat screaming, “How could you do this to me?” Subsequent phone calls had been much calmer. C
at still hadn’t forgiven her parents, but she understood that it was fear for her safety that had driven them to such extremes.

  The group therapy sessions weren’t as bad as Cat had expected them to be. She had gone into them with plans of boycotting them entirely. She wouldn’t speak and they couldn’t make her. To her relief, she wasn’t forced to talk or asked any direct questions. Listening to the stories of others somewhat helped. It made her feel that there were actually other people out there who were dealing with a pain as acute as her own. It was nice to know she wasn’t completely alone in her suffering. Not that she would wish this feeling on anyone, but it was nice to have others who could understand.

  Six weeks had seemed like an eternity when Cat was first admitted; and though the monotony of the days got to her at times, Cat was pleasantly surprised when she had only one week left.

  Cat walked into the group therapy room. Four days left. She could do this. She sat in the same blue plastic chair in the circle that she had sat in every day prior. The other teens were filling in their seats. Cat hadn’t really had a chance to get to know any of them outside of these therapy sessions. They took their meals in their rooms. They weren’t really given an opportunity to talk unsupervised. Perhaps they’re afraid we’ll share suicide tips, Cat mused.

  “So,” Mr. Simmons, their group therapy leader, spoke up, “Who would like to get us started today? Cathleen Rhodes? How about you?”

  “What?” Cat was a little taken aback. They had never called people out before.

  “Well,” he smiled politely, “You are the only one in the group who hasn’t shared yet. We like to give everyone the opportunity. Would you like to?”

  “No,” Cat said bluntly.

  Mr. Simmons nodded; he didn’t seem offended.

  “Maybe tomorrow, then,” he said, before continuing on.

  Cat suddenly became aware of the fact that she would be expected to share tomorrow. Did she have to? Would saying ‘no’ work a second time? Could she just keep saying ‘no’ until she was discharged? She only had a few days remaining.

  Cat gasped as the thought crossed her mind — what if not sharing means I have to stay longer?

  Cat realized she couldn’t bear that alternative. She’d better find the guts to share something, just a little bit. She didn’t have to go into a whole sob story like some people did. That’s what she would do, she decided. She would share just enough to appease Mr. Simmons and ensure her ticket home. Easy.

  Walking into the room the next day, Cat’s mouth felt dry and her tongue felt fuzzy. She could already hear herself tripping over her words. She was not a fan of public speaking. Once, during her sophomore year, she had been forced to give a speech in English and had run from the room only to puke in the hall. Cat threw up a lot.

  It occurred to Cat that some people puke when they feel sick, but she puked for a variety of reasons and emotions: sad, angry, worried, car sick, or drunk. When it doubt — puke it out. Could she have that made into a bumper sticker?

  Cat was still making a list in her head when Mr. Simmons spoke her name.

  “Cathleen?” he repeated.

  “Yes?” Cat responded quietly. She was surprised her voice even worked at all.

  “Would you care to share today?” His tone was still polite, but there was a definite urging behind it.

  “Umm, okay” Cat breathed in deeply, “I guess.”

  “Go right ahead.” He nodded.

  Cat felt the eyes of everyone in the room on her at once.

  “My best friend died. And then … then I tried to commit suicide,” Cat was quiet for a moment.

  They still stared as though they expected more.

  “And then my parents enrolled me in this program,” Cat shrugged, “That’s about it.”

  “How did he die?” It was a younger girl with short spiky black hair that spoke.

  “He — He killed himself,” Cat looked at the floor.

  “How?” Another girl spoke, but Cat didn’t look up to see who it was.

  Cat paused.

  “He fell … well, he jumped off a building,” Cat felt a lump rising in her throat.

  She didn’t want to cry here. She thought the pain was subsiding. Talking about it made it feel fresh again.

  “What was his name?” asked the girl with black hair.

  “What?” Cat looked up.

  “Your friend? What was his name?” she asked again.

  Cat couldn’t say his name. Her tongue was plastered to the roof of her mouth. Her jaw felt defiantly locked in place. If she said his name, the tears would come for sure.

  “Landon,” she spoke, barely above a whisper.

  Just as she predicted, the tears started spilling over and running down her cheeks.

  “That sucks,” it was a younger teenage guy, a boy really, who spoke up.

  His statement, so accurate and to the point, made Cat laugh.

  “Yeah, it does,” she smiled. “It really sucks.”

  The conversation led into others speaking up about their own situations, and Cat was allowed to slip into the background once more. She felt so much better, though. As if a giant weight had been lifted. It hadn’t come from the few words she had spoken, but from that one boy who had articulated what no one else had said to Cat since Landon’s death.

  Cat was tired of hearing people say the pain would pass or that he was ‘in a better place.’ She just wanted someone to call it as it was and just say how shitty the whole situation was. It sucked. Having that guy say it made a difference. Cat knew that the pain she was facing was far from over, but she felt like she was going to make it. With time, all wounds heal, right?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cat had been home for two weeks and was going absolutely stir crazy. She had expected her parents to be overprotective but this was madness. Her mom wouldn’t even let her go to the bathroom by herself. When she arrived home from her stint in therapy, she found that every potentially dangerous object in her room had been removed for fear she might relapse. Cat had gone to take a shower to find her razor missing. When she asked her mom for a razor, her mom had refused and had gone out to buy her Nair, instead. Cat was beside herself. She had made a mistake. She could admit that. But all she wanted to do now was move on.

  She thought going home was what she had wanted for the last six weeks, but now she wasn’t sure. Every time she walked into a room, there was a hush. Cat got that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her they had just been talking about her. To make things worse, Cat wasn’t allowed to leave without a chaperone. The school year had ended, but because of Cat’s poor performance on her finals, her parents were making her study to retake them the first week of August. The school was making an exception for Cat due to the traumatic circumstances in her life the last couple of months.

  Home didn’t feel like home anymore. She couldn’t stand the sound of her bedroom door creaking open several times in the middle of the night to make sure she was okay. She knew things weren’t going to be the same as they had been before, but if this was the new normal, she just didn’t think she could take it. She had to get out. The only problem was how?

  If only she could get in touch with Meghan. Then, she would be sure to find some way to break out of this prison. Without her cell phone, and with the constant supervision, Cat hadn’t found a spare moment. Her mother wouldn’t even allow her on the computer without watching her. What did she think she was going to do? Look up other methods of committing suicide? Cat would just have to be patient. They had to leave her alone sometime. Even for a few minutes. Cat would just bide her time until an opportunity arose.

  That Thursday morning, Cat agreed to help her mother make quiches for her ladies’ luncheon. They had just begun when her mother realized she couldn’t find her recipe.

  “Cat,” she said sweetly, “Would you mind gett
ing on the computer and getting the recipe for me?”

  “Sure,” Cat hopped off the stool where she was perched. “What website is it on?”

  “Food Network,” her mother called after her. “I think it’s one of Emeril’s … or maybe Giada De Laurentiis?”

  “I’ll find it,” Cat called back.

  She felt her heart start to race as she sat down in the computer chair.

  “Chill out,” she told herself. “It’s not like you’re planning a jewelry heist, you’re just emailing your friend.”

  Quickly, her fingers flew on the keyboard. Within a few minutes, Cat had successfully emailed Meghan, looked up the recipe, and then erased the computer’s history … just in case someone decided to check.

  “Got it!” Cat proclaimed happily as she re-entered the kitchen.

  “Oh, you were quick,” her mom said with a smile. “It takes me forever to look up things on the computer.”

  “Well, Mom,” Cat’s voice grew quite serious, “that’s because you’re old.”

  Then she burst out laughing, her mother’s musical voice laughing with her. For just a moment, it felt like old times. Just a moment.

  “Oh, Cat,” her mother stopped laughing and began pouring out measurements, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  “What about?” Cat wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Her mother’s suddenly serious tone told her it could only be one of two things: Landon’s suicide or her own suicide attempt. Either one was not a pleasant subject.

  “Your father and I have been thinking lately … about … about letting you go stay with Mimi for a bit,” her mother didn’t look up to see Cat’s reaction as she began cracking eggs.

  “That could be fun,” Cat tried to sound pleasant, “I haven’t seen her in almost two years. It would be nice to visit for a week or two.”

  “Well, he thought … I mean, your father and I thought that with everything that’s happened the last few months, it might be good for you to stay there a bit longer than that,” her mother still hadn’t looked Cat in the eyes. To Cat, this was not a good sign.