A Life Less Broken (3 page)

Locking the
door behind Dr. Monroe, I set the alarm again and go back to the kitchen.
Jumping up on the counter, I cross my legs in front of me and just look.

The sky is
trying to tell me something.

The evil,
dark clouds that droop over my home scream at me, performing a duet with my
fear that says they’re not going away without taking my shredded soul with them.

But for now,
I’m safe inside my refuge, just me and my own private nightmare.

I watch as
the overcast sky finally breaks and water droplets fall like tears from the gray
cumulonimbus. Rain doesn’t just fall, it hammers the ground in sheets, with ferocity.
It wants me to know that it will never go away; it will never let me rest.

I’m forever
boxed into a world of shame, humiliation, and sorrow. This is the universe telling
me I will never be allowed to heal.

The moments
sitting on the counter transform into hours. The rain doesn’t ease. The gray
just turns darker.

Finally,
after what could be hours of wasted time, I get up and walk into the family
room.

What a
stupid name for a room.

Family
room.

I’ll never
have a family of my own. That option was brutally taken away from me.  I’ll
never get the chance to experience being a mother, carrying a child in my body.

I’ll never
be able to feel the kicks of my baby as it turns and stretches inside me.

The chance
to hold that precious, tiny person in my hands is gone.

Molding a
baby of my own flesh and blood into a person who knows nothing but
unconditional love.

That part of
life has been stolen from me. Selfishly trampled on, like an ant whose life
meant nothing.

Do I have no
purpose now?

Does my life
have no meaning?

Was that why
I was selected to have my life broken? To be disfigured and destroyed.

Am I nothing
more than nothing?

A life of
opportunities was given to me the day I was born, and those opportunities were taken
from me the day they killed my will to fight.

I walk over
to the TV and lift off the sheet that covers the screen’s surface, turning away
before my eyes can focus on the reflection of the damaged face staring back at
me.

I sit on the
sofa and reach for the remote. My mind is frail and I need to distract myself
before I do something that I may regret.

Or I may
not.

I turn the
TV on and start flipping through the channels. There’s nothing interesting, nothing
that can erase the horrors swamping my mind.

“The
remarkable story of survival by these three courageous women is one that I’ll
never forget. Four months ago, Amy, Lauren, and Shannon managed to escape from eight
years of being held captive by convicted rapist and pedophile Corey Traipsy.
Welcome ladies, and on behalf of our viewers, I just want to say the strength
all three of you have shown is nothing short of awe-inspiring.”

I watch as
the female host interviews them, individually and collectively. They were each kidnapped
from just outside their homes and were used for the perverse and horrific
sexual gratification of their captor.

“Tell us,
how have you managed to survive in the outside world in the last four months? I
mean it must be just so difficult to assimilate back into a normal life,” the
host asks with exaggerated empathy.

The three
women sit together, tightly holding each other’s hands, their bodies pressed close
to each other. They’ve been beyond hell, for days, weeks, and years. I can see
it in their eyes. “Um, we’ve all had extensive therapy with an amazing man, Dr.
Dominic Shriver, and we’ve also had great support from our families and friends.
But for us, the most important thing is the bond the three of us share. We’ve
been witness to things that no one should ever see; we’ve all experienced life
at the devil’s hands.”

“Tell us all
about Dr. Shriver and how he’s helped you,” the host prompts.

“Dr. Shriver’s
help is the main reason we’ve been able to survive with our sanity intact.”

The camera cuts
to a man sitting in the audience. He’s got broad shoulders, like a swimmer, and
extremely dark, straight, neat hair. He simply smiles and nods once before the
camera pans back to the ladies.

Those three
girls are sitting on the sofa, telling their story but I’m no longer listening.

I can’t even
see the light after almost three years of self-hatred and fear-ruled emptiness.

They’ve
taken their suffering and agony and turned it into power by reliving their
story.

I turn the
TV off and replace the sheet that always hangs over it.

I go back
into the kitchen and sit on the counter, looking outside at what’s now a light
drizzle. The sky is still dark, but the rain has eased and it doesn’t seem so angry
any more.

I pick my
phone up and dial 411.

“Directory
Assistance,” the bored voice says.

“Dr. Dominic
Shriver, please,” I answer.

Getting his
number is easier than I thought, the operator gives it to me and I write it on
the notepad I retrieve from the top drawer, just below where I’m sitting.

I stare at
the number.

He helped
those three women.

Can he help
me? Suddenly hopeful, I dial.

“Dr.
Shriver’s office,” a sweet female voice answers.

“Um, hi. Um,
my name’s Allyn and I’d like to see Dr. Shriver please.”

“Dr. Shriver
doesn’t have an opening until eight weeks from tomorrow. Do you know where his
practice is?”

“I can’t
come there. He has to come to me.”

“I’m sorry,
Miss, but Dr. Shriver doesn’t make home visits.”

My palms
start to sweat and I can feel my heart pulse faster.

“Um, I um, I
really um…”

A tremor
sets in and my hands are now shaking.

I can’t do
it. I can’t leave my beige home. What if
they
are just outside waiting
for me to leave?

“I um,” I
shakily stutter. There’s a ringing in my ears and my vision’s being overrun by
a dense, black haze. “I can’t breathe,” I struggle to say. My breathing tightens,
starting to come in short, rapid gasps.

I slide off
the counter and sit on the floor with my back up against the kitchen cabinet.

“I can’t,” I
say through a tight, constricting hand clasped around my throat. Tears flood my
eyes and black spots start dotting my vision.

“Hello. Can
you hear me?” A deep male voice says to me over the phone.

“I...
they’re every… I can’t…” My chest is rising and falling rapidly.

“Shut
that cunt up, will ya, Mick.”

“Listen to
my voice. Can you lie down for me?”

“They’re
in…”

“Just listen
to my voice. I need you to lie down right where you are. Lie down for me, I’m
right here. I won’t leave you. Lie down, and close your eyes.” His voice has
evened out and he’s talking to me in a low soothing relaxed tone. “Are you
lying down?”

“Y-y-y-y,” I
stammer through labored breathing.

“Good, now
close your eyes.”

I close them
as I tightly hold onto the phone.

“One, two,
three, four, five.” With every number he counts, they get slightly longer and
his tone becomes a little lower. “Six, seven. Now breathe in deeply through
your nose and hold it for me.” I take a huge breath in and hold it deep inside
my lungs.

“Now let it
out.” I exhale through my mouth. “Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.
Take another breath in through your nose and hold it.” His voice is so serene.
I can’t resist letting the baritone lull me into a calmer state. “Let it out.”
I expel the breath. “Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Tell me your name, seventeen,
eighteen, nineteen, twenty, now take a deep breath in through your nose.” The
shaking has stopped and so have the tears. “As you let the breath out I want
you to tell me your name.”

“Allyn,” I
say as I exhale.

“Pleased to
meet you, Allyn. My name’s Dominic. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.
Breathe in, Allyn.”

I’m calmer
now. My panic is not so intense.

“Th-thank
you, Dominic.”

“How can I
help you today?”

“I think I
need you.”

“I think you
may be right.”

“I can’t
leave my house, though.”

“You can’t
or you won’t.”

“I… I mean
I…”

“I
understand, Allyn. How about tomorrow? I’m going to hand the phone back to Lauren,
my receptionist, so she can get your details. I’m going to come to your house
tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”

“Um, yes. And
thank you.”

“It’s my
pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives the phone back to Lauren and she
takes down all my details. Dr. Shriver’s office is only fifteen minutes away
from my house. Lauren tells me that he’ll be here at 10 a.m.

When the
call is finally finished, I slowly get up and sit back on the kitchen counter
to look at the afternoon sky.

The raining
has almost stopped; just a light sprinkle falls from above. There are small
rays of the sun poking through the dark clouds.

I see
something that I haven’t seen in many years, in the distance and so very faint,
but still visible.

The soft
happy hues of a breathtaking rainbow.

Tomorrow is
here.

Dr. Dominic
Shriver will arrive at 10 a.m. to help me begin to mend my broken life.

The accumulated
pain of one thousand and twenty-one days may soon be an ache that no longer constricts
my every breath.

Standing in
my kitchen, leaning against the counter with one leg bent and resting on my
other knee, I do what I do every morning.

And day.

And night.

I watch but
I can’t see.

I listen but
I can’t hear.

I breathe
but my heart doesn’t beat.

I live but I
remain dead.

Bringing the
mug of coffee to my mouth, I sip on the scorching liquid, heedless of how it
burns my tongue. I stare at the sky above.

The monsters
that pulled me toward my grave yesterday are at bay today. The gray clouds have
been replaced by pillows of white, fluffy softness drifting aimlessly across a
bright blue sky.

My doorbell
rings and I know that Dr. Shriver is standing mere feet away from me.

I place my
coffee cup on the counter and take the first significant steps I’ve taken in
almost three years.

When I get
to the door I turn the alarm off, put one hand on the lock and the other hand
on the doorknob.

But…

I look
through the peep hole and the man I saw on TV is just on the other side of this
thick, sturdy, steel-reinforced wooden door and the outer screen door I had
installed with virtually impenetrable steel mesh.

But…

My heartbeat
flutters with such intensity that a shiver vibrates up and down my spine to shake
my body in an uncontrollable spasm.

The doorbell
sounds again.

“Hello, Allyn,”
he says from the other side.

But…

I can’t.

I don’t know
him; I can’t allow him into my head or my home.

What was I
thinking? I’ll never be normal. I’ll never function as a human again.

“You must be
terrified, Allyn.”

My entire
body is covered in goose bumps and my mouth instantly dries up. I lean my back
up against the door and my head falls back as I roll my eyes shut. I can feel
him on the other side of the door.

He thinks
I’m crazy.

I am.

“I’m going
to sit right here and talk to you. I’m not going away, and I won’t leave you.”

They all
leave.

“You know my
name is Dominic Shriver. I started studying medicine because I wanted to help
the sick, but I quickly found out I was very squeamish when it came to blood and
other bodily fluids,” he says then follows with a deep chuckle.

A smile teases
my lips.

“Then, I
decided I’d like to go into mental health, seeing as my stomach couldn’t really
cope with regular medicine.”

I turn to look
out the peep hole again. I can’t see him.

“My parents
weren’t too impressed; they kept calling me a quack. They wanted me to either practice
regular medicine or go into law. My brother went into law three years after I
started at medical school. So they were happy at least one son went on to become
a success, as they saw it.” He chuckles again.

I stand on
my tiptoes to see Dr. Shriver, but he’s not visible through the peep hole.

“I’ve been a
practicing, fully certified psychiatrist for almost nine years now. I started
out helping people that had addictions, but soon progressed to patients who have
experienced life-altering traumas.”

“Why?” I ask
him as I unlock the top deadbolt.

“Because it’s
what I’m good at and what I enjoy. You know there’s a standard line we
psychiatrists hear from people all the time. Want to hear what it is?”

“Yes
please,” I say as I turn the doorknob and slightly open the heavy wooden door.

“If I had a
dollar for every time I’ve heard it, well let’s just say I’d have a gold-plated
car.” He snickers at his own words. “We always get asked ‘You won’t analyze me,
will you?’ I have to say, Allyn, I must hear that at least once a day.”

“People
think you’d be able to turn that off whenever you wanted?”

“Ha! I see you
understand. Of course I analyze everyone I meet, even when I’m away from my
practice. I don’t do it because I want to, but because that’s who I am.”

I swing the
wooden door open. Dr. Shriver’s sitting on the porch with his back against the screen
door. He doesn’t try to turn around or even move. He sits still with his long
legs outstretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and the back of his
head up against the screen. He’s wearing a beautiful-looking dark suit.

“So how do
you turn it off then?” I sit on the floor and cross my legs, facing Dr.
Shriver’s back on the other side of the door.

“I don’t. I
used to try, but it kept me awake with worry, so now I’ve learned to let it go.
If I need to speak up about something, I do. If I can offer my advice, then I
do that, too. I can come across as a pompous ass, but hey, I also get to help
people.”

“Who helps
you then? I mean, you must absorb a lot of other people’s ghosts, and you can’t
keep doing that, can you?”

“Allyn, you
bring up a very interesting question, and one I don’t get asked often. But, I’m
okay. Now tell me, what made you call me?”

“I really
don’t know. I saw you on TV yesterday. I saw those three women and how strong
they are. And I thought that maybe you can help me get my strength back.”

“When was it
taken from you?”

I lower my
gaze to the floor and begin to twist my hands together.

“Almost
three years ago, Dr. Shriver.”

“Oh, please!
‘Dr. Shriver’ makes me sound like that pompous ass I described earlier. Dominic
is perfectly fine.”

“Okay,” I
say in a small voice.

“Three years
ago your freedom was taken. Have you been outside since?”

“Only from
the car to the house when I came home from the hospital.”

“How do you
do your shopping?” he asks, not turning around.

“My parents
do it for me.”

“How many
people come into your house?”

“My parents
and the doctor that I was seeing.”

“And tell me
what happens if an appliance dies and you need a new one.”

“That hasn’t
happened yet. But when it does I’ll have to figure out how to get a new one into
my home.”

“Tell me
something; have you smiled in the last three years?”

Have I
smiled? Why would he ask that?

“The first
and last time I smiled was about fifteen minutes ago when you were describing
your feelings toward certain bodily fluids,” I answer earnestly.

“Can you tell
me the happiest memory you have? It can be from any time of your life, but I
love details. The more you tell me, the happier my brain gets.”

I stare out
past Dominic to the opposite side of the street. A happy memory. I haven’t thought
of anything joyful in three years.

“Are you
still with me, Allyn?” he asks, bending one leg at the knee and keeping the
other stretched out.

“I’m here. I’m
trying to think of something.”

I close my
eyes and everything fades away. I don’t see or hear anything except for the memory
of the day that my parents and I went horseback riding.

“It was my
tenth birthday,” I start the story. I remember standing beside the big, beautiful,
brown horse. “I was supposed to have a birthday party but it was cancelled
because I got chicken pox.”

The magnificent
horse neighed as I reached up to pat his long nose.

“Go on.”

“It was three
weeks later before I was well enough to have a party, but by that time it was
too late. I loved horses, and I really wanted to go riding.”

In my
memory, his tail flicks me as I pat his coarse, short hair on his stomach. I
giggle because I remember how funny it felt.

“What’s
amusing?”                              

“Mr. Boss,
that was the horse’s name. I remembered that he flicked me with his tail and it
tickled. I had to stand on a step stool to pull myself up into the saddle. I
argued with Mom, telling her I could do it. Mom kept telling me I was too
short. I can still hear her saying, ‘Allyn, you’re not as tall as the other
kids. You can’t do these things on your own.’ But it didn’t matter to me; I wanted
to try. Of course, I couldn’t get up on Mr. Boss from the ground, so I used the
stool.”

“And what
was it like once you were up there?”

“I felt like
I was seeing things I’d never seen before. I felt in control and so powerful.”

I inhale
deeply as I close my eyes and can smell that very distinct scent of hay wafting
from Mr. Boss.

“When Mr.
Boss started walking around, I wanted more. By the end of the day I had him
galloping fast, and I was addicted.”

“Why did you
want more?”

“Being on
Mr. Boss I felt so safe, he understood me. And I felt so free.”

“And now?”

Those two
words catapult me back into the present. I blink my closed eyes open and even
through my blurry vision, I see that Dominic has turned and is now sitting
facing me.  I didn’t hear him shift positions, and a tiny wave of fear courses
through me at that realization.

“Now I’m chained
by fear. I feel helpless and I’m hopelessly devoted to a life of black.”

“Allyn,
we’ve been talking for a while now and it’s time for me to go. But I’m going to
come back tomorrow at 10 a.m. Tomorrow though, you’re going to open the wooden
door straight away when I knock.”

“I am?” I
ask.

“You are,
because you want to let some color back into your life.”

“I do?”

“You called
me because you don’t want that life of blackness anymore, Allyn.”

“I don’t,” I
whisper realizing he’s right.
I don’t.
I want that rainbow I saw
yesterday shining in my world.

“I’ll see
you tomorrow,” he says as he stands and picks up his knapsack.

I watch as
he gets in his car and drives away from my house.

I stand from
the cold floor and I’m suddenly shocked at the revelation.

I opened the
door.