Authors: Nicola Haken
Next he decided it was time to remove my dressings when he caught me jabbing a ballpoint pen underneath in an effort to relieve the irritating itchiness. For the first time I allowed myself to see the damage lurking underneath. Back in the hospital, if anyone went near my bandages I would either close my eyes or stare at the round white clock above the door. But now, alone with Richard, I felt brave enough to face what I’d done.
I regretted it immediately.
I wrinkled my nose, disgusted with myself as I studied the hideous, raised and weeping scars crisscrossed all over my limbs.
“Don’t do that,” Richard said, interrupting my inward self-loathing.
“Do what?” I stared myself down. I wasn’t doing anything.
“Hate yourself.”
Of course, he knows what I’m thinking.
I shrugged, trying but failing to follow his advice.
“Amy,” he said seriously – holding my gaze. “New start, remember? Things never have to get this bad again.”
“And what if they do?” I said, ever the pessimist – because they
always
did. I always ended up at this point.
“Then we’ll deal with it.
Together
.”
He trailed a finger along my cheekbone, sending delicious shivers through my whole body, right down to the tips of my toes.
God, I’ve missed this feeling.
Next, he grazed the tips of his gentle fingers over the mass of stitches, carefully tugging at ones which looked like they were being lost in the swelling and checking they were secure. Then he rubbed the familiar foul smelling ointment over each scar in turn – apologising constantly even though it didn’t hurt… much.
“Amy,” Richard said, his voice oozing uncertainty.
“
Yes
?” I replied nervously.
“Now, don’t get mad until I’ve finished.”
Why do I think I’m not going to like this?
“But, well, I’d like you to reconsider counselling.”
I exhaled for the first time since he said ‘don’t get mad’. I was expecting him to say something terrible.
“What, like Joanna?” I asked sarcastically.
“Yeah, maybe we should try somebody else this time,” he said with a heart-stopping wink.
“I’m not sure,” I answered hesitantly. Richard’s back stiffened and his green eyes - which were beginning to sparkle again - widened.
“Well, that’s a start. When I played this conversation over in my head, I got an outright ‘no’.”
“I nearly did say that,” I admitted. “But let’s face it, I’m not doing such a good job of sorting my shit out on my own.” Silence followed. I think we were both equally stunned that I was actually considering the idea of spilling my guts out to a complete stranger.
“I could make you an appointment with my therapist, if you’d like?” Richard offered, interposing the stillness.
“
Your
therapist?” I repeated, shaking the bewilderment from my face.
“Yes. Her name is Caroline Winters. I’ve been seeing her since…” he swallowed back a lump in his throat, forcing his Adam’s apple up and down, “since Kate died.”
“I had no idea. Why have you never mentioned it?” Richard dropped his head, pondering my question.
“Because I was embarrassed, I guess.”
I know that feeling well.
“Oh, please. I’m the queen of fucked-up-ness. I’m the last person you need to feel embarrassed with.” As hoped, my light-hearted statement lifted the mood and we both ended up laughing. It felt so invigorating… so
normal
. Just a few days ago I doubted I would ever laugh again.
“
I
’m so proud of you,” Richard beamed, twisting a loose tendril of my blonde hair behind my ear as we walked out of the therapist’s office.
“I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you for coming in with me.”
“You know, she’s probably going to want to see you on your own at some point. She might feel like my presence is hindering your progress.”
“No,” I said firmly, shaking my head. “There’s nothing I can’t say in front of you. In fact, if you weren’t there, I doubt I would’ve said anything at all.”
Caroline Winters was small and round with thick grey hair and the dress sense of a hobo. But she seemed nice enough. She was friendly, sympathetic and asked lots of questions which was just what I needed. I’d never been a fan of the ‘I’m just here to listen’ approach, given that it wasn’t in my nature to willingly volunteer information about myself.
I had just spent the best part of two hours sat on a brown leather couch in a bright yellow room with giant poppies painted on the wall, answering an incessant ream of questions about my fucked-up childhood. I spent the first half an hour blushing and stuttering like a moron and staring at an orange wooden bookend in the shape of a cat. But then Richard placed his hand on the small of my back, sending sparks flying through my whole body and bursting the bubbles of trepidation canoeing through my veins along the way. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I couldn’t seem to shut myself up.
I began with my earliest memory – the one where my mom was crumpled into a tight ball on the living room floor with my dad hovering over her, hammering a rolling-pin into her back over and over again. When he saw me watching, crying into the little blue teddy my grandma bought for me by the doorjamb, he flew towards me with the
rolling-pin
raised high in the air as he prepared to bring it down on me too.
I gradually worked through my memories, reeling them off in minute detail – as fresh in mind as if they happened just yesterday. Then at 13:58 (according to the stereo sat alone on an empty table at the back of the room) Caroline looked to her watch and said we’d ran out of time for today. I’d been talking nonstop for ninety minutes yet I’d only managed to get as far as my seventh birthday.
I relived the day where my father grabbed my ponytail and rammed my face into the round birthday cake with pink frosting and edible daisies that my grandma made for me, after he caught me crying about not getting any presents. Naturally, he lit the candles first. As I described what happened, I brushed my finger along my cheek, still being able to feel the burn of the candles as they extinguished themselves on my skin. Sometimes, when I was drifting off to sleep, the sulphurous odour of singeing hair still lingered in my nose.
I had a feeling I would be visiting Caroline Winters for a
long
time to come.
Richard had some files to pick up from work (apparently he needed to ‘get back in the zone’ before his first shift back tomorrow) so after leaving the therapy session we headed straight to the hospital. Richard was busy concentrating on the road and I was busy concentrating on Richard. He was wearing his cream turtleneck, the one that made him look like he just stepped out of a magazine, and fitted black jeans. I found myself blushing at the pure fuckability of him, and the fact that he was all
mine.
I switched my focus to the window before I ended up pouncing on him and causing an RTA, absorbing the sight of buildings and skyscrapers merging into one another as we whizzed past them. I felt… different.
Better
, I think. Lighter…
I rolled my shoulders and for the first time in my life it felt effortless – as if the encumbering weight which had been bearing down on them since the day I was born had finally packed its bags and fucked the hell off. I was slowly making my way back up the rollercoaster. Hopefully, this time it would malfunction when I reached the top, keeping me there – on top of the world, instead of dragging me back down into the black hole.
“Be right back, beautiful,” Richard said before bringing my hand up to his mouth and brushing the fading I.V. marks affectionately with his lips. Then he slid out of the car and scurried towards the automatic glass doors of the hospital, shielding himself from the rain with his black military style jacket slung over his head.
I felt like a fish in a glass bowl. It seemed like every passer-by and his dog felt compelled to pause and stare my way. I imagined (
hoped
) it was Richard’s ostentatious Mercedes that was catching their eye but still, I felt awfully self-conscious and started to squirm uncomfortably in my seat.
In an effort to distract myself from the unease I fiddled with stereo. Richard had all the stations pre-programmed with depressing classical shit so I tapped the little silver button until a song I recognised comes on. ‘So What’ by Pink blasted from the speakers and I closed my eyes, flopped my head back on the neck rest and sang (or perhaps wailed like a banshee would be more apt) knowing nobody was around to endure it.
The car door slammed closed, scaring the living crap out of me.
“I’ve literally just shit all over your upholstery,” I said to Richard, jolting upright in my seat. I
hadn’t
actually shit my pants of course - I was just trying to be funny. Richard couldn’t be any less amused however. His arms were rigid as he twisted his fingers around the steering wheel. I reached out and grabbed one before he started the engine.
“Everything okay?” I asked, unnerved by his edgy disposition.
“Sure,” he said with a crack in his voice. “Okay, I’m not actually sure,” he admitted, taking his hands from the wheel and rubbing his forearm.
“What’s wrong?” I pressed, unwittingly rubbing his other forearm for him.
“I don’t want you to panic. I mean, she was probably bullshitting… after all, it wouldn’t be the first time she’s lied to me. I just-”
“Who was? Richard you’re scaring me,” I interrupted, pushing him to get to the point. His tense fingers drifted from his forearm to his hair, tugging at it so fervently I worried he was going to rip it clean from the follicles.
“
Joanna
. She says she’s informed the authorities about your father.”
In my head I was screaming ‘she did what!’ but in reality I couldn’t seem to move my lips to let the words pass. I couldn’t seem to move anything actually. I was paralysed… numb.
“Apparently, if things are as bad as you say then…” he trailed off, guilt clouding his emerald eyes. “Amy I’m so sorry. I should never have trusted her.”
I told you that at the time,
my subconscious snapped. Thankfully I still hadn’t regained the ability to speak. The rational part of my brain knew Richard wasn’t to blame. This was my father’s fault for being a sadistic bastard.
Or Joanna’s fault for being a vindictive, jealous bitch.
Or probably even mine, for not being brave enough to end this all a long time ago – back when Richard wasn’t around to watch me suffer the inevitable consequences.
“Amy, say something.
Please,
” Richard begged. Tears clogging in the back of his throat made his voice tremor as he cupped my face in his hands.
“I guess we better go home and wait for my dad to show up,” I said, feeling remarkably composed. Waiting for a beating from my father was one of the few things I coped pretty well with.
Maybe because it was familiar.
I knew what to expect – I knew how it would feel both outside and in.
“It won’t get that far.
If
Joanna is telling the truth,” he said, emphasising the word ‘if’, “then he can’t get to you from inside a cell.” I almost choked on an inappropriate laugh.
“Richard, you know who my father is. He is one of the best defence attorneys in Washington State – there’s nothing he can’t talk himself out of.”
“He’s a different man now. You’ve seen him. He’s losing it – he’s losing everything. And if by some miracle he does find a loophole, he still won’t get anywhere near you. I’ll make sure of it.” Fear slammed into my chest, forcing my heart into my stomach. Not fear of my dad (though I expected that to creep up on me soon enough) but fear for Richard. The idea of him blocking my father’s path, the knowledge that my dad would willingly beat him until he was unrecognisable to get to me… the thought exploded in my mind like shards of glass.
The drive home was quiet, uncomfortably so. Unable to bear the torment drowning Richard’s expression I stared out of the window, watching the
rain wash
away the last traces of snow, dissolving the residual murky slush into muddy puddles. I gnawed at my fingernails until all that’s left was inflamed, frayed skin. My life was balancing in the carriage at the top of the rollercoaster, waiting to plummet at any moment.
Walking from the underground parking lot I found myself looking over my shoulder with every couple of steps. Then I caught Richard doing the same.
Is this life from now on?
I couldn’t stand it – the unease, the fear, the ups and downs… It was just too much and as soon as we hit the safety of the apartment, I started bawling like a baby.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Richard tried to reassure, smoothing the tears from my cheeks with the sleeve of his cream turtleneck. “Let me call the station – see if I can find anything out.”
I was on edge – jumpy and nervous. Goosebumps mottled my pale skin even though I wasn’t cold and the slightest sound made me flinch. I was pouring a glass of water when Richard entered the kitchen. The sound of his heavy footsteps scared the life out of me and I dropped my glass, gasping as it crashed to the tile floor and shattered into a million pieces. Richard sidestepped the shards of glass, dismissing them, and then placed a hand on each of my huddled shoulders.