Unravel (33 page)

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“It’s a joke to her, Michael!” her mom ranted. She breathed through her nose and stood up. “All of this is a joke to her. She doesn’t care about how this will look for the family. I shouldn’t be surprised. If she doesn’t care about her own life, why would she care for ours?”

“Mom—”

“I can’t do this.” She grabbed her purse. Before she walked out the door she looked back at her husband, not her only child. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”

She fixed the strap of her purse and ran a hand down her hair, like she was getting ready for a show. If you really thought about it, she was. The minute she stepped outside of this room, she was live. She had the main role of being Lana’s loving mom. It took a lot of work for her to get into character.

The door slammed behind her. I flattened myself against the wall but there was no need, Lana’s mom never once looked my way. She walked ahead, head held high, her heels echoing in the hallway.

I looked back in the room.

Lana was staring at the television. She appeared unaffected by her mom, but I noticed the slight tremor in her hands.

Her dad didn’t get up from his chair. He was close enough to her that his knees pressed against her bed.

“Your doctor said that you should be out of here in a few days,” her dad said.

Lana just nodded.

“You’ll just have to see a therapist a few times a week, but everything can go back to normal. And when I mean normal, I mean you back home… where you should be.”

Lana glanced at her dad. “What?”

“You need to be at home, where your mom and I can watch you and make sure that this never happens again.”

She blinked, and when her eyes focused on her dad, there was nothing but revulsion in her gaze. I knew it was the first time Lana was openly rejecting her dad.

I didn’t know why she chose that moment to be the time. Maybe last night’s attempt had not only put her to the brink of death, but it had also made her fears disappear.

“Fuck you,” she whispered coldly.

His head tilted to the side, as if he had heard her wrong. “What did you say?”

“I said,
fuck you
. I did what I did because of you.” She looked down at her bed. “Now get out.”

“Your mother and I are trying to help.”

“Mom left the room a few minutes ago because she couldn’t look at me. She doesn’t want to help, and neither do you. Get out.”

Her dad didn’t appear to be in any rush. His cheeks were flushed, undoubtedly from anger and embarrassment. He stared at his daughter, his eyes filled with unearned hate. His daughter stared back at him, her eyes blank and unflinching.

“I can press this button,” Lana said, “and a nurse will be here within minutes.”

Her dad stood up.

I hurried away from her room. A few seconds later I heard the door creak open. Footsteps sounded. Her dad didn’t scurry away like her mom did. He waited for a few moments, leaning against the wall, staring down at the waxed floor thoughtfully before he pulled out his phone.

“Tim, how are you? It’s Michael. Listen,” her dad cleared his throat and started to walk down the hall, “I need a favor from you…”

I wanted to follow behind him and listen to every single word. The nurse had just stepped into Lana’s room. She would take her blood pressure, check her temperature, and ask if Lana needed anything. I’d be back in plenty of time to slip into Lana’s room and finally be able to talk with her, but I stayed where I was and watched her dad walk further away, until he turned the corner and disappeared.

Something was up his sleeve. I didn’t know what, but I knew it had to involve Lana. I knew that Lana’s parents were desperate to hide her suicide attempt as quickly as possible.

The nurse finally left the room. I walked in after her and softly closed the door behind me. Lana kept her eyes glued to the television. It was a re-run of an old sitcom, complete with a laugh track, houses that never got dirty and a household that hugged every chance they got.

“I wish my problems could be solved in thirty minutes or less,” Lana said quietly.

“Me too,” I sighed and curled up at the edge of her bed, acting like this wasn’t a hospital room that smelled like disinfectant, but her room back in her apartment that smelled like lilacs. I watched the show for a few seconds before I looked over at Lana. “How are you?”

“If I told you I was okay, or fine, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll tell you the truth.” She swallowed. “I feel terrible.”

I looked Lana over. Her face, that normally looked so smooth and clean, was pale, almost translucent, with a sheen of sweat around her forehead and upper lip. Her lips were chapped. She had the prettiest hair. Pin-straight and silky, like a child’s. It ran down the length of her back, stopping at her waist. The ends were always neatly trimmed. But today her hair was messy, pulled back into a lopsided ponytail. The worst part was her wrists. They were heavily bandaged, lying on the bed like dead weights.

“I think the pain is stronger now,” she said gravely.

I stood up, thinking that she needed a nurse or doctor to come into the room and help her. “What?”

She held up her bandaged wrists, staring at them with a mixture of resentment and sadness. “My pain. It’s stronger. I think the pain has been in my body for too long. I could keep cutting away at my skin, but it will never matter.” She stared me straight in the eye. “The pain’s never gonna leave.”

I slowly sat back down.

What could I say to that?

I tried to think of some inspirational quote. Something,
anything
that would give her hope. I had nothing.

We both knew that.

Her hand dropped heavily onto the bed.

“For a second though, it was bliss,” she confessed. “I know that’s fucked up to say. It’s the truth, though. I thought for a second that all my problems were going away. But for each drop of blood I lost, gallons of pain were waiting to fill me back up.”

“I wish I knew what to say,” I said sadly. “But nothing I say will ever make it right.”

“I’m not asking for you to make it right. No one can.”

“So what happens from here?” I asked.

“I don’t know. My doctor keeps saying that I’m leaving in a few days so my parents can help me ‘recover’.”

I flinched.

She smirked. “Ironic, right?”

“You’re not going home with them, are you?”

“No,” Lana said firmly.

I opened my mouth to voice my opinion.

“Can I just have a moment alone, please?” Lana said.

“Sure.” I stood up and said good-bye even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. The door shut behind me. I sagged against it, my hands on my knees, taking deep breaths.

I left moments later. My legs were shaking and it felt like I was going to collapse at any moment. I quickened my pace. The elevator was in sight, but it felt like I was in a fun house. It became further and further away until it felt like I was never going to reach it.

I started to run, but the hallway became narrow and longer, stretching for miles. Nurses and visiting family members were all around. I could hear their hushed voices. I’m sure every single one of them had their own problems to deal with, but I would’ve done anything at that moment to trade lives with them.

I realized then that seeing Lana being raped created a small crack in my sanity. Each event after that made the crack spread. A network of veins appeared, making me fragile. I was finally starting to shatter. Everything was catching up to me and I broke into millions of pieces.

I crumbled to the ground and screamed, trying to erase Lana’s words.

“The pain’s never gonna leave.”

Her voice kept getting stronger and the world slowly faded to black.

When I woke up, I was at Fairfax.

The clock on Dr. Rutledge’s desk clicks. Much like the monitors did at the hospital. I stare at Dr. Rutledge, waiting for a new, radical change to happen.

Here it is.

Here’s my story. It’s out in the open and there’s nothing left for me to say. So what happens now?

Will I slowly transform back into the person I once was? Or maybe Dr. Rutledge will snap her fingers and I’ll realize this has all been a dream.

I don’t care what really happens as long as
something
happens.

We sit there, staring at each other. The clock continues to click and I start to become impatient. I deserve, no,
earned
this change. So where is it?

“Do you get it now?” I ask impatiently.

Dr. Rutledge nods. “I do.”

My eyes narrow. “Please don’t humor me.”

“I’m not. I understand you went through a terrible situation.”

“If you understand then explain to me why I’m here. Tell me how someone who was just trying to help her friend ends up in a mental institution.”

Rutledge continues to look at me, saying nothing, offering me nothing.

“I didn’t try to kill myself. That was Lana.” I jerk my sleeves up and hold both wrists out. “See? No scars. Nothing.”

She looks down at my wrists. My pale, scar-free wrists.

“See?” I’m practically shoving them at her. “See those veins? I know I have blood in them and I know I have a soul inside of me and I know I have a life worth living. Although… right now it’s not much. But I know I have it.”

She looks away from my flawless wrists and into my eyes. I drop my arms and sit back down. We’re surrounded in silence. Except for that clock. That stupid fucking clock. I want to pick it up and smash it into pieces. I rub my temples.

“Tell me,” I beg. “Please tell me why I’m here.”

She drops her pen onto her desk. She leans forward and says in a gentle, yet firm voice, “You’re here because you broke down. Everything with Lana was too much to take.”

“That doesn’t warrant someone who’s been completely normal and healthy to be sent here,” I argue.

She smiles sadly. “When someone has the breakdown you had, and experienced what you did, it does.”

My lips quiver. I feel foolish. I feel ashamed. And that is ridiculous. “I want to go home,” I say.

Is home even home anymore? Will my parents let me come back?

“No. You’re not ready to be released yet.”

I drop my head into my hands. Weep or scream? I don’t know. I wait for the big, knotted ball to burst free from my throat, but nothing happens.

“What are you feeling, Naomi?”

“I feel like I just took one step forward, and twenty steps back,” I say into my hands.

“You think you’re getting nowhere?”

I nod and look at her, blinking back tears of frustration.

“I just want answers,” I say hopelessly.

“As much as we want it to happen in a flash, that’s not the way it works.”

My eyes flutter shut and I listen to her, feeling rejected.

“Tomorrow’s a new day.”

I’m tired of new days and the fresh new optimism that comes with it, because hours later, when the sun sets, it steals my optimism and it’s back to feeling so alone.

Mary opens the door. My session is up. Dr. Rutledge says she’ll see me tomorrow. She gives me one of her uplifting smiles.

I don’t tell her what I’m feeling or thinking. I just stand up and walk out the door with Mary.

“Dr. Rutledge, may I have word?”

I lift my head. Dr. Woods, Naomi’s old psychiatrist, is standing in the doorway.

Tim Woods is 58 years old, with black hair that’s peppered with gray. Lines are forming around his eyes and, not surprisingly, around his lips. He never smiles. He is straight to the point—a factual kind of person. He’s at the end of his career, biding his time until he can retire. Maybe he once cared, but he doesn’t now.

It’s a fleeting thought, but I wonder if this career will siphon the determination out of me like it has Tim Woods. Will I too stop caring?

I shut the medical textbook in front of me and wave him in. “Of course.”

He glances at my book. “Were you busy?”

“Not at all.”

Tim takes a seat. I hardly speak to Dr. Woods so seeing him in my office is a surprise, to say the least.

“What can I help you with?” I say with a smile.

His fingers drum on the armrest. His eyes are somber. My smile starts to fade and my stomach starts to churn. Something’s wrong.