“Do they know why those men did what they did? Do they have any leads on whether or not anyone else might have been involved in your kidnapping?”
I run my tongue along my teeth and wish I had a toothbrush. My mouth tastes terrible and feels like I’m growing hair on the inside of my mouth. “Why all the questions, Tom? What does it matter to you? You and I are done. Remember?”
He shrugs. “I’m just worried about you. I want to know that you’re safe.”
“Where is my phone?”
His lashes flutter. He’s processing. “Your phone?”
“Yes, I had it with me that night and I think I left it in your car, with my handbag. I want it back.”
He shakes his head, lips pursed together tight. “Nope. I haven’t seen your phone. You must have lost it before then. I don’t have it.”
I know he’s lying. I don’t know how or why he would lie about it, but I know he is. “Hmm, okay. Well, like I said, I didn’t say anything about you at all, so thanks for coming by. Your reputation will go unmarred. You can leave now. I’m tired.”
He hesitates. “I can only imagine. I’ll let you get some rest. Let me know if you need anything, though. I’d like to help, if I can.”
I hold my breath and clench my jaw as he reaches out and lightly caresses my jawline with one finger. “Sweet Tessa. Whatever will I do with you?” The faraway quality of his tone gives the impression that he’s talking to himself more than me. It sends goosebumps over my flesh. He bends over the bed and places a light kiss on my forehead. Heat rises up my neck and blushes my cheeks.
I watch him turn and leave. I want to scream and throw something at the back of his head. Another piece of me wants to ask him to stay. I can’t help but think he’s purposely messing with my head. Maybe I’m paranoid. Maybe, just maybe, he has feelings for me. A flutter of hope rises. Shame immediately shoves it aside.
Even now, I’m still a stupid girl.
***
A knock wakes me. Disoriented, I bolt upright in my bed. I’m in the hospital. I’m alive. Breathe in. Breathe out.
An unfamiliar face peeks through the cracked door. “Miss Benson?”
“Who are you?” Why can’t people just leave me alone?
She steps into the room and closes the door behind her. All business, her hair is pulled back into an unforgiving bun. A form-fitting beige pantsuit matches perfectly with a light tan briefcase. Despite a bird-like lanky frame, she exudes bold confidence. I want her to leave.
“My name is Linda Wilkes. I’m with The Seattle Times. I’d like to talk with you for a bit. Ask you a few questions about the ordeal you went through.”
My heart rate picks up. I scoot up into a sitting position, holding the blanket to my chest defensively. “What? No. I don’t want to talk about it with you or anyone else. Who let you in here? Please leave.”
She unzips the front zipper of her briefcase and pulls out a recorder. With a sharp click, she turns it on. “Can you describe the events that led up to the moment you were captured?”
Pulling the thin blanket up higher, my voice tightens as I speak. “I told you. I…I don’t…I can’t talk about what happened. I don’t want it in the papers.”
“But it’s already been in the papers, Miss Benson. You’re a hero. A local phenomenon. You beat incredible odds and survived a horrific experience. Don’t you want to tell your story to the world?”
My skin is covered in cold sweat and my heart races so fast I fear I might go into cardiac arrest as this strange, rude woman invades my privacy. I picture my face spattered all over the news. People gossiping about what those men did to me. It’s a struggle to talk between short, shallow breaths. “No. I don’t want to share my story with anyone. Please…”
“How did you manage to get away? I mean, it must have taken exceptional composure and bravery to take on your captors, knowing that at any moment they could kill you. How did you get the upper hand in such a harrowing circumstance?”
I feel the heat rise to my face and neck as embarrassment and frustration consume me. My voice rises another octave. “Why aren’t you listening to me? I said I don’t want to talk to you. Now leave.”
She holds a hand up. “Okay, okay, settle down. No need to yell.”
I slap the bed. “Yes, yes, there is a reason to yell. You’re not listening to me. Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?” I toss the blanket to the side and climb out of bed. The room spins as soon as my feet hit the cold linoleum and I stand to my full height. I haven’t eaten more than a few bites today and I haven’t stood up except to use the restroom. I glance toward the mirror on the wall and don’t recognize the disheveled, wild-eyed reflection staring back at me. Bluish bruising fades to a sick yellow hue speckling a good portion of my skin from head to toe. My hair is a tangled mess. The hospital gown hangs loose on my skeletal frame. I’m a member of the walking dead.
Looking away, I shake my head and fight through the fog, I take a step forward, pointing a finger in her face. “Like you. I told you to leave. You won’t. I told you I don’t want to answer your questions. You don’t give a shit. No one ever listens.”
The room spins faster. I lean on the side of the bed, my right hand bracing me as I gasp for air. I know I’m hyperventilating but I can’t stop it. This woman needs to leave. “Stand up for yourself, they say. Speak up and state your mind, they say. But when I do, no one will ever fucking listen, so what’s the point?”
The door bursts open and Officer MacGregor steps inside, one hand poised above his gun holster. His eyes dart back and forth between me and the reporter. “You need to leave.”
The reporter appears stunned by the sudden appearance of a police officer. She puts her hands up. “No harm done, sir. I was simply asking Miss Benson a few harmless questions.”
Another wave of dizziness overwhelms me. I turn and brace both hands on the side of the bed for support, my knees weak and shaking violently. I stare down at the white bedding, hoping to focus and regain stability. “Leave. Everyone. Just. Leave.” My demand is barely a breathless whisper. I feel robbed of my own rage.
Officer MacGregor pushes past the reporter and rushes to my side. He guides me to the bed. “Sit down. I’ll call the nurse.”
I brush his hands away, ashamed of my perpetual displays of weakness. I’m tired of living with myself. “I’m fine. Really.” I turn and plop onto the bed before I pass out. “Just go…please…”
Even now, as I’m begging to be left alone, no one listens. They stare at me dumbly, disbelief on their faces. Like I’m too stupid to know what I really want or need. My fingers dig into the mattress by my sides. “GO! Just go!” I scream, using every last bit of strength. “Please, just go!” I continue to scream over and over again until there is no longer oxygen in my lungs. Blood rushes to my face.
A flurry of activity fills the room while I scream. The reporter scurries out of the room. Officer MacGregor darts to the doorway and hollers something down the hall. Three nurses, one female, two male, barge in. They surround me. Still screaming like a crazed banshee, I kick out and land a solid blow to a shin. An arm wraps around my shoulders. I buck back and my skull connects with bone or cartilage, I’m not sure. Someone barks out orders. Secure her arms…the IV is in the left…Ativan now.
Even now, as I fight and scream in hysterics, a piece of me separates from the moment. Disengages and watches from a distance. Again, my power, what little I have of it, is stolen. I know I’m out of control. I’m irrational. The part of me that acts out cannot rein it in. The brewing storm has been unleashed. It will not relinquish until it has expelled all of its glorious rage. I scream even as the sedative washes over me, flooding my system with a false sense of euphoria. I’m heavy with it. I scream but only a muffled garble passes over my lips. Don’t quiet my storm. Don’t quiet m…
CHAPTER TWELVE
I’m strapped down. Rage wells up and sears every cell in my body. I want to scream and fight but rational thought has returned.
Hysterics is what put me here in the first place. I broke the rules. I fought against those who refuse to listen. Breathe. I need to be smarter this time. I need to play nice and follow the rules. I just want out of here.
Staring up at the white ceiling, I know I’m in another ward of the hospital. The psychiatric ward, no doubt. I wait for shame and guilt to wash over me. They don’t. Searching for their ever-lingering presence, I reach into every nook and cranny of my mind. Nothing. They’re absent.
Curious, I do a mental check-in and evaluate my emotional state. I’m clearheaded. Not scared. Not ashamed. I’m not even flat or tired as I was before. I feel…I just want to get the hell out of this place. I know I must bide my time and wait. I close my eyes and go inward. This could take some time.
Three days pass while doctors monitor my every move. They speak in soft, non-aggressive tones, while asking the same set of programmed questions in multiple forms, hoping to gauge my emotional state, trying to elicit a response that may indicate whether I’m still “unstable” or not. I refuse to talk more than necessary, so they talk for me or about me as if I’m not even there. That’s fine. Whatever makes them feel better.
When I do speak, it’s calm and diligent. Quelling the roiling storm within. It lingers there. Inside. Bouncing off each nerve ending, spurring me on. But I remain quiet and play by their rules.
When the doctor finally signs my release papers, I sit placidly in the wheelchair and wait for Terin to wheel me out to her car. I want to run.
Fresh, cold air smacks me in the face as we pass through the sliding doors. My cheeks and lips sting. Frost covers the grass. The smell of the city permeates the air but I welcome it. Anything is better than the scent of the hospital.
The sounds hit me differently. Sirens echo in the far-off distance. Tires against pavement, honking, engines revving, a crying baby in the parking lot. Anxiety wells up but I keep my head down and try to shut it out.
Once we’re in the car, Terin buckles up, starts the ignition and we pull onto the road. Air blasts from the heating vents. Alternative rock music plays on the radio, fraying my nerves. I reach over and turn it off.
Terin flashes a nervous grin but says nothing. I know she’s confused. I’m her best friend but she no longer knows what to say to me or how to interact with this dull, hollow shell that I’ve become.
“Take me home, Terin.”
“That’s the plan. I’ve got the spare bedroom ready for you. It’s tiny but it should do.”
“My home, Terin.”
She shoots me another nervous glance. “What are you talking about? We agreed you’d stay with me.”
“I know, but that was before. Now I just want to go home.”
Her eyes are on the road as she navigates a left turn. “But the doctor said it would be best if you had friends or family around for a while.”
“Terin. Look at me.”
She waits until we are at a complete stop at the next red light, then turns to me with a look of trepidation. Her brows are furrowed with worry.
“I want to go home. I need some time alone.”
“But…”
Squelched tension builds in my voice. “No buts. I’m fine. I know I had a freakout and it scared everyone. But I promise you, the best thing for me right now is a little space. I’m overwhelmed. Please, just for once, I need someone to listen to what I’m saying and respect it. I. want. To. Go. Home.”
Her tongue darts out and she licks her dry lips. “Okay, I don’t like it, but if that’s what you need, then I’m supportive. But you have to promise to call if you need anything at all. Do you understand me?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I’m serious. I really don’t like this, and in order to respect your request, this is what I’ve got to have in return. I need to know you’ll reach out if you need me.”
“I will. I promise.”
As she parks the car, I take in my neighborhood. I’ve been away one week, but it feels like a lifetime. It looks different somehow, changed. Or maybe I’m the one who changed. How could I not?
Terin flits about, opening the car door, hovering at my side, carrying my small case of toiletries that she’d brought. Her speech is hurried and sporadic. “When I was here earlier, to get your things, I made sure to turn up the heat. I watered your plants, so there’s no need to worry about that…”
My mind wanders as I focus on taking one step after the other toward my apartment. It all seems so new. My senses feel heightened, awakened, as if I’m able to feel my surroundings better than I ever have. I’m a raw nerve. Why is that? It fascinates me. The sidewalk has varied cracks and breaks from years’ worth of winter freezes. Dead, brown leaves scatter over the ground. The bricks on the building have faded in color with age. On the far corner, a dead rose bush garnishes the bleak landscape. Has that always been there? How have I not seen these details before?
Someone crossing the street catches my eye. He turns just as I face him and walks away with a hurried step. His gait and build are familiar. Tom? But he’s wearing jeans and a black hoodie. Not something Tom would wear. I shake that idea away and watch him round the corner, ashamed that part of me wishes it was him.
“Wait, what about food?” Terin hovers on the sidewalk, expectation animating her features. “You’re going to need to restock your fridge. I doubt anything’s any good by now. I’ll have to run to the store and do some shopping for you.”
I reach out and touch her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to lay low for today but tomorrow, I promise I’ll make my way to the store.” I suddenly remember that I no longer have my driver’s license. It was in my handbag that night, with my phone. I’ll need to go to the DMV soon. That thought nauseates me. Thank goodness I didn’t take my debit card that evening. Just cash.
“Are you sure? I can run down the road right now and pick up a few items. It’s no big deal.”
“Stop worrying over me. I’m not going to starve to death. Okay?”
She bites her lip. “Okay. There’s a few snacks in the little bag I packed for you. Eat that.”
We’re both quiet as we make our way inside the entrance, down the hall, and to my unit. Terin pulls out my key and fumbles with it until it finally engages. I step into my home. A vast emptiness fills the cool air. It’s not familiar. It looks organized and tidy and lifeless. Beige carpet. Beige curtains. Matching tan couch and loveseat. A beige afghan drapes over the back of the couch. Where is the color? The character? This is where I live. It’s bland and boring. It’s uptight and lonely. Everything that represents who I am. Correction. Who I was. This realization piques my interest. Goosebumps raise over the surface of my skin.
The girl who lived here before is gone. Not just gone, but dead. I dig deep and search for any emotion related to this realization. Nothing. I will not miss that girl. Good riddance.
What does frighten me is that I have no idea who replaced her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I stare up at the ceiling fan and remember when I had thought it looked like a starfish in the dark. Now it only looks like a ceiling fan. I rub my feet together under the blankets in an effort to warm them. My toes have felt like ice packs all day. I roll to my side, facing the bedroom window. A starlit sky blinks at me. Rare for this time of year, when it’s typically overcast and drizzling. I bet it’s nearing freezing temperatures out there. I wonder how many homeless are suffering. The word suffering brings a barrage of memories to the surface. Flashes of my kidnapping. Images of the cabin. Peeing into a bucket. A camera staring at me. Jake’s foot kicking me over and over again. Pain. Shame. Fear in my bones.
A cold sweat breaks out over my skin. Rage bubbles up to the surface and boils my insides. I want to squeeze or punch something. I grip the sheet in my hands, fighting to chase away the memories. I replay those last moments in the cabin. How I unleashed my fear and fury on my kidnappers. I think of how it felt to watch them die. How it felt to fight back. The way it filled the hollowness that has alway
s haunted me. How it squelched the torment of what I’d been through. It wasn’t enough. I have more inside of me that aches to come out. My heart hammers in my chest, echoing that need.
The digital red numbers of my alarm clock seem brighter than usual against the darkness of my lonely room. It’s one forty-seven a.m. I squeeze my eyes tight. I still see red behind my lids, or at least I think I do. It reminds me of the blinking red camera light and I want to throw it across the room. I roll over, kicking my legs in an effort to keep the blankets from tangling around my legs. I lie there for a good while before I realize I’m staring at the wall. Have I even blinked? I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling again. I’ll never fall asleep like this. I need to get up and find something else to think about.
I toss the blanket aside, giving up on the idea of sleep for the third night in a row since I’ve been home. Slipping into an oversized sweatshirt, it swallows my thinning frame. My appetite has yet to return. I pull on warm fuzzy socks and leave my bedroom without a plan.
I find myself in the bathroom down the hall, staring at my reflection in the mirror above the pedestal sink. How did I end up in here? I don’t even remember turning on the light. Leaning forward, I peer at the skin under my eyes. A purplish hue reveals my lack of sleep. Healing bruises reflect an ugly yellowish-green tint. I pucker my lips and inspect the sunken look of my cheeks. I’ve never thought of myself as pretty or not pretty. Just average. Now, what I see staring back makes the hair on my arms prickle. This woman disgusts me. I want to scream and imagine my fist smashing through the center of the mirror, through the center of her face. That’s crazy. Instead, I step back, take a deep breath, then flip her off before turning away. With a flick of the light switch, I walk out of the bathroom.
Agitated, I wander the apartment, picking up every knick-knack and examining it thoroughly for its purpose. I don’t have a lot of useless things, but even the ones I do strike me as so trivial. I hold up a thin vase that sits on an inset bookshelf in the living room. It’s empty. Why? It’s meant to hold flowers. Yet, here it sits, pointless and meaningless in my care. I imagine throwing it across the room and watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. Such a satisfying image. I set it down slowly and walk away.