2—BELIEVE ME
“What feels good to you?”
I roll onto my side and rest my head on my hand. Max lies on his stomach. Across from us, the window is open, letting in the summer heat. Bright sunlight pours into the bedroom. It trails across the floor, up onto the bed and slants across Max’s back. I trail my fingers across his tan skin before I lean close.
What feels good to me? I answer by kissing him hard on the mouth. Good. Max responds, his hands curving around my face, holding me in place as he sits up.
He moves above me, his lips never leaving mine. His body lowers and we’re skin to skin. He breathes through his nose and I wrap myself around him.
The hands that I love trace the outline of my body. His breath is warm against my skin, kissing my jaw and moving further down.
And then he’s ripped from my embrace. He reaches back for me. Right before he disappears, I see the look of fear in his eyes. It’s not for himself. That fear is for me.
“Get out of my head,” I moan. “Get out, get out, get out!”
I forcefully press my palms against my eyes forcefully until spots form. I keep pressing, hoping the image of Max will dissolve.
How long can a memory replay before your mind short circuits? I can feel my mind trying to keep up with all my Max memories. It works faster and faster. Starts to overheat. And then boom. It explodes.
Right now, it doesn’t seem like such a bad option. I want a blissful moment where I can just… be.
No memories.
No words.
No pain.
Silence.
I stand up from my bed and pace. A frustrated groan escapes me. I’m tired of being stuck in this place. This small room. I stare at the four, cream colored walls that surround me. They’re blank. No pictures of family, no posters. Nothing. Other than the television, the only thing I have for entertainment is the big, square window.
I’m tired of it all.
It’s like being trapped in a box. And every day that I’m trapped, the sides close in just a little bit more.
Most days, I can handle this place. But now that Lachlan is staying away, I’m afraid. He was my only source of support.
Mary knocks on my door. Nine a.m. sharp. I expect to see her usual somber face, but today she looks at me with a light in her eyes. “Good. You’re up.” She hands me morning pills. “You’re seeing a new doctor today,” she says.
I frown as I swallow them all. “Why?”
I think Dr. Woods is full of shit. He thinks I’m a whackjob. We have a silent understanding; he prescribes me medicine, and I pretend to listen to his advice.
“Why? I don’t know why you’re seeing someone new.” She nudges her head toward the hall and I can’t tell if she’s lying to me. “Are you ready?”
No, I’m not ready. I hate change and I don’t want to start all over again with a new doctor.
“Has Woods given up on me?”
“Naomi…” She sighs and looks away. “I’ve already told you I don’t know why you’re seeing someone new.”
“Mary, if you’re going to lie to me make sure your delivery is right. Make me believe it.”
She gives me a blank look, but one corner of her mouth pulls up. Just a little. “Just come on, will you? You’re going to be late,” she says.
“So… this new doctor. Does it have a name?” I ask as we walk down the hall.
“It’s a She not an It. And her name is Dr. Rutledge. She’s new here and excited to meet you.”
I toy with the ties of my gray sweatshirt, processing this new information. “Will I be the first to suck the hope out of her?”
“No, you’re not the first.” Mary looks over at me, a warning in her eyes. “She’s very nice.”
Being nice means nothing here. I give her nine months before she’s either handing me off to another doctor, or she’s packing up her pretty diplomas and hightailing it out of here.
We stop in front of a closed door. I stare at the bronze nameplate. In black letters is the name Genevieve Rutledge, M.D.
She will be just one more person that will judge me and I’m not ready for that.
“Are you going in?” Mary asks.
I don’t want to answer all the stupid questions. I don’t want to deal with her gaze quietly assessing me.
“Naomi?”
“Yeah. I’m going, I’m going.” I say the words but my legs refuse to move. My hands stay rooted at my sides, like weights are attached to them.
Mary loses her patience. She knocks loudly on the door before she walks away. I watch her, and for the first time, I wish I could follow.
“Come in,” a voice calls out. She sounds happy. Rutledge probably has it all together. If I don’t crush her hopes, someone else in this place will.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, I slowly open the door. Her office throws me off. Dr. Woods’ office felt designed to intimidate. Every time I walked in, I swear I had to walk miles before I reached his desk. It felt like a walk of shame.
But this office is warm. The tan walls are decorated with her diplomas. No shocker there. But there are touches of femininity. Plants near the window, a decorative rug spread out across the floor. Even a candle is lit on her desk. For a second it makes me forget where I am. The moment the small brunette behind the desk stands, I remember.
First impression of Dr. Rutledge? In her early thirties. Pretty face. She smiles, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. She’s way too happy to be here.
“Hello, Naomi. I’m Dr. Rutledge.” She holds her hand out to me.
I look at it like it’s poison. Cautiously, I reach out. My hand is barely in hers before I snatch it back.
She doesn’t blink. “Please, have a seat.”
I sit. My knees bounce up and down as I look everywhere but at her. I can feel her eyes on me. I glance back at her diplomas. Her full name, Genevieve Marie Rutledge is printed in the middle of each certificate.
I picture her being the youngest of a large family. Four or five siblings. Her parents are hard working. And they were just so proud when she graduated medical school. They looked on as she received her diploma with glassy eyes and thought, “She’s going to change the world!”
Her chair squeaks lightly as she sits down. She flips through a manila folder and plucks a pen from her immaculate desk. Papers are organized. A laptop faces her. Everything has a place.
She threads her fingers together and flashes me her million dollar smile. “How are you, Naomi?”
It would be so easy to judge her if she did something to make me suspicious. Dr. Woods always wore a white lab coat. Never a wrinkle, and always buttoned. It was so formal and stiff that it instantly put a wall between us. He was the doctor and I was the f*cked up patient. But Dr. Rutledge doesn’t wear a white lab coat. She’s dressed in navy blue slacks and a cream colored sweater. I can smell her perfume. It smells good. Something I would spritz on my wrist if I weren’t in a loony bin.
“I’m okay.”
She smiles again. It’s starting to make me nervous. Dr. Woods never smiled this much.
“How did you sleep?” she asks.
“Okay.”
Her happy demeanor remains as she asks me a question that no one’s ever bothered to ask me.
“Why do you think you’re here?”
“What?”
“Why do you think you’re here?” she repeats.
My gaze shoots to the ground. The silence becomes awkward. “I don’t know,” I finally say.
She nods and writes on the paper in front of her.
“Have you talked to anyone here?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
When I first arrived at Fairfax, Dr. Woods tried to get me to open up. But I didn’t trust him. His approach was clinical and his voice was void of emotion.
I tell Dr. Rutledge the truth. “I didn’t trust him.”
Both eyebrows lift. “Why is that?”
I shrug. “Because he doesn’t care what happens to me.”
This is the first time I’ve ever said that out loud. It feels good. Dr. Rutledge doesn’t try to change my mind.
She continues to write on her notepad. “Do you think he won’t believe you?”
I smile knowingly and respond quickly. “No, I know he won’t believe me.”
“Does anyone support you?”
I used to have one person on my side that made all the struggles bearable, but Lachlan has stopped believing in me. I wonder how much time I have before I stop believing in myself.
“No one does,” I reply, my voice threatening to give out on me.
“How does that make you feel?”
“How would anyone feel knowing that no one is on their side?” I counter. “It feels like shit.”
She nods and smiles, seeming perfectly fine with my short but honest answers. “Understandable. If it were me, I’d be angry too.”
I look at her from beneath my lashes, trying to decide if she’s buttering me up, or if she’s being truthful. I see nothing but honesty in her expression. And then the tears start to pool in my eyes. I shrug and keep my gaze on the ground. My vision starts to turn blurry and I’m seconds away from crying.
Silly. Stupid. Childish. I can call it whatever I like but I can’t keep the tears from forming. I answer her because it beats sobbing like a headcase. “I’m not angry. I’m just… beat down.”
“Why?”
“I know what happened is the truth,” I say. “But it doesn’t make sense. Even to me. And if I’m confused, how can I expect everyone else to believe me? I just—” Abruptly, I close my mouth.
Stop right there, I tell myself.
I’m getting carried away.
Dr. Rutledge doesn’t push me. “Naomi, I’ve read your files.” She looks me in the eyes and says slowly, “I just want to help you.”
I’ve never seen what’s inside “the file” but I imagine it’s a whole clusterf*ck of lies.
“That’s not who I am.”
Dr. Rutledge tilts her head to the side. “What isn’t?”
“What’s written here.” I tap the manila folder sitting on her desk. “That’s not me. That is someone else’s take on what happened. Not mine.”
“Tell me your story then.”
“You’re just going to judge,” I say.
“Not if you give me a chance.”
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Call me crazy, but maybe I’m reluctant to open up about my life to a complete stranger.”
“I’m not here to judge you,” she says. “I just want you to tell me what you know. Tell me what brought you here so I can get you back into the world.”
Overly perky or not, there’s something soothing about this woman. Something inviting. Like I can tell my darkest, most f*cked up secret and she’ll accept it without blinking an eye.
In opening my mouth, I’m placing my trust in her. Trust that she’ll accept my words and believe that what I’m telling her is my life. She acts as if her request is the simplest thing in the world. To me it’s like she’s asking me to cut a vein open and bleed out for her.
“The Naomi I know would have never just given up so quickly. She would have fought to stay in the present.”
Damn you, Lachlan Halstead.
I can just see him sitting next to me with his honest eyes. I could always see everything in his eyes. His frustration, laughter, happiness, anger. He never hid anything. It was the one thing that always drew me to him. Right now, it’s killing me though. I see his face and I hear his words when I just want to ignore them.
She looks down at her papers. “Tell me about Max and Lana.”
I wish the sound of their names didn’t affect me. In a perfect world, their names would just roll off my shoulders and I would calmly tell Dr. Rutledge that I’d never heard of them. She would look at me dubiously and I would tell her that I had no idea who those people were. She must have the wrong file.
But the world is far from perfect.
The reality is the minute I hear their names, the air slowly leaves my lungs. My heart pounds, until it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
“No,” I say harshly. “No. I can’t.”
Dr. Rutledge lifts a brow. “Why not?”
“Because.” I look down at my sweats and pick at invisible lint.
Her office has been quiet the entire time I’ve been here. But a static noise reaches my ears. It’s loud and makes me shriek. It sounds like a radio not quite in tune. And then I hear a voice behind me.
“Naomi.” The hairs on my arm rise. “No one will believe you.” The voice becomes louder, powerful, darker.
Paranoia makes me turn in my seat. Nothing is there, at least in the physical sense. But I feel something. The presence is so ominous it feels like it’s only a matter of seconds until the bowels of hell reach up and swallow me whole.
I remember the girl I saw in the hallway. Her eyes flash through my mind. “How the hell am I still here?”
I don’t want to get to that point. I know I’m close. Darkness is ready to pull me under.
“Naomi? Are you okay?”
I look up at Dr. Rutledge, but I hear Lachlan’s voice.
“The Naomi I know would have never just given up so quickly. She would have fought to stay in the present.”
And then Max’s.
“If you love me then don’t give up.”
Their words mesh together. Their voices become one. And it becomes a small piece of hope for me.
I give her a blunt nod. My body is shaking.
“I’ll tell you.”
She sits there calmly, waiting for me to tell my story. But before I say a word, I hold her gaze. Pay attention, I say with my eyes. Listen closely. Hang onto every word. But most of all, please believe me.