9—ROOM 62
“Did you get any sleep?”
I glance at Mary. “I got some.”
She tilts her head, a sympathetic look on her face and I can tell that she knows I’m lying.
We’re close to Dr. Rutledge’s door when a nurse stops in front of Mary and pulls her away. I’ve seen this nurse around. She’s the same age as Mary, but she has a permanent frown on her face and wears scrubs in dark, solid colors to match her rigid personality.
My eyes narrow and I watch the nurse’s lips move rapidly. I can only make out bits and pieces but I watch her form the words, ‘suggests’ and ‘group therapy’.
It suddenly becomes hard for me to breathe.
Group therapy.
No way. No how. I’d rather have a lobotomy than sit in a circle and talk about all my problems.
Mary looks at me over her shoulder. You know it’s going to be bad when your nurse, the sane one, doesn’t look happy. I should’ve run from that look alone.
The uptight nurse walks away, leaving Mary and me in an awkward silence.
“Change of plans,” Mary announces.
“What do you mean?”
She gently grabs my elbows and we do a quick U-turn. “Dr. Rutledge wants you to try group therapy.”
I stop walking and face her.
“I don’t want to do that.”
She tugs on my arm. “Why not?”
“I just… I just don’t want to do that.”
“Group therapy is very effective,” she reasons.
“Maybe for someone else, but not for me.”
Mary doesn’t answer.
“I saw the way you looked at me when the nurse told you! You think it’s a bad idea, too.”
“Give it a shot. You have nothing to lose.”
Translation: Your options are becoming really limited. If you don’t start improving there’s nothing left for you.
I move one foot in front of the other, feeling like I’m walking toward my demise.
“How long is it?” I ask.
“Just an hour.”
We arrive at Room 62. A large open room where most group therapy sessions are held. Blue plastic chairs are in the center of the room. It looks like a cozy little circle, like we’re in kindergarten, getting ready for show and tell.
I stand in the doorway and watch everyone. One girl stares down at the carpet, whispering to herself. Next to her is a middle-aged woman. I’ve seen her a few times during dinner or in the rec room. I call her Pretend Mommy. She wears red silk pajamas, with a fur coat wrapped around her, almost every day. She always has makeup on and smells like lilac. In her arms she rocks a plastic baby back and forth. She stops rocking the baby and sings it a lullaby as if it’s crying.
Clearly she’s crazy.
And clearly I’m on the fast track to following her down that road because her presence is comforting to me. She appears so motherly to me. If I close my eyes and forget, I’m no longer in a mental hospital. Pretend Mommy is a real mom, who’s holding a real baby.
On the opposite side of Pretend Mommy is a skinny girl named Amber. She is the resident anorexic. She sits there, staring at everyone with resentment.
I go to turn around. Mary grips my shoulders and says in a gentle voice, “You will be fine.”
“Can I have your confidence?” I say weakly.
She squeezes my shoulders. “Everything will be okay. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
Mary’s not going to leave until I sit down. I walk into the room. It feels like everyone is looking at me. They have their own problems and issues but I swear they’re whispering to each other, “Do you see her? Look how f*cked up she is. She’ll never be able to leave Fairfax.”
I choose the seat closest to the door. If shit gets weird, I’ll be ready to bolt. But that seat happens to be next to Amber. Her lip curls in disgust.
F*ck you too, skinny bitch.
I cross my arms. My legs bounce up and down. I wait for that nervous feeling in my gut to fade but it gets stronger the longer I sit there.
More people come into the room. The chairs are filled up.
A male doctor and two female nurses walk in. I watch them carefully as they talk quietly near the door.
Get this over with! I want to scream.
I bite down on my lip.
The doctor clears his throat and the room grows quiet. He introduces himself as Dr. Cooper before he goes into this whole spiel of group therapy and its benefits. He says that this is a safe place. An outlet for us to really open up and let everything out.
I stare at him doubtfully.
He continues to talk and that’s when I start to hear another voice.
It’s distant at first, but it comes closer and closer until the voice is right next to me, and I hear, “You’re a filthy bitch.”
My skin breaks out into hives. My fingers grip the blue plastic chair I’m sitting in as I look around the room frantically. Did they hear Lana’s dad? Could they see him behind me?
But everyone is staring at Dr. Cooper with boredom.
So I try to follow their lead, thinking it will distract me. I focus on the doctor’s lips. He’s talking about cognitive behavior… I think.
“I really want you all to focus on positive traits you possess.” He looks in my direction. “Amber. Would you like to say what positive traits you have?”
She stops picking at the dead ends of her hair and glares. “None. I have no positive traits.”
My fingers drum anxiously and I keep looking all around the room. The doctor clears his throat. “That’s not true. I’m positive”— See what he did there?— “that you do.”
I look behind my seat. I tilt my head to the side and glance at the chairs stacked in the corner. He could be hiding over there.
Amber looks at me. “What the f*ck is your problem?” she snaps.
“Now, Amber,” Dr. Cooper says. He stands up and walks over to us. Before he opens his mouth, he kneels down to look Amber in the eye. His bones pop loudly.
The sound echoes in my ears.
I know Dr. Cooper is talking. I see his mouth moving. But I hear no words.
Radio silence.
My eardrums start to ache.
The silence gets stronger and more powerful. I rub my ears, trying to ease the intense pressure. It feels like my head’s about to explode.
And that’s when I see him.
Lana’s dad peeks out behind Dr. Cooper. He’s kneeling down. Elbows resting on his thighs, in the exact same position as Dr. Cooper.
But he gives me a sadistic smile. That’s the same smile he makes before he attacks. My breath is stuck in my throat.
I react instantly.
I lean back in my chair. It tips over. I fall to the ground. I scramble away from him. I don’t stop moving until my back touches the wall. He stands up and makes his way toward me slowly. He’s dressed in a navy suit, white dress shirt and a navy, striped tie to match. He looks harmless, but it’s those cold eyes that stand out. They’re eyes that don’t feel. They reveal that he has no heart and never has.
“You’re a little bitch,” he says.
A choked sound escapes me. I squeeze my eyes and try to focus on my breathing. He’s closer. I can feel his steps vibrating the ground beneath me.
“Go away. Go away.” My voice becomes stronger. “Go away!”
He grabs onto my ankle and I kick him off. My hands curl around my head.
“Leave me alone,” I scream.
He keeps saying my name and grabbing at my ankles. I fight back but my muscles ache. I’m getting weaker and that makes him stronger. That makes his grip more painful.
Distantly I hear a feminine voice.
Dr. Rutledge.
“What happened?” she demands.
Someone answers but I can’t understand what they say. Everything has become muted.
“Naomi.”
I open my eyes. Her face is blurry. All I can make out is the outline of her body. But right next to her I see Lana’s dad.
I shove my head back. It slams into the wall painfully.
“Can you hear me?” Dr. Rutledge asks.
He doesn’t care that Dr. Rutledge is next to me. He keeps touching. He grips my jaw until it feels like it will snap in half.
“You’ve ruined everything,” he shouts. “Your f*cking life is mine!”
Dr. Rutledge says my name loudly this time. “Breathe,” she commands. “You need to breathe.”
I focus on her words and the pressure on my jaw lets off before his hands disappear altogether.
I open my eyes and it’s just Dr. Rutledge in front of me. Mary stands behind her with a panicked look.
“Take a deep breath,” Dr. Rutledge urges.
Everyone else in the room stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. I can’t really blame them.
“Get me out of here,” I pant. “Get me out of here!”
She holds her hand out and I latch onto her like a lifeline.
“Don’t make me come back here!” I plead.
Dr. Rutledge wraps an arm around my shoulder. Mary moves to my left, gently holding my forearm. We walk out of the room. My balance is off. My legs feel numb. I move carefully, like I’m walking on a tight rope.
“I’ll do anything but come back here,” I plead. I can still hear the pop of his bones. It makes my body twitch. I keep talking. “I’m trying to get better. I promise I am but I can’t stop seeing him. He’s everywhere I look!”
“Naomi, calm down,” Dr. Rutledge says soothingly. She hurries us down the hall. “Just focus on breathing right now.”
I’m still gasping for breath as we walk into her office. Mary closes the door behind us, giving us privacy.
And for once, the silence feels good. He isn’t here. I’m safe. I can breathe.
Tremors still rack my body as I sit down. My skin is clammy. The aftershocks of his attack were almost worse than the real thing. I still feel his grip on my legs, squeezing tighter and tighter until it feels like my bones will break.
“Naomi,” Dr. Rutledge says. “Keep taking deep breaths.”
I listen to her and make myself slowly breathe in and out.
In and out.
In and out.
I suck up all the air I can get and the pain slowly fades.
When I look up at Dr. Rutledge she nudges her head toward her desk. There’s a cup of water sitting there. I grab it and gulp it all down.
I cradle it between both hands. Her chair creaks as she leans close.
Please, don’t make this worse than it already is, I think to myself.
“Can you tell me what happened back in group therapy?”
“No.”
My grip tightens on the glass.
“Can or won’t?”
“Won’t,” I say, my voice hard.
And for the first time since I’ve met Dr. Rutledge, she doesn’t say a word. She just sits there patiently, spinning a paper clip on her desk.
“I saw Lana’s dad,” I finally admit.
His face flashes through my mind.
“Did he say anything?”
I nod. “He was screaming at me. He kept calling me a bitch. Told me that my life was his…” My voice breaks.
“You are safe here. You know that, right? And Lana’s safe too. Her dad can’t hurt her anymore.”
Lana’s name makes me sit up straight and I start to tremble. “How do you know that?”
Dr. Rutledge shifts in her chair. “I’ve spoken to her,” she admits.
“When?” My voice rises. “Where is she?”
She skips over my question like she never heard it.
“What happened to you today was just—”
“Where is she?” I interrupt.
“She’s in a safe place, that’s all I can tell you.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because you need to heal. You can’t fix her, Naomi, if you’re broken.”
Her words hit me hard. I’m supposed to be the pillar of strength for Lana and without that, who am I really?
I want to cry, but I hold myself together. One breakdown is enough for today.
“Everything you saw during group therapy was just your mind playing tricks on you.”
“He was there.” My voice shakes with conviction. “I saw him. I felt him grabbing me.”
“He wasn’t there,” she enunciates each word carefully.
I use the same tone. “He was.”
I know we can keep going back and forth. But what it all boils down to is Dr. Rutledge is the sane one.
Not me. I’m the one locked away.
It’s my word against hers and I know everyone will believe her.
“Why don’t you go lay down, okay?” she suggests slowly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning and we’ll pick up where we left off.”
I can barely think about right now let alone tomorrow.
So I nod and stand back up. “Okay.”
Dr. Rutledge opens the door for me. Mary steps forward and escorts me back to my room.
The rest of the night I’m in a complete daze.