“You’re doing it again.” I wipe the tears off of my face and blow my nose with some tissues – funny how they’re ready and waiting by my bed.
Sloan lets out a deep sigh and leans back in her chair. Her expression is inscrutable, as though not even she knows what she is feeling, or thinking, or wanting to say. Finally though, she nods slightly to herself and opens her mouth. “I don’t think you’re broken. I don’t mean to ‘psychoanalyze’ you, well…” she laughs without humor, “at least, not out loud, but I do think there are some cracks to be filled in. You’ve been through so much in the last few months, and I’m incredibly impressed all you have are cracks. You should be broken, but you’re not. Cracks can be mended and believe it or not, you have a lot of people who want to help you mend.”
I swallow really hard. I don’t want to cry any more. I don’t know what I want, except for Caleb. I think I would gladly go back to the mansion, if it meant I could be with Caleb again. I would live it, all over again. I know it isn’t healthy and I worry that maybe, just maybe, Sloan and Reed are right. I’m fucked in the head and nothing I feel is real.
“You don’t know what you want, Livvie, and what you think you want, you’ve been brainwashed into wanting.”
Even Caleb said my love isn’t real, but…I feel it. I feel my love for him more strongly and deeply than anything I have ever felt in my life. I think if it turns out they’re right and I am wrong…that will break me. Survival…it’s the most important thing.
***
It’s been an okay morning, I guess. I didn’t care for talking with Sloan, but playing checkers with her was slightly amusing. I could tell she was still analyzing me as we played, asking loaded questions beneath the guise of conversation, but for the most part we just talked about life outside the walls of the hospital. I missed a lot of things over the summer.
For starters, I missed graduation. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I suppose I don’t really care, but it’s strange not to. It had seemed so important four months ago. I guess I’m still a graduate. My grades were exemplary before I left.
Left, that’s funny.
Nicole started college. She’s called the hospital a few times and we’ve chatted a little – not about anything important. I avoid that. She’s offered to leave school for a few weeks and visit me, but I asked her not to bother. I’m fine and I have a lot of stuff going on anyway. It was shockingly easy to get her to agree not to come. Life goes on. Even if yours is over.
Sloan has left the building, but she says she’ll be back later today. As if I’d asked or even wanted her here; the woman is daft. I’ll take: Answers to questions no one has asked, for $100, Alex. Still, I wish I had something to do besides lie in bed and watch TV. I’ve raided the library, but it’s all so unimpressive.
Reed is supposed to come interview (more like interrogate) me soon and I can’t help but feel a little excited about seeing him and talking to him. When he gets angry with me I can almost see Caleb in his brown eyes. It’s silly, but I almost live for those little glimpses.
I’m not sore anymore, haven’t been in days. My bruises are gone and my scrapes are scabbed over. When they heal, it will be as if all evidence of my time with Caleb has been erased. I wrap my arms around my stomach and squeeze until the thought passes. If you had told me a month ago, I’d be sad to have unmarked skin, I’d have called you stupid and smacked you around for good measure. But here I am: a girl without a mark, and without a reason to keep moving forward.
“That’s not true, Pet. You have every reason,” Caleb’s specter whispers in my ear. I don’t know if hearing his voice in my head makes me crazy, but I don’t care either way. It’s what I have left after the scrapes heal. I can’t give him up. Besides, I know the voice isn’t real, no matter how much I wish it were.
I like to play his voice in my head at night, when the hospital is quieter and I can concentrate on making him as real as I can. I spread my legs and finger myself to the memory of his mouth sucking on my tits and his fingers flicking back and forth over my clit. If I try really, really hard, I can hear him, feel him, even fabricate the smell of him – but I can never get him to kiss me. I usually cry after I come. That’s exactly the kind of thing I don’t tell Sloan. I’m fairly certain she’d have a field day with that information.