Quinn

 

It’s been three days since I came home from the hospital, and I see things differently now. I know it won’t last, and that I’ll grow accustomed to everyday necessities like water, food, and simple comfort once more. But right now, I’m just taking each day at one at a time, trying to overcome the turmoil that I’m feeling inside.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic to be home and to be with Colt. This is exactly where I want to be, but yet it’s all changed. I’ve changed. I don’t know how to be the way I was before, though I know she’s somewhere inside me. She peeks out from time to time, but I’m having a tough time connecting with her.

I also see the way they watch me when they think I’m not looking. Everyone’s either waiting for me to break down, or expecting me to clue them in on how to act around me. Even Colt is prone to that. He’s more careful around me, and I can’t blame him. I sleep in his bed every night, comforted by his presence when the nightmares come. But that’s where the affection ends. As much as I want him to touch me, I’m incredibly self-conscious of the healing wounds on my body. I will never look the same, and I can’t bring myself to look at myself in the mirror when I bathe. I don’t want to see what will be my new normal.

Gabe’s supposed to be changing my bandages since he’s a paramedic and knows what he’s doing, but I refuse to let him tend to me. I take the bandages off and clean the wounds, looking at them as little as possible, and when I’m done gritting my teeth and doing what needs to be done, I cover them up again and go on with the day.

I lift the glass and take a sip of lemonade while I stare aimlessly at the pool. I’m sitting on the patio while the others are at work. It’s the first day I’ve managed to talk Colt into going back. I think the only reason he’d given in is because Gabe has the day off. Someone’s home to babysit me.

It’s sad that my life has come to this, but I can’t complain. I’m alive. This feeling of being studied under a microscope won’t last forever. I just need to find a way to move on with my life, but right now, my body is still healing. I can’t go back to work until I can move and lift my arms without feeling pain from my injuries. I’m hoping next week I might be able to go back part-time and work my way up.

Shane eventually creeps into my mind as he usually does, and I’m beginning to realize that it was no accident that he’d chosen me. I reminded him of the woman in Maine, and he’d set his sights on me before I’d probably ever laid eyes on him behind the bar. That knowledge eases the part of me that’s been feeling guilty for so long over allowing him into my life. I thought I’d done this on my own, but I hadn’t. Not that it absolves me from all my bad decision making, but it does help knowing that this mess wasn’t all of my own creation.

I might have come to terms with how this all happened, but he still haunts me when I sleep. He haunts me with every move I make. The pain brings to surface the memory of him slashing at my skin. When I’m thirsty, I think of how he’d drank a bottle of water in front of me that first night, warning me that it was the closest I’d ever come to water again. He was eager to inflict any kind of mental torture that he could. The worst were his taunts after he’d cut up my chest. He’d laughed and told me that if he allowed me to survive, Colt would never want me again. That no one would. I know they’re just words. Colt would never let something like scars come between us. I know that, but I still can’t shake off the dread I feel every time I think about undressing in front of him.

I need help.

I know that.

That’s why I’m sitting out by the pool while Gabe is somewhere inside the house, frustrated that I’m not opening up to him. I need to pull myself together and make the call. It’s just hard setting up an appointment to speak to a total stranger about the most traumatic thing that’s ever happened to me. I certainly don’t want to relive it by talking about it, but I also know that I don’t think I can move on without outside help. It’s just too much for me to wrap my head around at this point. I don’t think anyone could understand what I’m going through unless they’ve been kidnapped by a complete psycho.

Just do it, I tell myself.

If I want to move on, this is the first step.

I push off the chair and stand. It’s a gorgeous day out, but I don’t really see it. Not anymore. But I will soon, I hope.

When I reach my bedroom, I step inside and close the door for privacy. The card is still sitting on the dresser, and I pick it up along with my phone and walk to the bed, sitting down. I don’t give myself time to second guess my decision, and I call the number. Dr. Barush must’ve been expecting my call, because the receptionist recognizes my name immediately. She tells me there’s an opening at five, and I go ahead and reserve the appointment.

Okay, that wasn’t so bad.

Next, I text Colt. I have an appointment at five.

I know he can’t keep his phone on him during his shift, but I do know he checks it on and off. When he sees that I have the appointment set—the one he’d began urging me to make yesterday—he’ll make certain he’s home in time.

Oddly enough, I feel a little better, and I set the phone down on the bed. I’m not the old Quinn who felt she could take on the world on her own. Sometimes, a little help is needed, and I’m ready to allow others to help me. That craving for independence is still within me, and I have every intention of getting back on my feet and doing everything I used to.

I will get there. And I now know that it’s okay to get a little help along the way.