CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LAURA

 “GREAT TO SEE you, Laura.”

I sit as Rose continues to smile at me. The closeness of our chairs doesn’t help my anxiety that is already rising. The table that normally separates us is gone; our knees nearly touching. Even after most of the day spent in the garden doing both yoga and meditation, I still can’t relax.

“I thought we would try something different.” Rose explains the weird set up. Different isn’t something I like, in fact any changes I don’t like.

“Okay,” I find myself saying. Rose takes my word as permission to take my hands.

“Close your eyes.” I do easily. There is nothing more uncomfortable than staring into the eyes of your counselor. The tapping of Rose’s fingers along my hand shifts my attention to them and her warm ones.

“I want you to focus on my tapping.” I nod, letting her know that I am. Her tapping is done in threes, a brief pause and then she moves from my left hand to my right, then both. There is a pattern, which I like. I also like how she does it three times. Threes are good.

“Now, I want you to think back to our last session. Not about panicking…” My slick hands have given away my growing alarm. “…I want you to think about entering the room. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” I gulp out as I take a deep breath.

“Good. Tell me what you thought about?” Tap tap tap, Rose continues as I try to remember.

“Anxious. Unsure, I suppose.”

“When you sat down, what did you feel then?” Rose asks.

“Irritated would be a good description,” I answer easily still focusing on the touch of Rose’s fingers.

“Good Laura. You are doing great. Why did you get irritated?”

“Because it was different.” The tapping stops, I open my eyes, and shift back into my seat.

“Different how?”

I want to ask why she has stopped the tapping, it was calming. My heartrate picks up. “You didn’t take control,” I answer, before taking the beaker of water from the small table on my left and pouring myself a drink.

“Control of the conversation?”

I drink deeply. I hold the cup, the cold soothing my burning hands. “Yes. It’s easier if you ask the questions.”

Rose takes a moment. The moment is uncomfortable. “Help me lift the table,” she says, surprising me. But I do help her and straight away I feel better. The table is back in its rightful place.

“What brought you here to us, Laura?” No amount of tables or distance could ease the pain of that question. 

“I had nothing left to live for. My sister was dead. So I ran…” I place the glass back on the table. “I ran and ended up here.”

“How did your sister die?”

My eyes and nose burn with that initial warning of tears. Tears that I push back down. “Suicide. I was the one who found her.” I don’t blink. Instead I count the lines that appear on Rose’s forehead as she gives me her deepest sympathies. “Thank you,” I respond mechanically, like I had a thousand times before.

“How long ago did she die?” My face burns once again at the question.

“How long have I been here?”

Surprise lights up Rose’s face. “Three weeks.”

“She died three weeks and three days ago. I came here the day of her funeral.”

“Have you told anyone about her death?”

I wasn’t close to anyone here. Who would I tell? Who would care? But now I remember I did. I told Craig.  “No. Just you.”

Rose nods as she scribbles in her notepad. I supress a smile. I bet she writes stuff that isn’t even relevant to our session. I think a lot of counselors want to look like they care as they take notes. But really, when the hour is up, they forget about us and move onto the next patient, until lunchtime arrives and they gossip, eat, do whatever they have to do. No thoughts of all the messed-up people invade their minds. They are right to do so; no one could carry everyone’s burdens.  But the notepad isn’t necessary.

In our next session I am sure I will have to re-jog her memory of what we spoke about in this session. Just like I always did with Tracey.

“Does anyone know you are here?”

I look away from Rose. The question burns into me. “No.”

“Do you want me to contact anyone?” Tears fall with my permission. No one cares. No one is looking for me. The only person who cares about me is buried in the ground.

“No.” The salty liquid flows across my lips and into my mouth. I sniffle, pushing back down the emotion.

“Do you have family, Laura?” My heart pounds, my fingers instantly go to my chest. It isn’t like the normal pounding I get when my heart races, this is different. It hit my chest hard twice. My hands flutter to my throat as I try to breathe. There is no air in the room, my ears ring as I hit the ground.

The cold cement floor seeps into my knees. It rattles my teeth and my body shakes. My mother stands before me, with a steel bucket in her hands.

“Reject the devil,” My father speaks again, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I look up through my hair. He rubs his forehead and shakes his head in disappointment.

“I’m not possessed,” I tell him again. My mother doesn’t pause; I have a moment to turn away as she throws the bucket of ice-cold water over me. I squeal from the cold. A shiver rocks my body. I tug on my bound hands. My breathing coming out in puffs, my lungs constricting painfully. I force myself to look up at my father again.

 

Light has me looking away. “Laura,” The light burns my eyes. “Laura.”

The voice I recognize.

I lie in the hospital bed again; Rose moves the small torch away as I slowly open my eyes and take in my surroundings. I wasn’t in the cellar. The beep of my erratic heart rate has the nurse fidgeting with the machine.

“You’re safe,” Rose speaks. I look away. I want to tell her safety is an illusion, but I focus on calming myself before my heart comes out of my chest. I swallow the lie and repeat it to myself. I am safe. I am safe.

I don’t have to stay overnight in the hospital since they know its panic attacks I’m having. As I sign out again, I feel embarrassed as I hand over the clipboard to Eleanor. “Thanks.” I mumble before I make my way back to my room.

I’m grateful when I arrive to an empty room. A room with Michelle or even worse, Michelle, Maria and Ava, isn’t something I want to face right now.

Gathering fresh clothes and some toiletries, I make my way to the shower rooms. Once again, I get lucky. No one is around. The large room is always cold but one nice thing about this place is the constant stream of hot water. Closing my eyes, I melt under the spray and just stay like that for a while.

“Blake.” My eyes snap open at the sound of Minnie calling Blake. “Blake.” I can’t see her, but I switch off my water and wrap the towel around myself just as Minnie appears.

“I can’t find Blake. Will you help me?” She’s wrenching her hands together, while her shoulders slump in her sweater, the stress is visible in how her eyes shoot around the place.

I don’t want to. I just want to shower. I don’t say any of that of course, instead I start to look for Blake.