Chapter Two – Prudence
I hop from foot to foot feeling uncomfortable as I wait outside Mr. Banker’s office for yet another Monday morning therapist appointment. I know I should be more comfortable in this building now, it’s been my home for almost five years, but I don’t think I’ll ever feel fully at home here. It’ll never really be my family, I guess that’s something I’ll never have, and I’m always aware of that. I’m simply Prudence Evans, the girl that no one will ever want.
I was brought into this strange new world of the child help center on my thirteenth birthday after my father lost his temper so badly that I ended up in the hospital. Of course, being here is better than that, I wouldn’t ever want to put myself in the firing line of danger again, but it still isn’t home.
I haven’t had a home since my mother died when I was eight years old. She got Cancer, which of course I didn’t fully understand at the time. I just knew that she wasn’t well and she was in the hospital a lot, but it didn’t register that she was going to be gone forever. I don’t think I even really got it when my dad told me that she was going to Heaven and I wouldn’t see her again. That’s too much for any young child to drink in… but at the time I was glad that I had him. My mother might have been gone, but I wasn’t alone because I had my dad in my life. I felt like I was lucky.
Before he started drinking, he was the best dad in the world, but I suppose the grief got too much for him. He couldn’t handle it so he turned to booze. The alcohol changed him completely, he became a shell of his former self. He could no longer parent me, or even be a human. He couldn’t keep his temper in check, and what started off as yelling quickly became physical abuse.
I knew it was wrong, right away I could tell that him hitting me wasn’t great. That’s why I spent so much time hiding it from the odd friend I had at school, the teachers, any other adults that I came into contact with. I probably should’ve told someone sooner, to protect myself, but I was so scared of being alone. Since Dad was all I had, I didn’t know there was another way to live.
Until four days before my thirteenth birthday when he punched me so hard my nose broke and he had no choice but to take me to the hospital. The pain was agonizing, I haven’t ever felt anything like it. I honestly thought that I was going to die. I thought my own dad had killed me…
And then, to make it a million times worse, the life that I’d always known was ripped away from me and I was brought here. To the child help center, where I have a warm bed, food in my stomach at every single meal, safe adults to talk to all the time. It’s so much better, but I’m still not comfortable. I’m still hyper aware that I’m still very much on my own.
These therapy sessions are useful in a way, they’ve helped me to get over some of my issues and now I understand myself and my life so much better, but I still don’t really like them. I guess I’ve spent a long old time fearing men after the way that my father treated me, and being alone in a one on one session with Mr. Banker is hard. He’s a very nice man and always incredibly gentle in his treatment towards me, he’s probably the person that I get on best within this whole place and I include the other children in that, but still I get nervous before I see him.
My heart thumps painfully in my chest, I’m a little shaky in my seat, my brain flies at a million miles an hour. I do wish I had some friends here to talk to but I’ve always kept myself isolated from everyone else. I guess some of the other kids tried to make friends with me in the beginning, but I was so freaked out about the uprooting of my life that I didn’t want to speak with anyone. I never had many friends anyway, only one or two in school, so it didn’t feel like that much of an issue.
Actually, the only time I’m really worried about it is now, and that’s because my eighteenth birthday is looming. Officially I’ll be an adult then, I’ll be allowed to go out into the world on my own. Sometimes I really want that, I cannot wait to escape this madness, but other times the idea of leaving my safety blanket and going out into something new and scary terrifies the living crap out of me. I know that I’ve been sheltered from a lot of real life and I don’t know how I’ll take it when I’m completely flooded by it all. Maybe it’ll be exciting, but maybe it’ll be horrifying. I don’t know.
Finally, after what feels like forever, the door to Mr. Banker’s office swings open, which drags me kicking and screaming from my internal panicked thoughts, and reminds me why I’m here.
“Hey there, Pru.” I love the way he always calls me by my little nickname that he created for me when I first arrived here. He doesn’t do that with any of the other kids as far as I’m aware which makes me feel special. “How are you today? Are you ready to come in and talk to me?”
No, my brain screams. I don’t want to go anywhere with you! I want to be safe.
But I don’t vocalize any of those thoughts because I know that’s just silly, irrational fears. Mr. Banker is a good man. He won’t ever hurt me. He hasn’t hurt me in five years so he won’t now.
“Yes.” I stand up and brush my skirt down. “I’m ready to come in.”
Mr. Banker rubs a hand through his dark hair and he gives me a crinkly eyed smile. I do enjoy his green, warm eyes, they’re so inviting and it makes talking so much easier. As he extends an arm into his room his muscles bulge under his suit jacket. I never noticed it when I was only young, but the older I get the more I can see that he’s a very handsome man. He must have women throwing themselves at him all the damn time. I wish I could ask him, to learn more about him, but this isn’t a two-way street. Our chats are always all about me, it’s my safe space to talk about my emotions.
I take my usual seat, tucking my knee length, pleated skirt underneath my butt as I sit. My high neck vest covers me right up and I have a small shrug on that covers the parts of my arms that would have been on show. I see a lot of fashion magazines with models dressed in skimpy, revealing clothes, but I don’t know how that would ever suit me. I don’t know what my body is really like, I haven’t experienced enough of the real world to know. Maybe when I’m out of here, I’ll learn.
“So, Pru, how have things been? I know it’s only been a few days since I last saw you, but it feels like forever, doesn’t it?” He smiles at me, warming my heart, but at the moment the nerves are still circling through me. “What’s been going on? Did anything happen over the weekend?”
“N… no,” I stammer as a heat fills my cheeks. I know I’ll get into the swing of talking eventually, but it takes me a little while. “Nothing happened, it was boring. I just read.”
“Did you read anything nice? Are you still reading Little Women?”
This is how it always is with Mr. Banker. He’s so interested in everything I say. It’s nice to have someone who likes to listen and remembers everything I say, but sometimes it reminds me of how boring I really am. I don’t do anything, I just keep myself to myself.
“No, I finished that one.” I’m okay when I’m talking about stuff that I like, it brings out a slightly more confident version of myself. I think that’s why we always start with discussing literature. It eases me in. “I started reading Wuthering Heights again though on Saturday.”
He smiles to himself and I know what he’s thinking. He’s probably wondering why I’m so obsessed with novels with a lot of romance in them when it’s something I don’t have any experience in, but for me that’s the reason. I want to know everything about it, I want some knowledge. I even found an erotic romance once that I started to read to give me some more information on that area, but I found it too scary. I had to stop. I still have the book, but I don’t know when I’ll get to it.
“I see, well that’s wonderful news. I know how much you love that one. Are you enjoying it again?” He peers intensely at me, waiting for my response. “Or are you bored now?”
“No, no, I like it.” I nod slowly. “It’s always amazing. That’s why I always read it.”
Mr. Banker pauses for a moment and he taps the pen on the edge of his clipboard while he thinks. I don’t think he ever bothers to write notes about me anymore, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t done in a very long time. I think it’s all for show now. He just wants to remain the professional at all times.
“You can talk about the real stuff if you want to,” I tell him while kicking my feet idly along the floor. I can’t look at Mr. Banker as I say these words because it makes me so uncomfortable, but we can’t just do the small talk thing. It’s a waste of time if we do. “I don’t mind.”
“What do you want to talk about?” he asks me curiously. “Is there anything specific that’s troubling you? Do you want to talk about the past again, or are you more concerned with the future right now? I’m here for you so I’m happy to talk about whatever you want.”
I snap my eyes up at him in shock, usually he’s very controlling of the direction he wants the talk to go in which is fine by me. I think I need that. I need someone to push me when it gets really hard or I’ll just go quiet. I wonder why he’s doing this for me now?
Maybe it’s because I’m leaving soon and he’s giving me a little bit of a chance to blossom. It’s terrifying to be in the driver’s seat, I don’t know what to do with the control. Do I want to hash over things with my father and his violence again before I’m set free and I can’t talk about it again? Do I want to talk about how scared I am that he’ll be out of prison eventually and I might have to face him, or do I want to talk about what’s coming next?
“I… I don’t know,” I confess as I wring my fingers together. “I don’t know what I want to talk about really, there’s just so much.” Mr. Banker doesn’t pressure me, he sits silently while he waits for me to work things out myself. I sift through my brain, trying to work out what’s troubling me right now. There are so many things, so many worries, so much trouble, but there is one thing that’s worse. “I guess I’d like to discuss the future and how I’m going to deal with that.”