Forever & More: The Friend Zone series (13 page)

“It’s completely safe for the baby. We use this medication to manage pain, promote sleep, and control nausea in pregnant women. No need to worry about that.” I trust him, so I allow him to do what he does best.

Twenty-six minutes later, I am completely alone. Wait, scratch that, I won’t be alone again for the next nine months. The thought of being pregnant and a mother frightens and excites me at the same time. How the hell am I going to be someone’s mother? I had no role model. No one to show me what to do and what not to do.

The mother I was given was a low-life piece of shit who used me as a punching bag when no one was looking. She made sure that I knew how much of a burden I was to her every single day of my life. I don’t remember a single hug, not one bedtime story, or kiss goodnight… nothing.

What am I going to do with a baby? How am I going to do this without Skye? I don’t know if I can do this without him by my side. What a mess I’ve made of everything. I slowly start to drift off to sleep.

“Daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”
I hear the whispered words as I rouse from one of the most peaceful slumbers I have ever had. Fingers running across guitar strings accompany the rest of the childhood song. A soft smile caresses my face, but I lie still. My eyes remain closed, scared to open them and ruin the moment.

The music stops and is replaced by quick shuffling movements. I open my eyes and catch the back of Skye’s head exiting my room. The tears start up again and I don’t even try to hold them back. I’m going to allow myself to let it out this one last time. To suck it up, accept responsibility for my actions, and to move forward. Come hell or high water, I’m going to find a better way of dealing with the loss of Skye better than I have dealt with Tom’s. I have to. It’s not about me anymore; my entire world is going to revolve around this sweet life inside of me.

I may not feel like I am worth fighting for, but this baby, this child is worth it all—all the tears and emotional pain it’s going to take to let go of my past. Even if I couldn’t feel the massive wave of emotions washing over me, I know without a doubt that this moment will forever change my life.

I feel refreshed, revived, and motivated to get my life back on track. No more pity parties, and I am going to do my best to have only positive thoughts. The path that I was on was self-destructive, I see that now. My attitude and emotions were so toxic and dark that they fogged up the air around me, causing those that I love to evacuate the space so that they didn’t suffocate. I drove them away and now I have to figure out a way to bring them back.

I don’t even know where to start. I look down at my flat stomach and imagine a round belly with a protruding belly button. The thought makes me chuckle. With bored exasperation, I let out a huff and scan the room. My eyes widen when I spot my journal sitting on the table next to my bed. How the hell did that get here?

There’s only one person that I could imagine bringing it here. Did he read it? Did he see all the blackness that’s lived in my heart for months now? The thought terrifies me; maybe that’s what chased him away. He’s seen that there was no point in trying to save what’s not savable, what’s not
worth
saving. Would he give up on me that easily? I wonder if this is why he’s chosen to believe that I would so easily decide to end my child’s life.

No, I can’t believe that he would give up on me that quickly. If I believed that for one second, then there would truly be no hope for me. All these unpleasant emotions are swirling around in my head, choking me with fear. I need to get them out, put them on paper so that one day I can look back on this day and smile, knowing I defeated my biggest enemy, me.

I grab the book and flip to the first piece of blank paper toward the back of the book. I look in the drawer and find what I’m looking for immediately. I grab the pen and furiously begin to scratch out my thoughts and feelings onto the blank canvas in the book.

There’s a knock on the door, startling me. I look up from my work and I’m not surprised to see Doctor Cox standing in the doorway.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

In an attempt to become a more pleasant person, I smile and nod. I gently set my journal next to me on the bed.

“How are you, Chloe?” she asks politely as she sits in the chair next to me.

“I’m here,” I reply. No sense on pretending. She’s here to help, right?

“What exactly does that mean?” she digs deeper for more information.

“It means, that I am here. Alive and well. I’m dealing.”

She shifts in the chair and pulls out a legal pad and pen. She rests the pad on the arm of the chair, putting the pen in position to start writing whatever information she plans on gathering from me today.

“Today we are just going to cover the basics, okay? I want us to start off slow. I’m here until you feel like you are done talking. I cleared the rest of my day so I could devote it to you. While we are in session, you are free to tell me anything in complete confidence. Do you know what that means?”

I nod letting her know I get what she’s saying.

She continues, “I do have to tell you that, because of the nature of your stay, if there is anything that you have done or that I am afraid you will do to yourself or the child, I will have to report it back to the judge and social services. So to clarify, the only thing I have to report back to them is if I feel like you purposefully harmed or will harm yourself or the fetus. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper. I’m beginning to get scared all over again. What if I say something that she doesn’t like and tries to take away my baby? I won’t let them! Tears stream from my eyes. I close them to regain my self-control. I need to hold it in and show them I’m stronger than anyone has given me credit for.

“What is it, Chloe?” The concern in her voice is heavy. This surprises me since I just automatically assumed she’s here because it’s her job. A way for her to afford the Coach bag I see her toting around, so that it will match her designer suit.

“I’m just scared.” My voice is shaken, a testament as to how terrified I truly am.

“Would you like to tell me what you’re scared of?”

“Losing my child is probably the biggest fear I have right now,” I respond.

“Can you clarify on the meaning of the losing your child part of your statement?” she asks, scratching the end of her pen against the paper.

I sit a little straighter trying to see what she’s scribing in ink, but it’s no use. I can’t see what she’s written and that makes me nervous. Everything about this woman makes me uneasy. She’s so put together, everything from the iron creases in her skirt to each piece of hair that is perfectly in place.

“I don’t want the state to take my baby,” I reply. My eyes burn at the thought of the best part of me being ripped from my arms moments after I bring her into this world. I’ve already lost her father, it would kill me to lose her, too.

She writes something down on her pad before responding. “I can understand that.” Doctor Cox looks up at me and sets the pen down. “So, is there anything in particular you would like to discuss today? Anything that you feel needs to take precedence over anything else?”

I don’t know where to start so I shake my head no. Without a doubt, I know that my child should be first and foremost and she is, but I wouldn’t even know how to start that conversation. I decide to let her take the lead of the conversation and see where it goes.

“I know about your attack and the treatments used to get you well. Can you tell me why you refused counseling then?”

I think about her question for a moment before I answer honestly. “I didn’t think I needed it. I figured I could handle my emotions myself.”

“How do you feel now?” She begins writing again.

“I think that I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t want to go back to where I was. I don’t want to feel like I did. I don’t want to be dependent on all those medications I was on, I never did.”

She looks at me and for just a second I can see sadness in her eyes. Was that for me or for herself? “What do you mean you don’t want to feel like you did? How did you feel?”

That’s it, Doc, go ahead and jump in headfirst.

“Well, I couldn’t see the good in anything. Nothing could make me happy, not even Skye. I felt like every step I took was like walking in quicksand. I felt like I was sinking, and when I wasn’t being dragged down, I was being firmly held in place by my grief. I didn’t want to eat or leave the house. I felt like I was waiting for the moment my misery would swallow me whole. I was so disheartened all the time. There was never a bright spot in my day, no happy times, no relief.”

Doctor Cox interrupts me. “And why do you think that was, Chloe?”

I think about it for a beat before I answer. “I lost faith in my loved ones, even the ones that didn’t deserve it.” I hang my head in shame. It honestly isn’t fair to Skye and Sara to have this burden put on them. They didn’t deserve the way I treated them. I can only imagine what it feels like to watch someone you love mentally torture themselves day in and day out.

“Do you think the way you feel is validated? Should you really blame someone for someone else’s behavior?”

“I know I shouldn’t and I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did. Then it happened again and again, until I didn’t know how else to act.” I feel so guilty for the way I have treated my friends. I need to apologize, but I don’t know if it will be enough. Another problem I’ll run into is getting Skye to listen to me. He’s made it clear that he wants nothing to do with me. Will he continue to feel this way or will his anger eventually fade? I pray that he will eventually let me explain what actually happened. Had I known that I was pregnant, I never would have done any of the things I did. I never would have let myself get inside of own head so deep.

Doctor Cox and I spend what seems like an obscene amount of time discussing my fears, what sets off my panic attacks, and how I plan on coping with everything from now on. I feel like the session is going great and that I can handle airing out all my problems with her. As it turns out, it’s not as hard as I thought it would be. I don’t know if it’s because she’s so easy to talk to, or if it’s because of my newfound mental clarity.

All of my thoughts and concerns flow from me like water from a tap. When I pause for air, Doctor Cox asks the one question I was waiting for.

“Did you know that you were pregnant when you were self-medicating or drinking?”

“No,” I reply sternly.

“You had no idea what so ever? There was no sign that stood out that caused you to momentarily thing you could possibly be pregnant?”

Again I respond, “No.” She looks happy with my answer, but I feel the need to elaborate further to eliminate any doubt that may surface between now and any future date.

“When I was a kid, my parents made sure that everyone on the outside looking in thought we were the perfect family. Tom was the only other person to ever know the horror that went on inside my home. My mother’s mission in life was to make sure I knew that she hated me. That every moment I spent breathing was a burden to her. My father was too drunk to care and when he wasn’t, he stood beside her decisions, always looking the other way when things took a turn for the worse. I will not now, nor will I ever do that to my children. My every breath will be used to let them know how much I love them. I will spend every second of every day loving and nurturing them, molding them into the people they are meant to become. Every moment, even the smallest ones, will be spent showing them how much they mean to me. There will never be anything in this world that means more to me than they do. If you don’t believe or listen to anything I ever say, please believe that. Matter of fact, you can put your life savings on it. You have spent this entire session writing things down. Well, Doc, put that in writing and hand it here so I can sign it.” I’m not surprised at how confident my voice comes out because I mean what I’m saying with every single cell in my body.

Doc sits up straighter and tugs at her perfectly pressed white shirt before addressing me. “Those are some very passionate words.” She gives me a smile that reflects her pride back at me.

“That’s because I mean every word of it,” I reply passionately. Doc stands and stretches her perfectly manicured hand out to me. I accept it with a firm grip and we shake hands. I have a feeling this is sealing the commitment I just made to my child instead of a formal pleasantry, and that’s okay with me.

“Well, since we’re at a good place, let’s end today’s session here. I have to say, I’m extremely pleased with how this session went. I think you made great progress today alone. I look forward to talking more with you.”

“You, too, Doc.” I smile a genuine smile at her. My lips feel like they are going to split in two and my jaw aches from the effort. It’s been so long since I smiled a carefree smile that it feels foreign on my face.

Doctor Cox begins to leave, but then stops and turns to me. “Chloe, I’ll call you tomorrow to schedule your next session.”

I nod as she makes her exit. I reflect on our conversation and decide to write it down.

My hand starts cramping from gripping my pen so tightly. My writing is feverish; I’ve already filled several pages front and back. With every stroke of the pen, I feel one step closer to redemption, to freeing my soul from the confines of my mind.