Schasm (Schasm Series) (20 page)

A group of doctors and nurses are walking right toward me. I calm my nerves and walk coolly down the hall, my face covering everything shuddering inside me. I breathe a sigh of relief as they all walk right by me without saying a word.

Then I make it back to my room, and I let the tears flow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

VISITING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW

SATURDAY MORNING FEELS STRANGE
in this new captivity. Now that I’ve been here for almost a week, the doctors are starting to back off a bit. They just come by to bring me food and drugs. The less I see of them, the happier I am.

Today’s visiting day. My parents are coming to see me, just like they said they would. Aside from the straitjacket and the padded cell, this is about the last thing I want to have happen here.

It’s around eleven in the morning, and families are beginning to trickle down the hallways. The knock on my door makes me cringe.

“Come in,” I say, sounding disinterested.

I hardly recognize the woman who enters my room. She’s perky, excited. Relieved. She’s done something different with her hair, her clothes look expensive, and she’s wearing makeup. She looks ten years younger, at least. “Hi, sweetie,” she chimes. She’s a little too excited to be seeing her daughter living in a mental institution.

But why wouldn’t she be thrilled? She’s not the one in here. And she’s not the one who has to take care of me anymore.

She trots in like a show horse and places a large black trash bag at the foot of my bed. I squint at the bag, and I look back at her, while pointing to the heap on the floor. “What is that?”

“It’s your things,” she says. ”I wasn’t sure what you’d need, so I just emptied your drawers of clothes into this bag. They checked it before I came in. You can keep it all.” She pulls a solid black turtleneck from the bag, holding it up against my body as if she’s trying to see how it would look on me.

I yank it out of her hand. “Gee…thanks.”

She pats my knee, motioning me to move over. When I do, she sits down next to me. “What’s wrong, honey?” She pulls my hair off of my back and twists it into a knot.

I whip my hair out of her hand and shove my face an inch away from hers. “Are you kidding me?” I grit my teeth, speaking under my breath. “You stuck me in a
mental institution
, Mother. The question should be, what’s
right
?” I narrow my eyes, nod my head and laugh with just my breath. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my life? If I knew I wouldn’t get thrown back into the padded room again and strapped down in a straitjacket, I’d tell you that I don’t have any reason to live anymore. But I know you’d just go running down the hall and snitch to the doctors, as usual.” So much for no emotion.

She covers her shocked mouth. “Why were you in a padded room, Chloe?”

“Why
wouldn’t
I be in a padded room? I’m sedated; I’m confined. Why shouldn’t I be restrained, too?”

“Chloe…so dramatic.” She rolls her eyes.

I can’t believe this.

“This is where
you
put me, Mother. This is where you left your daughter, the girl you gave birth to nineteen years ago. Remember?” I make sure to look her in the eye as I say it. “I’m here because of you—straitjacket, padded cell and all.”

My mother is now sobbing now, as she should be. Good. I’d be a fool to think her tears are sincere, though.

She presses a crumpled tissue up against her nose. “Chloe, it
kills
me to think of you being restrained and drugged. This isn’t what I’d intended when I brought you here.”

I shrug. “And what did you think would happen when you
had me committed
, Mother?”

She sniffs. “I just don’t want you to live through what I lived through.” She pulls out another tissue and blots away the dripping eyeliner.

“What
you
lived through?” I huff. “Your brother was the one in the institution, not you.”

She’s crying even harder now. It’s about time she acted like she cared, even if it’s all a show.

“Chloe, I didn’t have the life you think I did when I was growing up.” She fidgets with the tissue in her hand, sniffling her tears back. “Maybe I need to clear some things up for you.”

“Yeah…maybe you do.” I can’t imagine what difference it’ll make.

She clears her throat. “My brother James was four years older than I was. He was diagnosed with a form of a multiple personality disorder when he was six years old. My mother made sure she kept up with his appointments; she never wanted to leave him in any institution. She was afraid of what would happen to him once he was inside…that the care he would—or wouldn’t—be given would cause a permanent schism. So instead, she tolerated all of his behaviors.”

She moves across the room over to the window, making her story more dramatic. “A typical day in my house would be me waking up to James screaming at himself in whichever personality had taken over for that moment. My mother tried to calm him down, but she always ended up raging at him. Then my father would rage at her for raging at James.

I imagine she’s thinking she’ll be getting my sympathy with this build-up.

She continues. “Have you seen this scar on my forehead?” she asks, sweeping her bangs to the opposite side.

I have, but I’ve never cared to ask what it’s from. “Sure,” I say, keeping my voice firm.

“James’s personality Franco hurt me, Chloe,” she says. Her eyes freeze as they stare into the opposite wall.

“And why would he do something like that?” I’ve thought of hurting her many times. She’s deserved it on every occasion.

“Franco is a very aggressive and dangerous man. Simple-minded and uneducated…and a serial killer.” I don’t believe that any more than I believe the rest of it. “Franco was good at fooling people into believing that he was kind and generous. He was a very good actor. And as soon as he’d earned someone’s trust, he’d turn on them in an entirely vicious manner.

“So he tried to kill you, then?” She tells quite a dark story.

“I’m not sure if that was his intention or not, sweetie.” She rests her forehead over her clasped hands and lowers her head toward her lap. “I think he might have mistaken me for someone else. I was kneeling on the floor in my bedroom one night, digging around in my toy box, when he came up behind me and clasped his hands around my eyes. I thought whoever it was, was playing a game with me. Without warning, his hands slid down my face and then onto my neck.” She swallows hard. “He began to strangle the air out of my throat.” Her hands run down her neck as she remembers the pain. “I was confused and scared, and then my body became numb as I fell over into the wooden toy box.” Her words end, her eyes are clenched shut, and for a second I’m pondering the validity of her story.

She does have the scar…

She doesn’t open her eyes. The color on her cheeks disappears. “I woke up in the hospital. The first thing I heard was my parents telling the doctors a story about how I tripped and fell, landing on the edge of the toy box. That’s what caused the bruises on my head and neck, according to them.

“And so they must have had him arrested, right, for trying to kill his little sister?” I’m sure I’m pushing my luck with that.

She shakes her head. ”My parents kept him locked in the attic instead, to protect him and our family.”

“That’s logical.” I don’t even think she hears me.

She sits up straight and reopens her glazed over eyes. “From then on, I was left to take care of myself, to raise myself. I promised myself that if I ever had a child, I would protect her and take care of her like my parents never did for me.”

“Is that what you think you’ve done—protect me? Take care of me?”

She stands from her chair. Her eyes refill with tears as she leans over my bed, pressing her hands into the mattress. “The second we found out something was wrong with you, I made sure to give you everything you needed. I’ve protected you in the best way I knew how.”

“By keeping me prisoner in my own home, the way your parents did with your brother?” I can’t believe she thinks that was the right way to do things. “I’ve never hurt anyone or tried to kill anyone…and I only have one personality to keep track of.”

“I know, Chloe…I know. I’ve done it so badly.” She tries to smile, but she just looks pained. “I want to fix things now. Between us.”

Should I be shocked that she’s admitting to making such a huge mistake? I can’t even tell if she’s sincere. “How are you planning to fix things, Mother, now that you’ve had me committed to this place?”

“I thought it was best for you, Chloe. You were hurt…you’ve never been hurt before. And you did it to yourself. I was trying to protect you from that happening again.”

I throw my hands in the air, exasperated. “Mother, things are going to happen in my life that you can’t control. If you really want to see me happy, you’d let me live my life. You wouldn’t slap me or berate me for having a condition I don’t know how to control—one that does nobody any harm whatsoever. I don’t need to be locked away like a crazy person.” Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by my own confession. “I need to be loved, Mother. And understood. That’s all.”

She nods, cries a bit more and walks to the door. “I’m going to go speak with your doctors to see if I can bring you home. It may be out of my control now that the committal is complete. I’ll see what I can do.”

I have no way of knowing if she’s being honest.

I just have to trust her.

Less than ten minutes later, my mother returns, looking sullen. She remains in the doorway, making it clear she doesn’t intend to stay long. “I spoke to the doctors.”

“And?”

“Whatever you did yesterday made them believe you still need supervision.”

“What? They’re not supervising me…they’re drugging me and restraining me.”

“They said when you lose the desire to drift, they’ll consider you stable enough to be treated on an outpatient basis.” Ridiculous. “And… they want to keep you the full thirty days to monitor your progress. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Sorry.

Somehow, I don’t think she is.

“Great.” I lean back on my bed and stare away from my mother and up to the ceiling. “And where’s my father in all of this?” I ask.

She peers down at her watch and taps it with her finger. “He’s very ill…sinus infection, I think. He’ll be by next weekend, I’m sure.” More lies, I’m sure. “Chloe, listen, do the best you can for the next thirty days. The minute they discharge you, I’ll bring you home and
things will be different
for us
. I promise,” she says, glancing out into the hallway. “I need to go, honey. I have to pick up your father’s prescription at the pharmacy. He’s waiting for me.”

So much for motherly love.

She walks over and kisses my head. “Please…be well. For both our sakes.”

I’m not even sure what she means by that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HOPE FOR NOTHINGNESS

MOST OF THE PATIENTS’ FAMILIES
are still visiting, so the common room is pretty empty tonight. I drag a chair over to the window and rest my elbows against the heater. It must have snowed at some point in the last few days. Just another never-ending winter here in New England. After being locked up inside for so long, the frigid air actually looks welcoming. I’d do anything to feel a cool breeze.

As my eyes glaze over the white sheet of snow outside, a reflection appears in the glass. I twist around to see who owns the silhouette.

Beautiful ocean-blue speckled eyes and unruly blond hair emerge in the doorway. My heart stalls, and for a minute I forget where we are. I don’t want to upset him again. It’s probably best that I don’t say anything.

He’s walking toward me. His lips make a straight line across his pale face. His freckles look like smudges and his shoulders are slumped forward. He looks miserable, vacant.

Even still, he’s Alex.

My heart thunders as he nears me. He reaches down to my hand and slides his underneath. His touch brings memories of San Diego, of Paris. The pain of knowing where we are now follows those. I can’t tell if he knows me or not. He pulls my hand up and places it against his warm defined chest. My hand covers his racing heart and his hand squeezes over mine. His jaw grinds back and forth and his eyes widen. I suddenly don’t think I’m the only one feeling this pain. After only a brief second of feeling connected to him again, he drops my hand from his grip. His eyes continue to blaze into mine.

I wish I could make him smile somehow. I wish he would say something or give me a hint that he remembers what we’ve been through together. But he turns around and walks back out of the common room.

I’m so confused. I don’t understand. Is he lost? Is he stuck between worlds? The thoughts fill my mind with horror. I can’t chase after him. I know what will happen if I do.

I sit and stare at the door that he just walked out of, hoping he’ll turn around and walk through it again. I sit here until the sun creeps above the trees. I’m surprised no one came to force me back to my room during the night. They must have forgotten about me.

I wish I could forget about me, too.

Depression creeps over me like a shroud. I’m sad that I’m no stranger to this feeling. Finally, I give up on Alex coming back to the common area. It’s time to return to my lifeless room.

My bed has now become my only source of comfort. It’s equal to my bed at home. I climb in and curl up into the fetal position, hugging my knees and pressing some of the pain out of my chest.

After an hour of staring at the wall, my eyes shift to the garbage bag that my mother dumped at the foot of my bed. I crawl over and pull the bag up to my lap. I’m sure it’s just all of my bland, ugly clothes.

I peek in. She wasn’t exaggerating about dumping my drawers right into this bag. I don’t want these things. They’re even worse than the ones I already had here. They remind me that I have nothing to return to out there, thirty days from now or a million years.