Unravel (12 page)

I stare at her blankly and wipe my cheeks with the back of my hands.

“Why?” I say reluctantly.

“I’ve always been fascinated with the human mind. How we process things. How we feel. What emotions we project,” she admits.

So far, I’m not impressed.

“During my residency, I realized that maybe there could be something more behind my decision in pursuing this field.”

I don’t understand where this conversation is going. But I know these conversations between doctor and patient never happen. They ask the questions and expect answers. They never open up and tell you something personal about themselves.

I slowly stand up. “What do you mean?”

“I have family members that have struggled with mental illness. My fascination stems from them. I wanted to figure out where all their pain came from. Why it seemed like they couldn’t shake the darkness constantly looming around them.” Dr. Rutledge sighs.

I don’t think it’s so light and sweet as before. This time I see the pain and sorrow behind it. She has darkness in her past.

I look down and trace the veins running across the back of my hand. “Have you found an answer?”

“Sometimes I think that I have,” she says carefully. “But then I read something new, or start meeting with a new patient, and I realize that I’m trying to solve the impossible. We’ll never have a sound answer. Everyone is different with the way they feel, think, love, and express themselves. I guess that’s what makes the world go round.”

I think of Lana. She’s in the bathroom, staring at her reflection. She’s given up. She’s tired of all the pain. I’m standing in the doorway, telling her not to give up, but she won’t listen.

Goose bumps cover my skin. And I try my best to shake the image away.

Dr. Rutledge laces her fingers together and takes a deep breath. I know confession time is over and she’s back in her normal role. “I’m not Dr. Woods. When you talk, I listen to you. I believe you. But I need you to trust and open up to me. Okay?”

I know why she went back to the doctor mode, but I already miss the other side of Dr. Rutledge. When she talked to me, my humiliation lessened. I didn’t feel like a failure who doesn’t have control over my own mind. Somewhere, during our talk, a small fragment of trust started to appear. It was hardly noticeable, but at least it was something.

“Okay,” I say.

“I know this isn’t easy for you. Just remember that even the purest of souls have darkness in them. It might be hard to spot. Perhaps they’ve perfected the art of covering it from the world. Or maybe it’s hidden in a dark corner of their mind. But it’s there. No one in this world is scar free.”

My shoulders relax. I nod and that seems good enough for me.

“All I want is for you to tell your story the best way you know how.”

I take a deep cleansing breath. To say I had just begun with my story was an understatement. I wasn’t even close to scratching the surface.

“I told Lana that maybe we should stay at my house. That she would be safe there…”

“We have to get you out of here,” I whispered.

Even though it was just Lana and me out in the barn, I was still too afraid to speak up. Too afraid that her dad would hear me and come back outside. I wanted to make use of the time we had and leave this place as soon as we could.

But Lana wouldn’t move. She stared at the ground with a vacant look in her eyes and rubbed her fingers across the red marks on her neck. I don’t even think she realized what she was doing.

I gently laid a hand on her shoulder and nudged my head toward the open doors. “Did you hear me? We have to go.”

Lana jerked away from my touch. “No.”

My mouth hung open. “You can’t be serious.”

She stood up on shaky legs and brushed away the dirt and hay from her legs. “I can’t go,” she muttered.

I wanted to grab onto her shoulders to get her attention but she was a wounded animal. Ready to run away from me at any second.

I treaded lightly and took a small step forward. “I know you’re scared but you have to get out of here. I’ll help you. Where do you want to go? You can go anywhere.”

“I want to go to my room. And I want to go to bed.”

“You can’t go in there.”

She brushed past me and I watched in amazement as she started to pick up the area. Ropes that had been hanging on the wall were in a tangled mess on the ground. One looked close to slipping off the wall, it was swinging back and forth like a pendulum. A saddle had fallen into a large bucket of water. Pails lined against the wall were tipped over and horse feed was scattered across the floor.

Lana got to work. She moved from one side of the barn to the next, her pace brisk and sure. When she bent down to right the pails, I rushed over to her.

“Stop.” I grabbed the handle. “Lana, what are you doing?”

Her back straightened. She let go of the handle and moved onto the next pail. “I can’t go to bed knowing the barn is left like this.”

Was I an accomplice to a crime for letting her clean up? I felt like it. But it wasn’t as if I had experience in this type of situation. It was like I had a blindfold across my eyes. I was moving forward, but very slowly, hoping that whichever direction I took was the right one. The worst part of it all was the more she straightened things up, the more color slowly crept into her cheeks. Her breathing became normal and the tears stopped falling.

My gut was churning. I realized, with a sick sense of dread, that this made her feel good. Hiding the evidence felt right.

She didn’t stop moving until everything was back in its rightful place. And then she dusted her hands off and looked around the barn.

“I’m tired,” she announced.

Was I dreaming right now? I had to be. What I was experiencing couldn’t be real. I blinked, my lashes fluttering against my skin, but Lana was still in front of me. Still had a blank look on her face.

“Don’t go in there,” I whispered.

She held my gaze and said, “You’re still going to stay here, aren’t you?”

I tilted my head to the side. “What other choice do I have?”

“You have plenty of choices.”

“And none of them involve leaving you here,” I replied. “I can’t undo what I saw.”

She walked out of the barn, but not before I heard her say, “For your sake, I wish you could.”

I was too shocked to move. To breathe. To speak.

Technically, I was supposed to be staying there for the rest of the summer. But how could I step back into that house knowing what I knew? And how could I not stay there, knowing that my friend needed me? I closed my eyes for a second and trailed behind Lana. I finally caught up to her and together we walked to the back door. She opened the door and the hinges squeaked. I swear it was a warning for me to stop right there.

I hesitated. For years this house had felt like my own. I would walk in and out of it with ease. But now it just felt wrong.

I stepped inside, bracing myself for Lana’s dad to jump out and attack, but like most homes at this time of night, it was completely quiet. Yet the only difference was this quiet was eerie. The refrigerator hummed and the air conditioner blew cold air through the vents. I was close to jumping out of my skin.

Neither of us said a word as we walked down the hallway, toward the stairs. Next to the stairs was the formal living room. A single lamp was on. The room was one solid color: ivory. On the fireplace mantel were family pictures. One was of Lana when she was eleven. She looked directly at the camera, with a small smirk on her face. It was a smirk that I had seen time and time again. I’d chalked it up to her shy personality. But now I saw that the small smirk wasn’t because she was shy, it was because she was cautious. Scared.

I tried to carefully walk up the stairs, but no matter how hard I tried, the steps creaked underneath me. I couldn’t say the same for Lana. She moved so silently, it was as if she was walking on air.

Her parents’ room was at the very end of the hall. The door was closed. Only a few steps away was her dad. I had to pull my eyes away from the door, because if I stared at that smooth surface of the door one more second it would turn into a screen and project what I saw Lana’s dad doing. I squeezed my eyes shut and walked into Lana’s room.

I shut the door behind me. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to stay here.

Lana turned on the lamp on the nightstand. I crossed my arms and stared at her room with a critical eye, trying to find anything that would stand out to me. Something that would be evidence that something wasn’t right.

But everything was the same.

There was a dresser in the corner. An off-white, full length mirror was next to her closet. Her bed was made, the comforter a light shade of gray.

Now that I was really looking at her room with clear eyes, I could see it wasn’t a bedroom. This was a staged bedroom. Designed in such a way that anyone who came into their house and saw her room would think Lana had a put together life.

She could grab her toothbrush and purse and no one would know that she had even lived here.

I wondered how many times she had cleaned up her room like she had the barn. I trembled at the thought.

Lana moved around the room, opening and closing drawers. She held her pajamas to her chest and quietly walked into the bathroom that was connected to her room and shut the door. A few seconds later I heard the shower turn on.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the door.

Blindly, I reached for the lock on the door. I couldn’t find one.

I bent down and inspected the doorknob.

There was no lock.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered.

I stood back up. I wrapped my arms around my mid-section. I felt sick to my stomach. The urge to leave was powerful, but I couldn’t leave Lana.

As Lana walked out of the bathroom, a trail of mist followed behind her. Her sleep pants had pink sheep on them. She wore a white t-shirt that was three sizes too big. She looked too small and fragile for the things that had happened to her. How had she not broken apart?

I bit my cheek to keep from crying.

Lana took the decorative pillows off her bed, tossing them in the corner. I moved away from the door. My fingers trailed across her computer desk.

She got into bed and reached over to turn off the lamp. She looked over at me. “Good-night.”

She turned off the lights. The sheets rustled as she got comfortable.

“Night,” I whispered.

This was how she was going to end the night.

No tears.

No emotions.

No anything.

I lay flat on my back. Every muscle in my body was tense. I was afraid to relax. I was afraid to move. Or even breathe. So I watched the ceiling fan blades move slowly above me. I tried to focus on happy things. Good things. The fan blades reminded me of a Ferris wheel. I pictured a state fair and how out of three months of summer, the fair always landed on the hottest day. I envisioned the greasy food, shrieks of laughter and the buzz of conversations.

I narrowed my eyes and did my best to keep the scene going. But the memory of Lana and me when we were thirteen popped into my head. We were waiting in line for the Ferris wheel. She was staring up at the ride, pupils dilated. The line started to move. I urged her to walk forward. She turned and looked at me with frantic eyes. “I’m not going on that.” She got out of line and stood to the side. My turn came. When I reached the very top I looked down at her. She was still there, by herself, with a vacant expression.

“How was it?” she asked when I got off.

It was nothing. I had been too busy looking at her, making sure she was okay. I shrugged and told her it was okay. We moved onto a different activity, and I had brushed away the moment and moved on.

But now I understood that Lana didn’t need to be in control of her life. She just needed to be ready for whatever came her way. I could still hear the water dripping in the bathroom and the normal creaks that houses make. I tried my best to ignore the noises. My eyes involuntarily drifted back to the door. I quickly looked away, my fingers gripping the sheets.

Lana’s breathing was starting to even out. I turned and stared at the back of her head.

Did I even know the person I called my best friend?

I used to think so.

I knew that she couldn’t dance. She loved movies because in two hours or less you were normally guaranteed a happy ending. Sky blue was her favorite color and she loved waking up early to watch the sunrise and hated rainy days.

I thought those facts were part of her story. But they weren’t. They were just a simple punctuation mark—the beginning of who she really is.

“Lana?” I whispered.

I didn’t count on her answering. I just had to keep my mind busy.

For a few minutes there was nothing but silence. The sheets rustled and she said in a hoarse voice, “Yeah?”

I knew that she didn’t want to talk about it. But there was this ache in my chest that was deep and powerful. It wouldn’t leave until I talked to her.

“How long has it been going on?” I whispered.

I heard her swallow. “Since I was ten.”

Her words echoed around the room, taking up the air around me, making it impossible for me to breathe.