Until Someone Called Me Mom
"Sometimes it's hard to find all the pieces of the puzzle, but when you finally connect all the pieces, you realize the reason you worked so hard to find their place in part of the big picture." –Victoria Orsingher
Summary: She had never had trouble figuring out what was wrong with her patients. Esme was the best pediatric psychiatrist in the state, possibly the country, but one little girl, one adorable blonde haired little girl, had her completely stumped. What will happen when she discovers the child's secrets? Triggers: Child Abuse
AN: Thanks for the reviews guys! 5 on my first chapter of my very first story is more than I could hope for. I'm updating today but word of caution, don't get used to it. I'm a very busy college student double majoring in nursing and psychology so I rarely have free time. Anyway, let me know how you like this chapter. Review, follow, favorite, send shout outs in your story, PM me, whatever. I love and value the opinions of others.
Chapter 2: Puzzle Pieces
When we arrived at our cabin, I was finally able to breathe again. Our housekeeper that periodically checked up on the cabin, and kept it from collecting dust, had just cleaned the place and stocked our fridge, so our one job was really to just relax.
It was fairly cool outside, around 40 degrees which was cooler than most September days in Juneau, but it was a welcome change. Seattle wasn't exactly hot, it had been in the sixties lately, but I had always liked for it to be cooler.
"I think we should update the kitchen here." I told my husband as I checked the casserole for the third time, fifteen minutes after it should have finished cooking, only to find it not ready.
"New appliances?" He asked.
"At least a new oven." I agreed. "Especially if we host any family here over the holidays."
"We'll look into it." He assured me.
"Do you still want to go hiking tomorrow?" I asked him as I put the dish back in the oven. Juneau had some of my favorite hiking trails, my favorite leading to a glacier.
"Yes, of course." He agreed.
The rest of the evening came and went, and I found myself up bright and early, in my hiking gear, and riding in the car we kept at the cabin in Alaska. We hiked for hours that day, letting the peacefulness of nature clear our minds. We were always both able to forget about work for once when we came to Alaska, and we had both been fairly stressed, so it was a welcome change to just sit and look at the beauty around us.
Saturday was more of a lazy day. It was very rainy, so we stayed inside the cabin and read. I was working on a wonderful book called Redeeming Love, Carlisle was working on The Shack. Both were Christian fiction, both books that had been referred to us in our church small groups. We may not be the most diligent when it came to church, but we did try and go once or twice a month. My husband was raised in a devout Christian home, and enjoyed going to church. I was less solid in my faith. There was a time, that like my husband, I believed God worked miracles, and that God was not the creator of bad things. My career made me more and more pessimistic. When you hear of the terrible things that happen to innocent children day-in and day-out, you tend to have your doubts in a loving God. I would go to church though, and try and believe. My husband's faith was the most comfort he had. His faith offered him more comfort than even I could. I yearned for that at times.
Sunday, we did one of my absolute favorite things and went up to the dog camp. I got to hold all these puppies and fell in love. I looked at my husband with pleading eyes, and after our little adventure, we found ourselves at the animal shelter.
"You two are in luck." The woman told us. "We recently got four different litters of puppies in. One are part wolf, mostly husky, the others are full blood Siberian husky, the next group are full blood Australian shepherds, and the final are full blood malamute."
"I think we should stick to the ones that are not wo…" My husband began but I cut him off.
"I'd like to see the part wolf, mostly husky litter." I smiled.
"Of course you would." Carlisle chuckled.
As it happened, I didn't fall completely in love with a part wolf, mostly husky puppy. I did fall in love with two puppies, one Siberian husky, one Australian shepherd though and as I held them up to my husband, wide-eyed, he simply smiled. "Can we take them both?" I asked.
"It's a good thing we used American Airlines this time." My husband chuckled. "We'll pay a fee but we can get them both home."
"So that's a yes?" I asked happily as he took one of the puppies, the Australian shepherd, from me and held her in his arms.
"Let's get all the paperwork filled out." The woman told us with a smile as she led us to an office. "What do you think you're going to name them?"
"It's up to you." My husband told me.
"Well the one you have looks like Belle, from Beauty and the Beast." I told him. "I think the one I'm holding should be Elsa, given her winter breed."
"So Belle and Elsa?" The woman confirmed.
I nodded and let the puppy nibble on my fingers as we were handed tons of papers and once we were finally finished, we headed to one of the only pet stores, getting carriers that would double as crates, collars, food, and some puppy shampoo so we could bathe them. Then, we finally took them back to the cabin. They made for a very interesting night. Being puppies, we expected having to get up and take them out, but my those two had energy. They just wanted to play. We were officially puppy parents.
Before I knew it, a week had passed, my long weekend with my husband was over, and now, I was back at work, waiting on my last patient of the day, Rosalie. We had put Belle and Elsa in puppy camp so we wouldn't have to worry about them being alone for so long, and I was going to go pick them up after my last appointment.
I looked over my scrambled notes from the last session I had with Rosalie, trying to make sense of anything I had written, but not coming to any conclusions. I would need to get her to talk to me more today, or push the art therapy or play therapy, and figure something out. Anything.
"Hi Sweetheart." I greeted the adorable little girl as the secretary walked her in.
"Hello Dr. Cullen." She greeted me softly as she stepped inside.
"Let's sit on the floor today by the art table, alright?" I offered as I moved from my desk to the floor on one of the pillows around the square table.
The table was filled with containers of crayons, colored pencils, markers, regular pencils, pens, stencils, paper, and everything else arty. Rosalie took the seat to my right, watching me carefully as I reached for the stack of papers.
"Today, I was thinking we could draw pictures of our family." I told her with a small smile.
"What should I draw?" She asked me curiously.
"How about a picture of your house and everyone who lives in it with you?" I offered.
"Okay." She agreed.
I picked up a crayon and began drawing my own picture, keeping an eye on Rosalie. "Did you have fun at school today?" I asked.
"No." She frowned.
"Why not?" I asked softly.
"The other kids make fun of me." She told me.
She was certainly more talkative today. That was a good sign. Maybe I was getting through to her, to some extent.
"They make fun of you?" I asked her softly. "What do they say?"
"They tell me I'm little. They say my mom and dad don't love me." She whispered.
"It hurts your feelings when they say this?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yes."
"Why does it hurt your feelings so much? Is it because you don't like when people are mean to your mommy and daddy?" I offered.
"No." She disagreed. "It's because they're right."
Those four words broke my heart. What did she mean by that? Even abusive parents showed love to their children at times. Usually, they made their children feel loved just enough the children wanted to stay with them. Stockholm syndrome was often present.
"You don't think that your mommy and daddy love you?" I asked gently.
"They don't." She shrugged.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"They tell me." She told me as she continued drawing.
"What do they say?" I asked softly.
"They say if I was better they would love me but that I'm a bad girl so they can't love me. They say bad girls don't get to be loved." She sighed.
And that would mark the last of the child speaking to me. The rest of the appointment, I asked questions, she would remain silent as she drew her picture. I thought I was getting somewhere today, but I only got four or five middle pieces to a huge puzzle that wouldn't make sense without more information.
When her time was up, I walked her out. I wanted to see her interact with her mother. It wasn't her mother though, and I doubted it was her father either seeing as this man looked nothing like the child. "Rosalie, who's taking you home today?" I asked.
"This is our butler, Leonardo." She told me.
"It's nice to meet you Dr. Cullen. Rosalie's parents got held up at work. I offered to come get her and take her to her piano lessons." The man spoke in a thick accent as he shook my head. I would guess it was Guatemalan.
"I'll see you next week Sweetheart." I told the child as her butler took her backpack.
My eyes followed them the whole way out the door. Something wasn't right, and I found myself even more confused after this session than the first. She had said more, and I thought I was going to get somewhere, and she had shut down.
As I made my way back to my office, I thought of my last question I had asked her and her response, trying to figure out any triggers.
"What do they say?" I asked softly.
"They say if I was better they would love me but that I'm a bad girl so they can't love me. They say bad girls don't get to be loved." She sighed.
Obviously the whole question could have triggered her and her response probably brought back bad memories, but the earlier questions and answers could have triggered her as well. What was it about that specific statement that had her go back to her usual silent state?
I looked over the drawing again. It was relatively normal, to an extent. There was a very large house drawn in the middle. On one side of the house, there was a drawing of a little girl, Rosalie had scribbled her own name above it. To her right, there was a drawing of the butler, to the left, a heavyset woman with Gloria scribbled. On the other side of the house, she had drawn her mother and her father, and a man with the name "Royce" scribbled above it.
The drawing had a few red flags though. First of all, the house didn't have any doors and just a few windows, and it was raining in the picture, no sun shine in the corner like most. The faces on the people were not happy, and the color scheme was very dark. Black, red, and purple. It was a big red flag of things going on in this child's life, but I didn't know what, and didn't have much to go off of to make a report.
After one more appointment with one of my anorexic patients, I picked up my puppies and headed home, my mind never leaving sweet Rosalie.
The weeks and sessions just kept going like this. Tiny hints, not anything to prove that mistreatment of the child was happening. I still had yet to meet her parents, even after asking that they come meet with me and discuss their child. It was always Leonardo, the butler, or Gloria, the housekeeper, that picked her up. Those two seemed to care about Rosalie a great deal, and for that I was happy. That meant she was at least loved by someone. This little girl was really taking a toll on me. I am usually pretty good at my job. I never have this much trouble pinpointing what is going on with my patients. So at the sixth week, I decided to be more straightforward, and take a different approach and hope for the best.
I pulled out all of the drawings Rosalie had created, the first one of herself, the second of her house, the third of her current mood, the fourth of her friends, and the one of what she wanted to be when she grew up and laid them out on the table. When Rosalie got to my office, her eyes landed on her drawings and she had a curious expression cross her face.
"Hey Sweetheart, come sit with me." I told her as I patted the spot beside me.
She instantly did as I said and looked to me with exhausted little eyes. She looked like she was in desperate need of a nap.
"I was hoping you could talk to me about these drawings." I told my young patient.
"How?" She asked.
"Hmm, we could take turns." I told her as I glanced to my own stack of papers. "I can tell you about one of my drawings, and then you can tell me about one of yours."
"Okay." She agreed.
I picked up the first one I wanted to talk about. The one of my house and family. "Well, this right here is my house, and that's me. I drew my dress in yellow because yellow is a very happy color. That's my husband Carlisle. We are both smiling because we like being with each other. We have more family, but they don't live with us so it's just the two of us."
Rosalie nodded and picked up her drawing of her family. "That's my house." She pointed to the door-less structure. "That's Leonardo, our butler, and Gloria, our housekeeper. They're really nice to me. That's me. Um, that's Father, Mother, and Royce."
"Who's Royce?" I asked.
"I don't want to talk about him." She whimpered.
"It's alright Darling, you don't have to." I told her.
We kept discussing her pictures, but she would never fully answer me on the important questions. Not why there wasn't a door, not why everyone was angry, not why her mood was sad in the picture she drew, nothing. I was hoping for the conversation to get deeper, but it never did. She never let her guard down.
So after yet another frustrating appointment, I made my way home. Carlisle had cooked dinner tonight, my favorite thing he knew how to do, Shepherd's Pie. I embraced him, holding onto him just a hair too long for him to think nothing was wrong, and he pulled away.
"The mystery girl again?" He asked.
I wasn't allowed to give out patient names, so that's what my husband had come to call her. Mystery Girl because that's what she was, a mystery.
"I tried having her explain the drawings to me, and got no helpful information." I sighed. "I'm getting worried, what if I don't figure this out?"
"I'm sure you will." He told me as he held me in his arms.
"I usually have more insight by now. It's been six weeks Carlisle, and I still have no idea how to help her." I whimpered.
"Everything is going to be alright." He promised me.
After some good consoling from my husband, cuddling from my puppies, and a hot chocolate, we sat down to eat, and then watched Beauty and the Beast to go to bed. The whole night though, my mind stayed on Rosalie.
