It had taken quite a bit of prying on Matilda's part to get Jenny to tell her where exactly she had seen spiders in the apartment. At first Jenny had been reluctant to tell her and Matilda couldn't understand why. She worried their link went both ways, and Jenny could feel the need for revenge seeping from her pores, but when Jenny admitted it was because she didn't want Matilda to be afraid, she breathed a sigh of relief.
"In the bathroom, behind the toilet." She finally admitted. Now Matilda understood why Jenny didn't want to tell her. There was something unnerving about needing to keep an eye out for creepy crawlies with your pants around your ankles. It was a good thing she wasn't afraid of spiders; it was things that flew, Matilda couldn't stand. Now, if Miss Honey had told her she had seen a wasp in the bathroom, she would also be peeing in the trashcan and levitating it to the toilet.
"Are you sure they aren't in the cupboard? They are called 'cupboard spiders' after all." Hortensia said. They were both armed with flashlights and were searching the studio for spiders. They had come under the pretense of collecting Matilda's things, since she would be staying at Hortensia's until Jenny was released from the hospital, but they had finished packing ten minutes ago.
"They're called False Widows, actually." Matilda called from the bathroom. She had looked behind the toilet, but she hadn't seen any. There were none in the shower, or any corner of the bathroom she could see. Hortensia had been on board with the idea of unleashing a horde of poisonous spiders on the Trunchbull in theory, but when it came time to actually searching, she seemed more than a little reluctant. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere than in the small confines of a room with a history of sending a grown adult to the hospital.
"Well, I'm not seeing any." Hortensia said, not a hint of disappointment in her voice. "Are you sure she even got bit here?"
"Have you looked under the bed?" Matilda picked up the bathmat and shook it out, followed by the towels hanging on the rack. Nothing.
If I was a spider, where would I be? Somewhere dark…somewhere like… Matilda's eyes rested on the cabinet sitting on the floor next to the sink. Somewhere like under there! She got down on her hands and knees and shone the flashlight into the small gap underneath. Her stomach rolled. She wasn't afraid of spiders, they were useful and interesting, but ugh! She hadn't expected to come face to face with one so large.
"Hortensia! I need your help." Matilda said, getting off the ground and making her way to the kitchen. She needed something to catch it in. She grabbed an empty water bottle off the counter before pulling out a knife. Matilda's hands were too small to hold comfortably without risking injury, so made the blade levitate and begin sawing through the plastic. Once the top neck was removed, leaving a bit enough opening to rehome her new little friend, she turned to Hortensia. "I need you to pick up the cabinet in the bathroom, and I'll catch whatever comes out."
Hortensia did not look too keen on this idea. Her eyes darted in panic around the room.
"Unless, of course, you're afraid." Matilda added, with a raise of her eyebrows. "I'm sure the other kids in my class would love to hear how the big, tough girl in top form needed a runt in the bottom to catch a itty bitty spider for her." Matilda batted her eyelashes at her.
"I'm not afraid." Hortensia grumbled, sounding entirely unconvincing as she eyed the bathroom wearily. "I'm just wondering what you need me for? Why can't you just use your powers?"
"Because every hero needs a sidekick." Matilda said with a grin. Hortensia scowled and muttered something under her breath before reluctantly following the smaller girl into the bathroom. "On the count of three." Matilda instructed, before taking a deep breath herself. "One, two, three!"
Hortensia lifted the cabinet as Matilda used her powers to pull anything and everything into the bottle. She waved her arm out and then back in like the lever on an arcade game as if she was trying to knock a prize down into a door, but instead of tickets, she managed to scoop up dust, cobwebs, a Q-tip, one fake fingernail, a cotton ball and finally two spiders. They were massive, hideous things with large butts and long legs. She placed a washcloth over the lid and tied it down with one of Jenny's hair ties.
"I'm done, you can put it back down." Matilda said. Hortensia let the cupboard crash back down to the floor and let out an exaggerated sigh. They both stared at the contents of the bottle. One of the spiders was desperately trying to claw its way out to freedom, while the other seemed content to hang out with the cotton ball and other debris at the bottom. With that done, the girls grabbed Matilda's things and headed out of the apartment, but not before Matilda muttered, "You're not a sidekick to me."
…
Jenny flinched awake when she heard knocking on the hospital door, before a tall woman in heels wearing a business suit and a name tag which read Michelle Calver, L.S.W. strode in. A social worker? What was a social worker doing here? Was she here about Matilda?
The woman introduced herself and pulled up a chair next to Miss Honey's bed. Jennifer could feel her heart begin to pound with anticipation and unease. She took her pillow and hugged it to her chest.
"Do you have a moment to talk?" Michelle asked. Well, Jennifer couldn't exactly say she was busy, could she? She nodded her head, gripping the pillow tighter. She felt so small, fragile, and powerless being in the hospital, and she hated it. Between the nightmares of her past and everyone passing her around to poke and prod, she no longer felt like the 23-year-old grown woman, but one of the wide-eyed and fearful children on their first day of school. Could she really even call herself an adult? What kind of adult didn't even have enough money to have a bank account? And worse, what kind of adult needed to hide behind a pillow?
Jennifer set the pillow aside and tried her best to straighten up and seem confident. As confident as someone who couldn't make eye contact with anyone over 5 feet anyway.
"As I was saying, my name is Michelle, and I've been assigned to your case."
"My case?"
"Yes, you've been flagged as a victim of abuse." Jenifer quickly changed her mind. She needed that pillow after all.
"O-oh, that. I-it was such a long time ago, really. It's nothing to be concerned about." Jennifer could tell the woman didn't seem to believe her. She kept going on about getting her checked in with a local therapist. Jennifer had spent years not being able to afford to feed herself, how did anyone expect her to afford therapy? "T-that's a bit out of my budget." She admitted.
"Oh, no! It wouldn't cost you anything. There's a fund for victims of abuse that would cover any costs."
"Th-thank you, but there really is no need." Jennifer said through a forced smile. The last thing she wanted to do was rip open the box she kept all these dark memories sealed within herself.
"What do you do for a living, Jennifer?" Miss Honey blinked, taken off guard by the sudden change of subject.
"I'm a year one primary teacher."
"Oh," Michelle said. "Do you like working with the little ones?"
Jennifer smiled for real this time. "Yes, very much. I find their energy and innocence endearing."
"I'd like to reverse the roles for a moment. I'd like you to take a test for me." Michelle opened a manila envelope on her lap and slid a piece of paper towards Jennifer. "Don't overthink the questions, just go with your first impulse, and this is very important, don't lie."
Jennifer looked down at the test. It was thirty questions related to her mood and energy level, and she needed to answer them with a scaled number ranging from 0-5, zero being not at all and 5 being all the time. She picked up a pencil that had been on her tray and began.
In the last month have…
You often find yourself on guard and easily startled.
You often have nightmares
Have feelings of excessive guilt or shame
Some questions seemed to describe her perfectly, and she had to give high scores, while others seemed to be as far off as possible. Questions like…
18. People often say you have a drinking problem.
19. Do you frequently feel guilty or ashamed by how many you drinks you consume in a day?
20. You feel your drinking is out of control.
And some that were just a mix of yes and no.
When she had finished, she slid the paper over without a word and sat awkwardly by as Michelle graded it. She examined her finger nails and the surrounded room and anywhere else that wasn't at the stranger in front of her. She felt completely cornered sitting here in the bed with no escape.
"Jennifer," Michelle said, looking up from the test. Jennifer grimaced. She didn't like the serious sounding way the lady had said her name. "It's clear to me that you are not fine. According to this, your Post Traumatic Stress Disorder score is nearly at the top. You also have high levels of depression and anxiety. Jennifer remained silent. "What if a child in your class had visible injuries, and was clearly struggling with internal turmoil? Would you convince them not to seek help?"
Jennifer's head shot forward, and she met the woman's eye's for the first time. "No! Of course not! I would absolutely encourage them to seek help! I'd help them if I could!"
"So then, why is it okay for a child to seek help when they need it, but not you?"
Jennifer stumbled over her words for a bit. "I'm not a child, though. I'm a grown adult and-"
"Age makes no difference. Do you think you're supposed to have your life together just because you turned 18? You can't possibly expect your self to go through trauma at a young age, or any age really, and expect you'll be fine just because it's over. Adults need help all the time, and that's fine. My whole career is based on helping people in your situation. This position wouldn't exist if there wasn't many people experiencing something similar. You're not alone. "
"I-I suppose." Jennifer mumbled.
"I'll tell you what, let's do a little exercise tonight." She brought out a few sheets of blank paper. "Tonight, when you're alone. Write down your story; you don't have to show anyone. You can rip it up and throw it away as soon as you're done, but just focus on how you feel after getting it out, and if it makes you feel any better, maybe reconsider therapy."
That was how Jennifer Honey spent her night. She was very hesitant at first, but she lifted the lid on the box ever so slowly, letting only the smallest and most insignificant details out as she channeled them through her fingers and onto the paper. It was small things at first, the frustrations of being treated like a servant, but the more she wrote, the more she allowed the darker memories to come forth. The physical and verbal abuse, the threats of her body being sold to the highest bidder, the chokey, her face getting shoved into urine soaked sheets, the constant shame, the hopelessness, the contract, the burns, her escape, and finally, the first glimmer of light she had seen in her life, the day Matilda had walked into her classroom.
Jennifer stared in stunned silence when she realized she had nothing left to write on. She had filled all the pages front and back with her careful, tiny, neat penmanship. Had she really admitted to all of that? The lid was off Pandora's box now, and yet, she wasn't cowering in fear. Instead, she felt somewhat at peace as she looked at the pages scattered across the tray. She knew she was going to throw them away and shove everything back in the box, but before she did, she had a strange compulsion. It still felt slightly incomplete, so she signed her name at the bottom. There, it was finished!
A wave of exhaustion took over, and she let herself close her eyes. Therapy, huh? Maybe, just maybe, she could…
