Content Warning: The mention of: Suicide / Pedophilia / Sexual harassment / Violence / Mental illnesses.
Tegan
Have you seen one of those documentaries of a beating heart? Not an animated one. A real beating heart inside the human body. Have you heard the voice of the man speaking of the beating heart and what would happen if it stopped pumping blood? No, you probably didn't notice that because you were so fascinated with the muscles relaxing and contracting then relaxing again and contracting a second time. Bub…bub…bub.
That's the normal heart of a human being. They have not showed us what squeezing this tiny bag would do, because the heart would stop beating. How thin is this muscle? How strong? I never asked. Did you? Unless you are a heart surgeon or a medical student, I bet you didn't even wonder about the human heart and its functions. It pumps blood through the whole body and flutters just the slightest when we are heartbroken. I know it seems like a pinch, a hurtful pinch in that part, but actually it's barely a flutter.
Grab a rubber ball. I don't know. Grab something that you can squeeze, Sally. Grab anything you can hold in your hand. Squeeze it real slow. No, squeeze it again. Squeeze it the slowest you can—patiently. Now let it go. Let it go quickly. Look at it. Look at it closely. Do you see it? Do you feel it? Is it the same in shape? What about your fingerprints? They're there, I bet. Now try to erase your prints and the traces you left. You can't. Even if it looks the same, look on the other side, it's not. Even if it looks perfect, on the inside, the things in this ball, whatever they are, they're not the same.
But what if you squeezed and the ball burst in your hands? Squeeze a balloon and it will burst. That's the heart, my darling. That's the human heart except it is more—way more—sensitive than a ball or a balloon or whatever the fuck you have in your hand. That's my heart and Sara's heart and your heart. It's weak, it's soft, and it's tender. Scratch it once and it will never be the same. Squeeze it once and it will never be the same. The heart carries memories and desires. The heart carries happiness and pains. The heart is the central piece of love, of hate, of regret, of need.
And that heart…God, that heart. That heart was dead, it had burst and they were trying to fix it with electric shocks in front of my eyes and Jessica's eyes. I died a thousand deaths whenever she jumped with a failed attempt. Until the machine started beating again, I had almost lost it.
I feel like I'm about to lose it each day when I get back from work to see her lying there with tears in her eyes, her mother trying to make her stretch her injured leg while hushing her cries. For three weeks we spend it in this tormenting routine. Sara doesn't sleep at night because she's in pain, and I have to share the bed with her mother who spends the night trying to make Sara calm down. Sometimes I sleep outside; sometimes her mother leaves the room after she makes sure her daughter has fallen asleep. Sara has physical therapy twice a week. Her sessions are at noon, when I am at work. Jessica recounts what happens at dinner after each session.
Sometimes I come home and find Sara sitting in her wheelchair in the living room, all dressed and smelling nice. I kiss her forehead and ask where she's been. She tells me about her day slowly, starting with waking up till the end of the day. Sometimes she mentions minor details like how her mother combed her hair and put on her socks, and sometimes she would just say that they went to some park or to the mall, without giving information. It all depends on her mood and her exhaustion. Her speaking has gotten better but not perfect. We have arranged to have therapy sessions at home for her and I together and with her mother around, too. Our therapist said she wanted Sara to be in a comfortable place where she didn't have to get dressed and sit in a wheelchair and feel as if she was restricted. Our therapist has been making Sara read some short articles or paragraphs in therapy lately. She said that when we have our home session, she was going to make us both talk as long as we wanted. She wanted us to talk to each other comfortably again. It's been hard lately to get a good communication. We are affectionate with each other; we kiss, we hug, she even pushes her head in my neck and puts her hands in mine when I am around her—but communication is what we want. We want to be able to joke and tease one another and laugh like old times. Like the very, very old times when we met each other. That's what she said to our therapist yesterday, which made Dr. Philips decide that we should have a long session at home where we just talked without any fear of judgment or any restrictions or discomfort.
"And do you think you and her will be able to get back to your old selves?" Jessica asks me over breakfast on a Sunday morning. "I mean, do you think everything will go back to the way it was a few years ago?"
Her gaze is challenging. Her eyes are telling me that, no, we are never going to get our old days back, only because that's true. She wants me to admit it. Her blue irises move from left to right without blinking. How tired, how ugly, and how lifeless her eyes look. I feel guilty admitting that in my own head. Jessica has lost every pinch of beauty in her face. Only wrinkles are left, only old age. It scares me to think that's how I'll end up. Just four years ago Jessica was gorgeous even though she was old, but in such a short time she looks like a very old woman. She is sixty-eight years old now, which is very old compared to my mother, who's only forty-two and looks like she's in her mid thirties. Talking to her even feels stranger because she's only few years younger than my grandma, if she was still alive.
"Don't stay looking at me. Answer me." I blink as I remember I've been creepily judging her looks.
I shrug, not knowing what to say. "I am not sure."
"It won't because both of you have changed. My daughter actually has an ambition now. Who knew? She never wanted to go to college, now she wants to have an MA degree. I guess I have something to thank you for."
"Thank me?"
"Yes." She takes a sip of her tea then takes a bite of her omelet, prolonging the answer on purpose. She looks at me, not sure if judging my looks and my disheveled hair the way I was judging hers. "You made her feel very insecure that she wanted to challenge herself. You made her think she's not enough."
Sara's mother has been speaking not only daggers but bullets and knives to me whenever we are alone. In front of Sara she treats me well, but when we're alone she uses her tongue to stab me where it hurts the most. She has chosen just the right way. She's punishing me through making me feel the same way I have made Sara feel, except I didn't know I was making her feel this way.
I don't answer her. I get up and walk towards the sink to wash my plate. I look back at her, still examining me with her eyes. I can make fun of her in my head all I want but she is making fun of me with her eyes and I can see it. Yes, she doesn't look pretty, her blond hair seems dry and needs a good cut, her body has put on so much weight, her breasts are saggy and it's not attractive to see her in a tank top because those same wrinkles on her face are on her chest as well, in her cleavage and on her thighs. Pink shorts look funny on her, too. Nothing is pretty about her anymore, but that's how she makes me feel about myself now. I look down at my pajamas while washing my cup. I wonder what she sees. All this youth and these muscles and all this softness is nothing in her eyes. She sees me as a monster; a mean, old monster—someone who has hurt her daughter despite my young age and immature mind, and despite my mental illness, the uncontrollable thoughts in my head.
And what if she doesn't see me like that? What if I am paranoid because I am ill? Did I take my pills?
I walk to the fridge to grab a water bottle. I turn around. She's still looking at me.
"You took them," she says. "You just took them half an hour ago."
And what if she's telling me I took them but I haven't? What if she wants me to get worse?
"Don't overdose, honey." And why is she calling me 'honey?' She's supposed to hate me. She makes me feel disgusting. She's not supposed to call me honey.
I leave the pills and go up to the bedroom. Sara's awake.
"Hiii," I greet softly. She smiles at me while I climb our bed to squeeze myself next to her and Cyndi. "Sleepy head." I slobber her rosy cheeks with kisses, making her giggle loudly.
"Te…Tegan," she squeals, pushing my face away from her neck. I continue to descend down till I reach her upper chest, making her paleness lean towards a pinkish hue the more my tongue touches each spot.
She strokes my locks, twirling her digits in the little curls at the back of my head. In a moment I forget about her mother and my paranoia. I've almost lost the only thing I have, the only person I've ever loved and will ever love. I have almost lost all my life and I should be more than happy and more thankful she's still lying in my bed. I should forget about my thoughts and stop letting them leading me to the destruction I was trying so hard to pull myself out of before the accident.
Maybe Sara and I won't go back to our old selves, to the joking days, the whispering beneath the blankets and mutual masturbation days, or those days she was repulsed by everything I did and I made fun of everything she did—but that's only because we both have matured and we both have changed. I did influence her maturity and the change of her behavior towards life, but she also influenced mine. I won't forgive myself ever for what I've done, I don't think I can, but I have to live with it somehow and I have to make it up to her till our dying day. I am not eighteen anymore and she's not twenty-four. It's normal for people's perspectives to change drastically in such a short time. It's very normal.
"Yo…you know what I'm…c…craving?" she asks. "A ch…cheesecake."
"A cheesecake!"
"Yeah." With gums and teeth, she smiles big. "To…to…to put in my…" She pats her stomach. "My fat tummy."
Cortisone injections equal bloating and major weight gain, which means a more depressed Sara; a Sara who can't stop making fun of herself and her looks. I frown at her. "Cute tummy." I lean down to kiss her stomach.
"Yo…you should be…p...pregnant and…and so we can be equal." I have joked about it two days ago in the shower when she refused to look at herself in the mirror. I told her I'll get pregnant and we'll be equal. I'm glad she welcomed the joke.
"Mmm, yeah. So we can get mini Tegans jumping around. I mean we'll get one girl and then I'll get pregnant again and we'll get a boy and a third time it will be you because I'll be so tired and you'll get another girl and then that girl will want a brother and you'll get her one, too." Sara guffaws loudly while I imagine a house of hyper kids and crazy parents. "We'll have a full house, lots of babies and diapers to change."
"One day," she whispers.
"Yes, one day." I kiss her lips and this time she keeps me close to her by pushing her tongue inside my mouth. I like to think that I am the breakfast she likes to devour but I know, with all these years together, she'd prefer a cheesecake over my lips right now.
Her mother clears her throat, interrupting our make-out session. Sara moans as soon as I pull away. She covers her mouth when she sees her mother standing nearby. Her face starts to burn with millions of shades. I pick up the meowing cat and put it on my lap.
"She's already broken, please be careful not to break her even more." I'm not sure whether she's joking or threatening. I am pretty sure; however, that she's stating I'm the reason she's broken.
"I'm…I'm careful." I get up and let her sit in my place. "I'm going to get you a cheesecake, babe."
"I'm joking, sweetie. I was just messing with you," Jessica says. "I actually like it when you guys are intimate."
"Eww," Sara interjects loudly. "M…mum don't…don't be gross."
Sara, with the heart of a child, makes me laugh sometimes with her reactions. She's still that shy woman I first met years ago despite all the emotional and spiritual growth.
I grab my skinny jeans and washed-out, blue shirt, heading towards the bathroom in order to change. I hear the light tune of her mother's whispers as she speaks with her.
My droopy eyes are screaming for some rest, but where will I get that with our state? I've been sleep deprived since I started working, and now with Sara's condition I have forgotten about those joyful hours of pure tranquility known as sleep.
I fix my looks with water and face-wash then I moisturize my skin and comb my curls. I put on my clothes and leave the house to get Sara her morning craving.
In the café I spot my finance team having breakfast. I eye them while they eye me with stealthy glances. I grab three raspberry cheesecakes, two latte's for Jessica and I, and one black coffee for Sara.
Careless youth, which are older than I am, enjoy morning hangouts in cafés and late night good time in bars and clubs, while I have to take care of a company, of an injured girlfriend, and of an entire life. It's not really strange to me to take care of things, because since I was seven, I had to take care of my adult mother; who has spent her youth in getting wasted and marrying pedophiles. I took it all, in all its forms. I took abuse, I took sexual harassment, I swallowed the cursing and sucked in the yelling and the crying. I tolerated molestation and fought against getting raped each night in my childhood just so my mother could be happy. And now I am again the bigger one who is arranging, making, putting, removing, doing and getting fucked for one small error. I own a good life, that's what they see; a large apartment, a nice car, a beautiful girlfriend, a little cat, and so much money—that's what they see. That's what they know.
They see nothing. They know nothing. They don't hear the agonized cries seeping out of my lover's lungs each night because she simply cannot sit or sleep or even stand.
As regular days pass by, this one isn't any different. I spend my day working from home. I work even in the weekends. I send emails and receive them, I correct the embarrassing errors my employees make, I try to do exercises my dad makes me do in order to get better in management. Sara sits beside me reading silently or playing with the cat. Then her mother tries to help her stretch her legs and stand on her feet.
With every move, I hear a loud cry. I look up, watching my girlfriend's face red, eyes squeezed as she tries to bear the pain. I offer help but her mother rejects it. I fear that the old woman would hurt herself supporting Sara and holding her, but her mother is quite strong and it's fascinating.
Then comes the reading exercise, which distracts me with the irritated sighs and groans of disability. My attention is on work one second and back on Sara's stuttering tongue the next.
"B…but a c…aged bird stands on the…the…the…"
"Grave of dreams," her mother continues for her. "Say it again, stands on the grave of dreams."
"Stands on the…the graves of d…dreams." She takes a deep breath and our eyes meet. I smile encouragingly, but she doesn't respond with any expression. "His sha…his shadow shouts on a…a…a…nightmare scream," she continues.
"Yeah," Jessica whispers softly. "Good job."
She smiles, gaining more confidence and uttering the line after without much interruptions, "his wings are c…clipped and his feet are tied." She breathes again but this time she doesn't look at me. "So he op…op…opens his throat to sing."
"That was good. You're getting better," her mother encourages. "Now the last verse and I'll set you free, little bird."
I see her cringing, her mother laughing. "Mum, p…please. I'm too old for this."
"Still my little bird." Her mother shrugs.
Only in the evening we can finally be alone. Her mother goes to the other room, which I have furnished so quickly and tastelessly as soon as she has come. It was supposed to be a guests' bedroom, an office, or a fucking bedroom for our children, if someday we have any. But now it looks so different from the entire house; so plain, so lifeless, so old.
But this time is spent in the shower, which is not so bad since that's the only time I can see Sara naked if not taking her to the bathroom.
"Wanna shit?" I ask as I adjust the faucet, filling the tub.
"N…no." Her cheeks turn red instantly. I give her a quick grin before taking my clothes off.
"Well, I have to pee." I sit on the toilet. Sara's on her chair right in front of me. "I'll let you wipe for me when you can walk so it would stop being awkward for you." I get up and wash my hands.
"It will never…never stop being aw…aw…aw…" She huffs when her tongue betrays her.
"It will. If I think it's totally okay, why are you so embarrassed about it? God, Sar, we've been through way worse. You puked on me, baby. You touched my period blood. You told me it's normal, remember? That I shouldn't feel bad about it."
The hardest part is always getting her off the chair and ridding her off her clothes. Thankfully, the pain has been reduced with the heavy doses of medicine, and now she can at least support herself more in the standing position. Her disability is limited by both pain and fear. The psychological is affecting the physiological, that's what the doctors and our therapist have agreed on.
In the warm water her body relaxes. She said that heat was always good on her back. I sit right behind her so she's lying against my chest. She closes her eyes and rests her head on my shoulder.
I start to give her a massage. I begin with her shoulders to ease all the tensed muscles. I can feel her relaxing more with every gentle hum. I kiss the skin of her neck where her hair stops at.
"All my…all my body hurts," she says in the calmest voice possible. "All of it."
"I'm so sorry." Is there something else I can say?
"I wish I can re…remember." I continue my hand movement, giving her room to talk. "I was so happy. I was going to…to…to continue my studies and all."
"You can always do that once you heal. It's happening, babe." I thought by now her memory would return but that didn't happen. She can't remember any event of that day. She only remembers waking up and going back to sleep. Sometimes she pauses and looks at me strangely then shakes her head, as if she's seen something that she wants to tell me about but decides not to. She told me sometimes she feels she's on the verge of remembering but as soon as she wants to speak, her mind shuts down.
"And then…then something else happens and it's the same c…cycle."
"Don't say that," I mumble with a kiss on her shoulder as my hands descend down to give her upper back tender rubs.
"You know where I…where I need a m…m…massage right now?"
"Your feet?" I ask.
"No," she answers quickly. "My…" She giggles. "My pussy."
"Oh, wow. Okay."
Silence. She says nothing and I say nothing for a few seconds.
"Really?" I ask loudly. The excitement is finding its way inside my body.
"Y…yeah."
"Okay but aren't you, like, paralyzed? Like you actually feel stuff? You feel horny?"
I receive a long groan as a response. "I am not pa…pa…whatever, okay? I am just…I can't walk. But I feel horny."
"So you want it?" I grin at her, tilting my head to make her look at me.
"God, Tee." I guffaw as a rush of heat fills me, reaching different directions. I reach for her breasts and cup both of them. "I shall massage these beauties first."
I didn't know she was this aroused. Her moans are loud. I hope her mother doesn't hear her and bursts in wondering if Sara's in pain. When I pinch the two nipples, Sara's body begins to move, which is not very good. I try to hold her still and steady her movement. I don't want to hurt her or break her as Jessica has said.
It's hard to feel her wetness underwater, but it seems that she's enjoying the slightest of touches so even my strokes are firing her libido. I rub her cunt thoroughly and twirl her clit. I don't want her to arch her back so I focus on her nipples instead. I give her a finger to bite on so she would stop whimpering.
I pinch her nipples and play with her breasts. I wish I can put them in my mouth, suck and bite till they're sensitive and tender.
I sneak in one finger inside, making her push her head back on my shoulder quickly. Her insides squeeze me as I feel warm fluids rushing down her creamy walls and mixing with the water.
"Well that was very quick." She laughs shyly, hiding her face from my blazing vision.
At night I cover both of our heads with the blanket and pull down my pajama shorts along with my stripped boxers. She giggles calmly when I hurriedly lift my t-shirt up and touch myself.
I finger myself in silence, looking right at Sara's dimmed features. My breaths and hers are mingling as heat crawls up my body. She feels my left breast for a few minutes, once toying with the barbell and nipple, then squeezing the soft flesh. I guide her hand down to touch my clit.
"Please," I mumble. She's close to me. I know she can do it easily without any pain and I need to feel the warmth of her soul in her touches. I want to feel her, all of her; the energy she vibrates, the strength, the will, the growth, the tenderness, the forgiveness, the love, the ambition.
She listens to my plea and touches me. Her touches are mellow like her. Our breaths breaking through the silence and darkness of the night give me a special feeling, a type of connectedness we have abandoned a long time ago. Suddenly I feel like climbing on top of her, kissing her, then crying on her chest. The butterflies begin to sway in my stomach and it's not because I am about to orgasm but because this type of feeling reminds me of the old days when we hid under covers and discovered each other's darkest secrets in our dorm room. Those were the best days.
In the morning I wake up before her so I try not to make any sound as I open my eyes and find our cat's butt in my face.
"How did you get in here?" I whisper. "Come, let's go." I pick her up, hoping she wouldn't meow loudly before leaving the room with Sara asleep inside.
The angry voice of her mother stops me from walking down the stairs. I stop in my place and listen as her shouts are loud and her tears are evident in her hoarse tone.
"And that's why I did it all wrong. All of it. When my daughter is twenty-eight but cannot take care of herself, it means I did not know how to bring her up well, Sander."
I should not be overhearing, but one can't ever kill a habit as they wake up one day deciding to do so.
"She can't control her life, she's twenty-eight and she doesn't know how to even speak. If my daughter can't even make her own decision then I must have done something wrong, then we must have done something wrong and I don't know what we did but I am sure, God, I am sure we did not teach her to put up with violence, we did not teach her to say okay to humiliation and oppression."
They all think I'm a violent monster; it's what they see in me. They don't know that there is another demon that lives in my mind, the one that takes over my thoughts, forces me to do what I shouldn't do. They ignore the fact that back then I didn't know of the existence of that evil side, they don't know that I can control it now with the pills, they don't know how hard I fight with it, they don't fucking see me the way Sara does. So Sara's the only one who knows me and loves me, the only one who ever knew me and loved me.
"We taught her to love who she wants and be proud of her choices and herself, all I see now is deadly depression, Sander, do you hear me? It's deadly, I swear. She thinks of death more than she thinks of anything. She asks about death more than she asks about anything, she stares at the ceiling and does not talk. That's not the kid I raised. I raised a very bubbly, happy Sara. I raised a Sara who always ranted about everything on her mind, who ached our head with her views, a Sara who wanted to do what the fucking shit she wanted without giving a damn. And now…God, now I don't know what kind of ghost she is anymore. She has ambition but she kills it whenever she opens her mouth. If my daughter's not back to whom she was in few months, I'm actually…I, I don't know what I'll do…I don't know…" Her cries are louder now. "That's the thing. I can't do anything. I can't control anything. She's an adult, not a kid living under my roof. And that's the problem, is that she's an adult but doesn't really know how to be one. She's almost thirty. She can't do anything and she's almost thirty and I don't know if I should blame us or her girlfriend or herself. I don't know."
I wait a few moments after she hangs up till I walk up to her. She looks at me with tears in her eyes so I hug her, not expecting her to accept it. She does, however. She knows I've been listening.
"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I'm sorry you feel this way and I'm sorry Sara feels this way."
She nods, not saying a single word. She wipes her tears while pouring coffee for me.
"I truly love Sara. I promise you that I do. I am ill and I need her, please don't think I want to hurt her on purpose."
"I know," she finally says. "I only wish my daughter would be as happy as she once was."
"I wish that, too. I'm trying my best to get her back to those days."
"But fate isn't working on your side, dear." I sigh, sipping my steaming coffee and rubbing my face.
Work is monotonous and long. It's hard to be nice to employees when you can't be nice to yourself, when it's been a bad morning. I call Sara after an hour to check how she's feeling because she was still asleep when I left.
"I'm alright," she says at once. "The…the cat peed on the…the mattress."
"Oh, no. Not again."
"Yeah." She pauses. I hear meowing and Jessica's voice. "Mum's changing the sheets."
In my lunch break I lock myself inside my office and cry alone. I have to find a gate out for Sara, a way out of this prison she feels trapped in. I don't know what I should do. I don't know how I'll make her feel happy. How am I going to help her feel alive again?
I decide to call Emy. Friends always help. But Emy has been having her own issues with Amber lately. They married each other one strange morning a month ago after a very huge fight. They almost split so they decided to fix it up with marriage, which is actually bad in my opinion, but I can't judge with a relationship like mine and Sara's.
"Sometimes you need a best friend and I need you so much. I need you guys near me."
"Me too. I just need someone who can make me feel better about what's happening, make Sara feel better, make her laugh and smile. I want the good old times."
We both cry as we spill our hearts out to each other. Emy and I aren't as close as Sara and her but she's always there to listen. My best friend is Sara, for sure, but Emy is trust-worthy and amazing, too.
"I never thought my problems would revolve around having a freaking baby. I'm so young to be dealing with this."
"So she can't, like, conceive at all?" I ask.
"We've been trying but it's not working. It's just depressing her and making me hate being around her."
"Why don't you, uh, leave her if you don't want to be dealing with this? Do you even want a child right now?"
"I love her, that's why." Her sobs become louder and her cries increase. "And it hurts me seeing her upset. I'm trying to convince her that we're very young and we still have so much time but it's not working."
"I know how you feel. It's like being trapped inside an abyss of depression. You try your best to make things good but they keep getting worse. I don't know what I'll do anymore to get Sara the way she's been before."
She chuckles, pausing for a moment before speaking, "The problem is that you want to make time go back and time does not go back. You want to make Sara go back to the same Sara you first met, not realizing that you've been dating for years and people usually change in few months, so how about years? It's healthy not to be the same person."
"I know people change. I mean, I want her to be happy."
"You think Sara was happy? Sara was clinically depressed when you first met her. If you remember we were having issues with our sex and it's because of her depression and the treatment. She never told anyone but me and we never talked about it. She hated her major, she hated college, she felt trapped. I felt the same way you're feeling now and I wanted her to go back to the first days we've met. But Sara was never happy. She never felt satisfied. She never felt enough and it's not because it's you who made her feel this way. It's because she always felt like there is something missing in her. She always felt like she belonged to someone else. She refused to tell me she's adopted all that time till I knew it from you and it all made sense to me. It's hard to point fingers when we all have contributed in this mental destruction, but I think her parents are the ones to blame mostly. I know they love her, but they must have done something wrong that she feels this way, don't you think so?"
"She had always felt like she's stupid, like she's a loser…I don't know why she used to feel like that. She was smart and funny and outgoing."
"Yes." Emy coughs. "I know," she continues. I hear her sniffles and soft whimpers through the phone. "In all honesty, I think Sara has grown and her personality has developed. I feel like she knows her abilities now, even though she's hopeless, she knows what she's capable of. Now she's blaming fate and I think to blame fate is better than to blame yourself because as long as you know you can challenge fate, you're good."
"I disagree," I say.
"Why?"
"I think that thinking fate is your enemy means that you think something is way bigger than you is stopping you and that's what Sara thinks and that's why she's giving up, that's why she's hopeless. She thinks she is destined to fall, she's cursed, she's not meant to be happy so she shouldn't try; and that's why I want to make her happy and prove otherwise to her."
Emy laughs a little. I don't know what's funny.
"And who do you think you are, Tegan? The one who controls her happiness and laughter?"
"What?"
"Maybe you are the fate we're talking about, Tegan?"
"Excuse me?"
"Maybe you are her fate," she whispers.
"I don't…get it."
Emy huffs, I can hear it clearly through the phone. "Oh, I have to go. Amber's shift is ending soon. Goodbye, Teegles."
"Bye," I whisper in utter confusion.
Quiet greets me when I get back home, thinking it's empty until I step into my room and find my girlfriend on my bed.
"You're here!" I state loudly.
"Yeah. Wh…where would I be?" Bad mood, I can see it from her frown.
"It's just so quiet around here. Thought you're out with your mum." I sit on my mattress, kick off my shoes and shift my body next to hers.
"I'm just resting." Her index finger circles the button of my shirt as she looks at me. "Mum's pro…probably in the…in the bathroom or something." Sara sneezes and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "My asthma," she mumbles. "It's been bad today."
"Same," I say with a prolonged moan. "The weather is disgusting. I have a headache."
Sara surprises me with a shy kiss. Her smile is a river of mystery. I kiss her back, smiling when my hand sneaks its way down the duvet and inside her sweatpants. I tangle my fingers in her curls and descend till I meet silky wetness. She giggles through the kiss and I do, too. I dip inside velvety folds, searching for the small entrance.
When the door opens, I pull away meeting Jessica's red face. A mug in her hand, Sara's mother clears her throat, smiling bashfully.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you arrived."
"It's okay." I try not to make it noticeable that my fingers are in Sara's pants, but trying to pull them out makes Jessica stare at the moving hand inside the covers, which makes both Sara's face and hers beet red. "I just…I just came…home, I mean." I laugh nervously, which comes out loud and obnoxious. I cringe at my silly awkwardness, slapping my forehead as soon as Jessica gives Sara her coffee.
Sara guffaws loudly, louder than I've seen or heard her do in a very, very long time. "I just came…home, I mean," Sara mocks me, grabbing my face with both hands, making me feel so small and childish.
"Shut up."
"You're a…adorable, Tegan."
"That was embarrassing."
I change my clothes and join Sara in bed under the covers, talking to my mum and my dad for awhile then talking to Sara a little bit. Jessica calls me in the middle of our chat.
"Tegan, darling, I need a little help."
I leave the room to help her with whatever she needs.
"I'm trying to get the television to your room, so Sara can watch something or use the Playstation. She's been moody lately, refusing to leave her room."
We used to have a television in the room, but Cyndi did something to the wires and we can't plug it in anymore. I haven't thought of moving the one in the living room inside our bedroom because we liked to sit outside, but now with Sara's condition, she barely likes to get out of the bed. All she likes to do is sit in there, read a book and play with the cat. It's depressing, but how can I get her away from what makes her feel comfortable? We all like to zone ourselves inside our shells to run away, I know that, I felt that way. We all choose different methods, different getaways. I hated it when someone tried so hard to make me 'change.' They didn't know and couldn't get it. And I probably can't get half of the things Sara's mind, heart, and body are going through, but I know not to force her out of things she cannot control because happiness doesn't happen when you tell someone to change how they see things; it's not a button we can switch on and off. If it was, nobody would be suffering.
"What are you…what are you doing?" Sara asks when I move the large television inside.
"Dear, be careful, the cat is sitting right beside your feet."
"Cyndi, go to mama, go to mama." Cyndi hops on the mattress, quickly seeking Sara's figure.
"I thought it would be better to move it here since nobody sits outside much. You could play video games and watch programs or something."
"Oh, thank you."
While I adjust the cable, Jessica starts rambling about their day. Sara woke up late and was lazy; she didn't want to go to the bathroom or eat.
"She just wanted to stay in bed. It's not good for her bladder." Sara's small groans make me laugh silently as I face the television. "And then the doctor came and Sara walked well. I bet she didn't tell you that. She took a step today on her own."
"Mum," Sara scolds, "Don't…don't talk about me as if I'm a b…b…baby."
"I'm sorry." Jessica sighs. "I'm just happy that you're improving. She even read an entire paragraph without a stutter today."
I look at Sara, trying to make my smile seem proud and tender. "Is that true, Sasa? You tried to walk today?"
"Yeah…it…it hurt but it felt good. I think I'll recover soon. I hope so."
"Yeah, the doctor said she will. I know she will in a matter of days. I don't want to be worried when I leave, honey." If she leaves, I'll throw a party. I'll invite people I know and people I don't know. I swear I'll throw a party even if it was for Sara and I with the cat by ourselves. But the issue is after she's leaving, Jane will take over the duty of caregiving, and I hate nothing more than intruders who gossip about everything.
The following day we decide to have our home session with Dr. Philips. I dress Sara in her favorite dark blue button up and grey trousers. I comb her hair and spray her with cologne. Then I get dressed in T-shirts and jeans. If I'm around my house, I'm allowed to look comfortable, but Sara always likes to be dressed up, even if she's staying in. I think it's charming and healthy. Jessica and I try to make the living room presentable, removing items lying around in each nook and corner. She dusts off the furniture and I open the windows to let some breeze in to freshen up the air inside our apartment. Sara shivers after a few minutes while sitting on her chair and staring at us tidying. I close the window and bring refreshments. We're not allowed to drink, Dr. Philips said to me over the phone; therefore I bring sodas and juices with a bunch of snacks that Sara enjoys.
"It's like…like a movie night," Sara says while chewing her chips delicately, careful enough not to spit some while talking.
"Yups, doc said she wants us to feel like home, like if it's just some hangout; not really a therapy session."
Sara smiles, nodding with chips in her mouth.
"You guys really don't invite people over, do you?" Jessica asks, finally plopping on the couch like a little teenager after a long school day. Her flushed cheeks make her look younger. She has also put some makeup. Her eyes look more vibrant than hours ago and her smile looks less mean. Her black shirt, though, still not attractive on her body, neither are her dark jeans.
"We don't," I answer.
"We don't have f…friends," Sara says.
"Why not?"
"It's b…b…" Sara stomps her foot loudly and angrily when the simple word challenges her capability of pronunciation.
"It's okay," I ease her anger with a whisper, but it does not make anything better. Tears accumulate around her eyes. "Sara," I try again, "please don't be so hard on yourself."
I look at silent Jessica. I want her to say something to save me. She looks at her daughter as if her daughter is the time that passed and is mourned over for the many decades that follow.
"Better," Sara says, taking a deep breath. "Because it's better." I kiss her forehead, mouthing words of love and encouragement.
When Dr. Philips arrives, she asks Jessica many questions before talking to us. They talk about the past; things I never knew. I can see Sara's smile from the periphery while her mother speaks about finding her and taking her in. The story makes me tear up a little bit but I try not to grab any uncalled for attention.
"So, Sara, Tegan, how are you today?"
"Good," I answer.
"Good," Sara repeats.
"Great," our therapist says. "Well, today I want us to do something different. I'm not gonna ask you. I'm going to let you talk about anything you want. Just talk to each other. Pretend that Jessica and I are just close friends." She laughs upon watching my disturbed facial expression. "I know that's hard to imagine but you can try. I'll just eat some garlic bread, seems delicious, who made it?"
"I did," I respond.
"Oh, that's amazing, you can cook?"
"We all can. Even Sara."
Sara nods in agreement, blushing at my enthusiasm and randomness.
I begin to talk because Sara will never choose to speak first. If that was five years ago, Sara would be the one chatting till our heads started throbbing. So I start to talk about the first time we met, about Sara's OCD; about the good ol' days as they say.
"She used to be disgusted by everything, she didn't even want to touch my hand or shake it. She literally just shook my arm, and the only reason she did that because I was so hot and a lesbian, too." I wink at my blushing, laughing girlfriend.
"Not," Sara says. "I...I mean, yeah, you were hot…"
"Were?" I jump up, eyes widening.
"Still hot." She giggles, brushing her fringe off her face. "But I…I shook it because you seemed clean. Yeah, I had…I had a bad OCD." She laughs cutely. "I used to…to be disgusted with everything." Her mum is smiling and so is our therapist. I enjoy hearing Sara speak; for the more she speaks the better her pronunciation is, which by now I am sure it is merely psychological and I hope things are getting better for her. "I didn't like people being…c…close to me. Only Emy. But then, then Tegan came and everything just…changed."
"How did it change? I'm actually very interested, not as a doctor but as Christy, the middle aged woman who wants to know how this love started." Fool me all you want, I know these schemes. Even if she's interested in our love life, she's still a therapist; she still wants to connect things. I know because I have a therapist mother and a psychology major girlfriend.
"I was…I was dating Emy back then. I loved her."
"And I was very…slutty. I slept around, not in university but before that. When I started university I didn't sleep with anyone because I immediately fell for her. It took me months and months to realize it but it happened eventually. I thought I'm not capable of love."
"It was hard for her…and for me, and for Emy. Hard to break up…hard to fall for someone who didn't know what love is, I mean…sh…she always said she didn't love, so I couldn't do anything but hurt her in diff…diff…different ways." She takes a deep breath, wiping the sweat upon her nervous brow.
"Why couldn't you love, Tegan?" Jessica asks me. I look up at the woman sitting far in the corner of the room, not knowing how to explain things I never dared to talk about.
"Tee, you don't have to."
"It's alright. I'm over it now. I'm old now, and mature." All three laugh, making me roll my eyes at my girlfriend mostly. Yes, I'm quite young, or too young to have this responsibility; but that's the thing, I've always carried extra weight on my shoulder."
"I grew up not having a family. My parents separated when I was a newborn. My grandma told me that it'd been that way since they were in high school. Always on and off, on and off. So I always asked myself, why did they decide to have me if they're that messed up? I remember my dad sneaking inside our small house in Calgary at night. I would be asleep next to mum and when dad would show up; they'd pick me up to put me in the other room. It was the only time I didn't protest being taken away from mum's bed. I just thought that I had parents like all the other kids and like all my cousins. In the morning, I'd sneak in the bedroom to cuddle with them but I'd find my dad gone and my mother crying. She wouldn't tell me why but as I grew up I realized that they tried so hard to fix their issues, but they never could. Till this day, I don't know what their issues were. They never spoke to me or told me anything. Now they're back together, I have no idea what happened and what they fixed in order to be together. All I know is that they always slept together, even when my mother had boyfriends."
With the quiet that greets me after I pause, I can't think of anything but how judgmental they must be right now, especially Jessica, whose pupils won't stop dancing in my direction.
"I saw different men break my mother's heart. I saw her getting dumped, abused, cussed at, mocked…I saw everything. I saw her crying and depressed, losing hope in life, attempting suicide. I saw all of it. I had to comfort her each night and I was just seven. I grew up thinking that love is like that because whenever I asked her why she would let them do this to her, she would answer, 'Because I love him.'
"I asked myself if that was what love was. My dad was hard to talk to; he was always busy, just getting started with his career. He'd take me to work with him and show me all the business mechanisms, making me promise him that I'd be the best businesswoman one day."
Sara laughs, squeezing my knee and winking at me.
"The only good place was my grandparents'. They took good care of me when my mother was too wasted to get out of bed or too beaten up to show her face, as if I didn't know what was wrong."
Sara knows all of that, but none of the other two women do. I know that Jessica is wondering why I hit her daughter if my mother suffered such pain. I wish I can answer her, I wish I can have a reason. I don't know, it just happened, I couldn't control it. I'd never do it again.
"At nine my mum was with another boyfriend and she was fairly happy, I could say. But…but each night I would feel a strange feeling in my own bed. I would wake up and he'd be by my side. He would hush me gently. He was…gentle, to get where he wanted. He used to tell me we were going to play a game and if I played right, he would buy me whatever I wanted. I was exposed to sex just then. He started to…to touch me. His hands…"
"Tegan, do…don't."
Talking about it always feels like it's happening to me again. I will never erase it. I will never forget it.
"It's okay." I take a breath, looking down at my lap before continuing. "He touched me and made me touch him. He used to grab my hand and put it…you know. I was horrified. I didn't know who to tell. It happened for months until one day he wanted more, I screamed loudly that day. My mum was out. I didn't know what he wanted but I knew something was happening and that something was not what I wanted. I was quick, very quick. I picked up the phone and dialed my dad's number…"
"Jesus Christ, what happened after that?" Jessica says with a hand over her mouth. I feel like I'm exposing a dramatic tale to them, and they're waiting for the plot to thicken.
"Court, jail, yeah. But my mother didn't really learn. She still dated, her heart was still broken. She still dated till I was in college when I refused to go home for the holidays, if you remember."
"Yeah, I do."
Dr. Philips is stark mute without any expression on her face. She's not eating anything anymore, just staring at us as we speak.
"She thought that…that everyone was going to hurt her like they did her mum," Sara says.
"I didn't know I was going to be one of those guys." Tears start falling from my eyes. "I remember the first time we fought…"
"I strangled her," Sara says. "I climbed on t…top of her and wrapped my hands around her neck. I st…started it. The physical fighting."
"But that was different from what I…"
"It was her second day in the dorm…" Sara cuts me off again. "I remember how she turned me on. I fell…I fell for her. I wanted her…and I had her...I still have her."
"I like that you went to a place, a dark place but you came back from it," Christy says. "That's always necessary in relationships, to talk about it like that, to examine it, to take yourself way back, then return again. Always get back to where you are or else you'll get stuck in a place you thought you're over, and if you get stuck, know that you're not over it."