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Ancillae
Chapter Six: Tears
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The room I've been assigned to is at the end of the hall, a single large window behind my bed. The floor is quiet. Almost everyone is asleep, the exception being a kid who looks like he's just a little older than H's daughter. He's watching from across the hall.
Megan's grip on my hand is impossibly rigid; I think my fingers are blue. I refuse to make my lips form words – any words, causing there to be an awkward silence while she leans me into the mattress.
Drew enters the room, Horatio with him, and both are armed with the blue-padded restraints I loathe.
"Timmy." She lisps quietly, trying to get me to lay back. I know the reason. I don't have to obey.
I don't. But my head makes my body do as it was asked.
H mutters under his breath, words I know yet cannot place. Tired little sentences while he straps me down; my wrist, he huffs out about being a little more selfish. My ankle, ignorant parents.
My doctor, my nurse, my friends step back.
And here I am, twenty-nine going on fucking thirty and bound as though I were a child who cannot control his impulses. Nearly in the third decade of my life with my boss helping to lock me away in a stark white, air controlled building. Where I'll be subjected to endless therapy sessions, some with my fellow inmates; medications to help me 'relax', the nurses' favorite item when they want peace and quiet.
I'd always survived on my own with little or no help. Still do. Megan, once she found out, tried to intervene with my habit, but while I love her like a sister, she could never fully understand – and that separated me from ever changing. I could not…cannot…let go of this like the redhead can release emotion while looking at rape kit results from little kids. At the end of the day, he can go home and sleep it off.
Bastard.
Anger takes me over. I look them up and down, then spit out, "What did you think? I'd just come and be cured overnight? Thought tired immature Timmy would come to his senses?" Meg takes moves away again, "Well, fuck you!" I'd been struggling against my bonds, and I slammed my head against the pillow when that last word slipped out.
Codyn had left while I vented at my friends, slipped from the room like he were a ghost; but now he returns with a syringe, "Do I have to do this, Tim? Are you really going to make me sedate you?" He asks me, knowing full well I might say yes, I might say no. There are days when being drugged into oblivion isn't a bad idea. Then I don't have to listen to conversations about me, while I stand two inches from the person. I don't have to be a member of the human race temporarily and that means I can forget about the kids who's eyes were open to pierce my soul, the dead women with infants at home, the single fathers with no families to care for the ones left behind; The ones left behind.
My best friend shifts forward a step and mouths out 'no!' as though I will repeat it. The boss simply stands there with his hands at their residence on his hips.
And the thought strikes me – no, I don't want to be sedated. Right now, I just want to stare at the ceiling, stare until I go blind from the lack of color.
"No." I shrink back into the bed.
The eldest man sighs, "I'm going to go now, alright? I have to finish the paperwork for you. Lynette will be in soon to get your IV going. You need to be treated for dehydration and get some meds for the infections."
"What ever."
Liar, liar. I know what will be put into that IV when I am not looking.
"I'll come by later to see you." He leaves then, the far-too-cheery Lynette coming to join my little party with the newest implements for my torture.
"Okay, darling." She's not smiling anymore and that's fine with me. I much prefer someone who doesn't try to make me fucking happy. "You should close your eyes." She instructs.
The misleading sensation of coldness takes over my torso as she applies the rubbing alcohol. I know she wants me to avoid watching so I don't make this more difficult than it has to be.
Too bad.
I flex and tighten my muscles in my uncut forearm. She looks up at me, surprised. It confirms my suspicions that Lynette is a newbie to this department, "Relax." She still thinks I can recover. Silly girl.
The other man shifts and crosses his arms, "Cooperate, Speed." He orders in his 'I'm-the-boss-so-you'll-do-what-I-say' voice.
Which has no affect on me. Not anymore. I think this constitutes an automatic dismissal at work, an automatic third-person resignation to the MDPD. I can't remember if it is or not, but I doubt the higher-ups will let Horatio keep me on staff after this.
I maintain my self-imposed muteness, but I have no desire to give anyone reason to inject me with a litany of sedatives. Thus, I obey. Calming breaths… I go limp to make it that much easier on her, only since she's still not smiling. I'm teaching her well.
Yet I still watch as the bluntly-sharp object penetrates my pasty-pale skin. The prick momentarily sends me skyward, before crashing me back to reality. The nauseating, steady drip-drip-drip of the clear liquid as it melds with my lackluster hemoglobin; the feel as unfamiliar drugs settle into my system to treat all the ailments they have decided are in me, on me.
My gaze clouds for a minute and I blink, expecting it to clear up. Then I realize it's not me.
The white haze is from the blonde's scrub top. She's standing over me, two pills in her delicate palm and a glass of water in her other hand, "Iron."
She says nothing more. Andrew must've had a little chat with her when I was force-marched to my current home. Though I suspect, she tells me that as I was supposed to be on these little nightmares for a year now.
"And?" I try to move my arms wider, but she catches my message loud and clear – then proceeds to toss both tiny objects into my mouth, followed closely by a soft flood of water.
Megan's immediately up in arms and begins yelling at my nurse, but I can't say anything.
Oh. Fuck.
It wasn't two iron pills; one was the mineral and a sedative. Sneaky, maniacal, conniving…
I don't want to sleep. I don't…I can't. Please don't make me. I want to scream and shout and yell. Out of my thin lips, I cry, "Hate the dark. Scared." Pathetic, I nearly add.
My eyelids droop, the room dims.
No! I won't give in. I won't.
"I'm here, Timmy. I'm here." My friend's voice cuts sharply into my elusive lucidity, "Don't be scared, honey." She lisps into my ear, gently. Lulling me further into slumber.
And Horatio drives the final nail into my coffin – he approaches; I see his blur from the corner of my vision, then a hand threads its way through my hair.
I hear a cell phone ring as I lapse into the all-consuming darkness.
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The room is enveloped in jolted black, abandoned with the exception of myself, when I wake. The unadorned, plain sky blue curtain has been drawn to block out the warm, yellow rays of the Miami sun.
My ears search for any sound of another person, for Horatio or Megan.
And I hear someone, outside the door. A decidedly upset, feminine voice. Her voice stresses and cracks as my best friend speaks, "But he wo…n't try again, will…will he?" She's obviously been crying. Her methodical type of speech always goes down the drain when there are tear-streaks on her tired face.
"I don't know, Ms. Donner. Some people only attempt once, some will do it a few more times until they overcome what ever it is that is making them do that, and some won't stop until they succeed." Drew answers, "Either way, he's going on a twenty-four hour suicide watch. I have to contact a social worker to come stay with Tim, but until he can get here, Lynette or I will be in with him."
"And we'll be allowed to see him everyday, right?"
Should I be worried about the 'we' in that sentence?
"During visiting hours."
I tire of eavesdropping on their discussion of me. My eyes roll up so I can peek beneath the hem of the heavy fabric dimming my cell. I catch the sight of a set of clouds shaped almost like wings. A plane flies through them suddenly; they pop apart, seeping across the baby-blue sky.
"Hey, you." Meg's tone is like a newborn's skin, "I thought you were going to sleep your life away."
I wish I could. Like no one would believe. To slide into the pinching slumber of unconsciousness, before exiting this world for the next.
I choose to not say that thought, "What time is it?"
"One in the afternoon."
The desire to run my fingers across my face, a force of habit, and rub my lips 'till they bleed washes through me. Alas, my body with still tied to the metal rails of the gurney, although a chest-strap seems to have materialized while I slumbered.
"Horatio has to work, but he and Gabbie will come by later." She volunteers as though I will care.
Technically, I do. I will not tell her that. She may be my best friend, taking the place of ones now gone; yet I do not hope for her to guess this information. It would not do if the secret I harbor for the boss's daughter were to come out.
"What ever."
"Hungry?"
I was wondering when that would reappear. Her want to feed me is slightly comforting.
"Not really." My response is punctuated by a growl from my stomach. Traitor.
Megan raises an eyebrow at me, "Convincing, really." The hand within my visual range whips the curtains open, essentially blinding me as the room goes from faux-midnight to early afternoon. "Dr. Codyn brought up some lunch for you."
There's a covered plate on the stainless-steel rolling table, a bowl of rice pudding, and a large cup of orange juice. "Meg, could…could you untie my hands? Not my feet, just my hands." I don't want to be fed like a toddler, like I fed Jude when Mom was sick or exhausted.
She looks up nervously toward the door where Drew is leaning against the frame. He contemplates for a moment, his brow furrowed, before, "No."
They both sigh, then lift the head of my bed. I cannot move well; my legs are like lead weights from not being able to move and the strap across my upper torso only lets me breath, nothing more. I am definitely not a fucking fan of this treatment, but it is now my fate. I gave in to this, so I will learn to deal.
"I called your parents while you were out." He informs me while my best friend crawls up onto the sheets. He looks at me with an expectant expression, and when I don't give him a response, he continues, "Your mother sends her love, and says she'll fly down as soon as she can get a flight."
I don't want to hope that she'll bring Jude. I refuse to give into that delusion. Still… "Is she bringing Jude?"
"Yes."
I was…wrong? I've never been wrong before. Not with my parents. I know them!
Meg nudges a fork into her fingers. I have to know. Mom would tell the truth…I force myself to look at her, "Did you talk to my mother?"
"Yes. Dr. Codyn told her I was here and she asked to speak with me." She uncovers the plate to reveal pasta laden with tomato sauce, "Jude is definitely coming."
I manage to choke out, "But…but…" How is this possible? I know my parents! They're the most predictable, selfish people on the fucking planet. I've lived here a number of years, they've never visited; I got meningitis, they sent some flowers with a birthday card and money. They only call when they want something, if there's a party I refuse to go to. And it's always my fath…
"My father…he's not coming?"
"No." Meg stabs a piece of ziti, and lifts it to my lips, "Now, eat."
My stomach growls and aches, but let my mouth open so she can feed me. Ironic. Something else I was wrong about. I actually like sitting here with her, even if I'm strapped at every limb.
"What were you thinking?!" I scream at Annabel, her warm-honey skin stained red with drying blood.
She shrugs, "Would you believe I wasn't thinking?" It's an offered lie, and I know it. She knows I know it. She cannot even look at me.
Forcing myself to calm down, I take her face in my hands, "Anna?" I love her with all my heart, and it's hurting me to see her hide behind her blonde hair like she's scared of me.
"I…I don't know, Tim. I don't know. I've been doing it so long, it's what I do." She finally does allow her gaze to shift, and she stares at me from jade eyes, "I don't have a reason to cut anymore. And I can't stop." She starts crying then, her 5'3" frame almost smacking against the toilet tank with her sobs.
I almost took her to the hospital that day. Almost.
She'd gotten on her knees as soon as I mentioned that I wanted to take her to see someone, begged me not to. She begged that I keep it to myself. And I did. For a week.
"Speed." My best friend is nearing with the fork again. The bowl is half empty, "Just a little more." She pleads, "Okay?"
"No more." I can't take anymore. Not when I can hear Anna's voice going through my head when I came to tell her that Matt was dead, to take her home because those people were not helping her. Pam's voice when I saw Blaise the first time and the last.
"Tim?"
I wish I could curl up, slip my head in between my knees, and forget my life. Forget my youth, my parents, my fucking job.
Forget the noise in my head, reminding me of all my failures.
"Tim!" Drew's staring at me, "Tim, relax."
But I can't. It's not possible. Not anymore.
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*v* Cassie Jamie *v*
csimiami@cassie-jamie.com
Raven: Hey, your enthusiasm is what gets this thing written! I like it. Though I can't imagine ever memorizing a fic! :-D
Aphy: Hum…A hamster…maybe. :::Wonders about the Tim Jr. part::: You'll probably like next chapter best.
Saryn: Thank you.
Yaba: I'll let everyone go after it when it's finished. Until then…