-*-*-
Ancillae
Chapter Seven: Quicksand Years
-*-*-
Fucking. Damn. Whores.
Is the first thing I think of as I open my eyes and take in the world around me, realizing that they sedated me.
Again.
And they wonder why we can't trust each other – they tell my secrets, force me to sleep, and expect I won't do something to relax. How can I allow myself to look at them and imagine life without them when all I want to do is draw and quarter them?
My eyes once again rove over the room. Although I am happy to find that my restraints are gone, my sight picks up a man, maybe a couple years older than me, with blonde hair who's staring at me smugly. He's seated across the room in a hospital chair, dressed in jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Decidedly informal attire. But I do not know him.
Now this can't be good.
"Hello, Timothy. I'm Chris Markinsen." He stands and extends an arm to shake my hand, but I ignore him, "I'm your social worker."
I can't stop what I mumble in response, "Suicide watch." I'd forgotten that I'm on one now. A light couple of taps to the head, "Stupid."
He's obviously not happy with my display of self-discipline. Wisely, he says nothing about it, and asks me a question instead, "Dr. Codyn already told you?"
"No, I overheard the conversation Andrew was having with Megan." The venom in my voice is unmistakable, "And I don't like it when people talk about me when I'm in the same fucking room. It's insulting and rude."
His eyebrow raises, "I've been informed that…that word is your favorite, but if you could…"
Don't ever give me an opening like that. Because it's too easy for me to start, "F-u-c-k. Fuck. Fuck you!" The yelling gets my best friend to appear from seemingly thin air.
"Tim. Stop behaving like a child." She warns, from mid-way between the door and my bed.
"So you can treat me like one?" I bite back at her, sitting up straighter in the tilted bed and putting on my best glare. Which is barely effective, because all it does is make her sigh and move closer, stroking my chin with a finger.
"Your mom and Jude should be here soon. Another two hours maybe. Horatio's on his way. Decided to leave work early because Gab's demanding to come see you." The held back tears in her voice are thick. I did it, too, and that hurts. I'm making her upset all over again.
"If you would take your head out of your ass for two seconds, you'd see that you are pushing away everyone! That's why you're alone!" She yells at me.
"Megan Elise Donner!" I get her to attention with the use of her full name, then continue, "I know I'm pushing away everyone! I know it! And everyone lets me!" I'm seething now, handcuffed to my own bed now that she sees what my therapy is, "I want to be alone!"
She starts crying then, hugging me to her. Huge breaths in, out, in, out. Irregular and I realize I'm making her cry.
"Oh, Meg. I'm sorry. Don't cry. Please, don't cry, Meg."
I turn my eyes to the ceiling, tired of seeing the expression of pure hopelessness on Meg's face, "I'm sorry." My nails are drifting. I can't stop them. Wish I could, to avoid those stupid, blue constraining straps, but my need is overpowering. I have to make this go away.
"Tim. No." She takes my appendages into her own, "No more, Timmy. You don't have to do this anymore. Promise me you won't."
You can't ask me that. She cannot ask me to not cut, "I wish I could."
"But you can." She bends, captures my face and makes me look at her, "You are so strong, Timmy. You are and you can get better."
There's the optimism that she puts so much energy in to. It won't pan out. Not with me. I've been like this too long. Still, her heart has taken so many blows…
"I can't promise, because I'd be lying. I…uh…I'll promise to try. But I can't promise that I will." I can give her that much. Then when I fail, when my brain takes over and thrusts me back into reality and I tear my skin with knives or nails or teeth or god-knows-what, she won't feel like I broke a pact between us.
My best friend nods, "That will do for now." She pats my hair back, smoothing it from my eyes.
I let myself look up, to see what Chris is doing, as he's most likely planning my next torture, when I glance at a thick of dark hair. Dark like mine, but longer. "Hi, Mom."
Megan turns to face my parent; her lips tighten into a thin line, "Mrs. Speedle, it's good to see you again." The customary, 'Thought I wish it were under different circumstances', is left off deliberately, because I'm sitting two feet from the older woman.
"Where's Jude?" I inquire. I want my brother. He's all I want, and I don't know why. Probably to see if he's become any bit like me, so I can correct those flaws. He will not allow him to fuck up his life like I've fucked up mine. Jude's better, smarter.
He appears, and I realize the mental image concocted from worn photos, e-mails, and phone calls is off. His hair is more like my father's – sandy blond, roots coal-black, and his complexion is tan, not peaches-n-cream. He's taller too. Beyond that, he is me at seventeen. Complete with torn Nirvana t-shirt and black pants.
"Hey, bro." He's treading lightly with me, as though he fears setting me off. I can see the glint of a tongue ring when he speaks.
"Take that out of your mouth right now!" I demand, calming him inadvertently.
Markinsen's staring at me and I don't like it. Neither does my mom, but she knows what it means. So she clasps my little brother's shoulder, "I need to talk to Tim alone, okay?" Her eyes float to my best friend.
Both of them nod, understanding the message, then exit stage left.
"I didn't ask either Dr. Codyn or Megan to tell me what happened because I want to hear it from you."
She's kind of like Horatio, my mother. She's pushing, but she's letting me know it's okay to say only as much as I want. And she's watching me like the boss watches us at a scene. Still…it won't matter what I tell her, since soon Lauryn Speedle will decide that I'm too bad an influence on Jude and take her leave, never to return to Miami or to me.
"It's a long story."
"I've got time."
Why do I do this to myself? Why do I perpetually back myself into corners, to discover I'm on the inside looking out at all the what-ifs?
And I let it all out in that instant, all the things I've wanted to say to my mother for years. Not about the cutting, the one or two lowly burns when I needed something and a lighter was closest to my grasp. I tell her about the hatred I harbor for her and for my father, who couldn't even find the time to come visit his oldest son when I need him most. Of the chafing phone calls and evasion anytime I begged for them to visit. I scream of Annabel and Matthew, of my Blaise.
"You never cared before! Never!" I let my tirade come to a close. My breath comes out in pants, my hands clutch the sheets and there's a bead of sweat trailing a path down my forehead.
Her eyes mist, lower lip trembles, "Do you truly believe that, sweetheart?"
Endearments…her way of evoking guilt, "No. I don't believe it – I know it!" She had relaxed, but re-tenses when I calmly let that out, "Meg left and I needed to talk to you. What happened, Mom? You told me you were busy. I have to be one of your fucking cases for you to even look at me!" I slam back; shut my lids against the light.
And I stay like that for a little while, hoping to avoid…everything. It isn't possible though, and I release my tight hold on my eyes so they open as a rubber band would snap back.
In time to see that Lynnette is injecting my IV line with something, and I really don't care anymore, "What is it?"
She eyes me for a second, "Butisol Sodium."
My exhaustion disappeared earlier after two forced naps, so it only serves to calm my frayed nerves, "Where's Megan?" I beg of her.
I can't deal with my mother anymore, not with her sapped, morose gaze. I can't handle her disappointment or her guilt. I want my best friend, my protector.
"Lieutenant Caine and Miss Caine are downstairs. They asked to speak with her before they came up."
Finally. Won't have to depend solely on Megan to save me from everyone else. Someone who understands, who knows – who feels.
"Timothy?" My mother stares at me, solidly. Mommy…no! Speed, this is the woman who never has time for you. She never visits and keeps you from coming home when you ask. She's not mommy any more.
"Go away." I slide to my side, roll away from her, before lifting my IV arm over my ear. I can still hear her, as she sighs my name and sniffs away salty tears, "Tell Dad he was right."
There's some
noise at the doorway, intriguing me to switch back to being semi-vertical. H stands there, "Feeling better?"
Rhetorical question, huh,
boss? Go to the ER and ask that to
someone sick or injured, not the emotionally damaged residents of the Psych ward.
"She called my phone sixty-seven times because she couldn't wait to come see you and I refused to give her the keys to the car.
As he informs me, a short redhead peeks out from behind my boss's back and smiles cynically, "Hi, Speed."
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Chris nod to my nurse, who leads my mother into the hallway with Horatio in tow. It is just three of us, and I note the desire for him to leave in the pit of my stomach. But he won't – he can't, by law, by hospital regs.
Her warm eyes, almost teal at this moment, are trained on me, "Miss you." Ever since I met Gabbie, she's been like the little sister I didn't have. I taught her to ride my bike, which H still has yet to find out about, and once a week she and I read each other interesting articles out of some of my forensics magazines.
"I miss you too." My arms widen of their own accord; she fills the gab in seconds, "I'm sorry."
"For?"
How do I explain? How do I tell her that I screwed up and if Horatio were to test the blood on my knives, the results will undoubtedly come back with two donors – her and I? "I think…I think they're right."
I can see the fear in her eyes. Never the most vocal person, Gab speaks with her body, her eyes, and I know she's afraid I'll give up her secret – and I will. Eventually. But not now.
"I, uh, am going to try." I restrain from adding an additional sentence only because Markinsen is ever-present. I think it instead, 'And you should try to stop, too.'
She knows what I am implying but places me with one of the infamous Caine stares, "Why?"
I lean close to her ear, "Because I can't stand having a social worker be with my twenty-four-seven, even while I shower."
The little redhead girl lets out a tiny laugh, mirthless and thick, "Poor Speed." A hand reaches up, ruffles my hair so badly I know it is sticking up in every direction – the only person who I allow to get away with that.
I kiss her scalp, "Promise me."
"Promise." She mutters, pulling out of my grasp to let her eyes temporarily lock with mine. The truth is contained within their depths. Gabriella is willing to try. But it won't last long. Horatio will make one stupid comment about work, will be late to pick her up one day and she'll give in to the temptation.
The father reappears in the doorway, "I'm sorry, guys, but Andrew had to lie to get her up here and I don't want to get him in trouble. She won't be able to come back if he does."
"Tomorrow?" She asks.
"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."
Horatio's expression tells me it will be a miracle if I see her again before the end of the week, but I have no problems with that. We need to be apart; I need to talk to Jude.
He takes her then. With a last hidden smile, she leaves.
Megan returns, "I heard you were asking for me." She lets a blithe smile slip, but quick shoves it back and begins to crawl onto the bed.
"Yeah." I say nothing. I don't have to. My best friend knows I'm asking her to save me from my mother. My social worker mother who's talking to Andrew just outside my earshot.
Always and without fail my mom has treated me as though I were a tiny child, who needs to be taken care of. Since the day I was fucking born, until the day I'm six feet under with marks on my wrists.
"Your mom thinks that you should still be restrained." The brunette before me lisps out.
"Why?" It drips off my tongue covered in sarcasm, but it is a genuine question. I'm just too used to using scathing retorts.
She rolls her melted-chocolate eyes at me, "Because of your performance mainly." Now there's a surprise, my mother's trying to do her job here.
"Told you. I have to be a case for her to care."
"We've had this fight before. Let's not repeat it." She's asking more than telling. I'll concede though, because she's not my mother and I don't want her to go. I want her to stay with me.
Someone clears their throat. Chris looks at me, indifferent almost, before pointing at the door. Jude is staring at me, fingering the hem of his shirt.
"I'll be in the hall waiting for the redhead. Horatio wanted to make sure that Gab got onto the road alright."
Once gone, my brother walks in, a little weary of the man watching my every move, and stands beside my bed, "Hi." He says.
Fuck. "I'm still me. You can talk to me like you always have. He's not allowed to say a damn thing unless it's got to do with killing myself." I smile smugly at the other.
Markinsen sighs. Audibly.
"Mom's freaking out." He shrugs, "You do love her, right? You're just mad? 'Coz she loves you. A lot. Proud, too."
I reach up and ruffle his hair, savoring the fact that he's here. I was wrong on that account…I wasn't on everything else. So far. "I do love her, J.T. Because she gave me life. But that doesn't mean I have to like her."
He understands, "Dad wanted me to tell you he wants to visit."
"He won't."
"I know." It's whispered, "Megan called the other day to tell Mom and Dad you were sick. He sat there with the paper asking if you'd decided to mature and come to Mom's birthday party."
Did I call it or what? I know them like the fucking back of my hand, "Figured he'd say that."
"You deserve better, bro."
My eyes whip up and I see it. I see that tendril from my own youth; verbally beat into him over years of hearing our father's drivel about excellence. "No, I don't. You do." I draw him close, hugging him awkwardly over the silver-metal railing, "Don't turn out like me. Don't. Please, god, don't turn out like me."
My hands move, pushing him back. There's a question in my gaze, I know and he answers it quietly, "Used to. A long time ago. Malcolm caught me at school a year ago. Haven't done it since."
Fuck our goddamn father. Fuck me for not realizing my little brother is…me.
I've messed up so many people. Anna, Matt, Blaise, Meg, Gabbie, Jude. There are tears on my face, dripping down my cheeks to the sheets. Somehow I manage to get up.
And run like the wind to the bathroom. I don't bother with the door. Instead, I focus all my energy on not drowning in toilet water while I throw up the half-digested pasta, bile. It's all pink. I don't know if it's because of my ulcers or the tomato sauce from earlier.
Someone puts a cold washcloth on my forehead, holding it there as I lean over my porcelain god and throw up again. "Okay, Tim. Don't try to stop it. You'll only choke." Meg coaxes me, needlessly.
Second wave empties me of my ability to sit up straight, but I don't slump forward as I thought I would because H has returned and he's got my shoulders.
He's got my back, my best friend's at my side to guard.
I have hurt them so badly. I never had the right. "I wanna die, Meg." I croak out, "I wanna die so bad." The tears are back and they're thick, sparkling in the light.
She moves instantaneously, "I know."
My face is buried into her shoulder, and I plead, "Make the thoughts go away."
Because I can't stop them. Stray thoughts in the back of my mind, always there but never loud enough to interfere with my surface thoughts. Now they're like white noise in my ears.
My best friend hugs me closer.
No one speaks. Because they don't know what to say.
-*-*-
*v* Cassie Jamie *v*
csimiami@cassie-jamie.com
Aphy: You're not weird. Hope this chapter wasn't an overall let down. It's more of a filler between the previous chapter and the next couple. And I think I'm going to get him a dog when he's released.
csisk8rchica: Thank you. And it's a good thing you've got hope for him.
silverrain: Also, thank you. Intense is my middle name. (not really, but we'll pretend.)
trin: :-D Have I fulfilled your desire for more?
trinity: Hum…now don't taunt the author, but are you and trin the same person? Don't confuse me! Confusion results in a loss of mind, and, therefore, a loss of writing ability. Anyways, you and my psych both. He's afraid I'll go off somewhere and…indulge. So little faith.
Raven: Didn't forget à Again, I love your e-mails because they get my butt in gear to write. Otherwise I sit on the couch and let my butt expand. So I respectfully ask you to keep 'em coming. :-D