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Ancillae
Chapter Eight: The Wound-Dresser
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Horatio and Megan come visit everyday they are allowed for the next six days after my admittance, always bringing me things from Gabbie. Messages that remind there's someone who doesn't need to be abandoned as I have been in the past; journals and magazines keeping me up-to-date.
My mother comes too.
And I wish she wouldn't.
Because she's trying to tell Andrew how to do his job, which doesn't help anything – except further prove that I have to be institutionalized for her to pay any attention to me.
"Mrs. Speedle!" Codyn slams something down, a chart probably, on the counter down the hall. He yells so loud everyone can hear him, and several people appear in their doorways. I do the same, if only to watch them fight over me of all people. It's oddly gratifying.
Meg's trying to pull me back into my room, yet I yank from her grasp. I can't hear them. I have to know what they're saying. Need to know what they're saying about me.
Walking forward, their voices get clearer…
"I will not restrain him again because he's afraid of being held down for prolonged periods of time. I will not up his dosages because he doesn't do well with meds to begin with." His eyes narrow. Drew's pissed, "Do not tell me how to handle my patients. You have not been here for the last decade of his life when he needed you, when he would spend the night in this ward and cry for you."
Damnit. He shouldn't have said that.
I manage to fly almost; catch her by her arms, as she goes for his throat, "No, Lauryn!" My hands clamp down tight on her biceps.
She stills beneath my touch, "Tim."
"Speed." I correct her. She's lost the right to call me by my first name, even if she were the one to give me that moronic thing.
"Timothy." She tries again.
Now I'm pissed.
"It's Speed, Lauryn." I raise my voice, after I invade her personal space; my nose is within inches of her own.
She raises an appendage, backhands me across the face and leaves my right cheek stinging from the blow. Then my mother becomes horrified at her actions. She stares at her hands, eyes progressively getting wider when mom forces herself to turn her gaze to me.
"Feel better?" I ask. I've been wondering when she'd explode at me, though I did provoke her with a grievous misuse of her first name, a massive disrespect in her naïve little world of Italian traditions.
"I'm sorry, honey." She whispers and moves away from me.
I see it in her eyes. The truth apparent, "No. You're not."
Megan's reappeared, her own eyes huge like Hitler's ego, and Horatio's standing behind her, "Tim, go with H. I need to have a few words with your mother."
Fuck. That doesn't sound good. At all.
A passing glance and I grab my boss's hand, before letting him lead me away. The scream starts when we're mid-way down the corridor. High pitched, feminine voices. Taunts, anger, dagger-tipped words. Screaming about who caused what pain; who left me alone to grow up without guidance. Bitter statements by angry people.
Meanwhile, I've managed to get into bed and curl onto my side. I do not want to hear this. My redheaded friend rubs my back. I start crying, openly and without any second thoughts. Something I've rarely done before that damned letter.
Drew finally steps in to calm them, judging by the quiet now filling this section of the ward. I sniff like a tiny hiccupping babe, strands of a Walt Whitman poem threading through my brain, "I want to go home." There's longing in my voice.
Pleasepleaseplease.
"Soon, Speed. A few more days." He takes his hand away, replaced by my best friend's now that she's returned. He nods at her as though he thinks her actions were noble, "You remember the dispo day we were talking about in the lab?"
I wipe my mouth; sit up, "Yeah. Made the final decision?"
"We did." The edges of his eyelids crinkle, "Now. I know you were planning on requesting the assignment. So I came up with another deal. And it's really simple."
I cock my head, and he continues.
"You do everything that the staff here asks you to do from now until the night before we have the dispo and I'll make sure you're in the truck."
And I cannot fight that. I want to leave now, but he's offering me something – a chance to go back to work. Wonder how he managed to keep me from being fired.
Nod, "Promise?" I sound like a fucking teenager.
"I promise." He runs a hand through my hair. I guess he's figured out that it's the only thing that puts me into a deep sleep. Which I loathe but I will admit I need.
My eyes close and I feel my mother come in, quietly, like the Silent Death.
Only then do I notice that she is alone, that my brother has not come today, "Um…Jude?"
"He was sleeping when I left. I thought it would be best if I didn't wake him."
Low blow, Mommy dearest, low blow. "Just say it! Go on, Lauryn! Say 'Speed, you're a bad influence on him so I sent him home to your bastard father.'" I spit out.
"He didn't go home!" She tells me, working hard to not yell or scream because Meg will send her away for the time being.
I'm tired of this dance, so I turn away from her and face my best friend.
"Goddamnit, Timothy! I'm your mother. Don't you turn away from me!" She scolds me, seeming to forget that my best friend is still in the room. The younger of the two women glares.
And then Lauryn's taken away by the left wrist. I don't know why, but I feel protected with my redheaded boss and Megan nearby.
Wait a second. Did I just say 'I feel'? I immediately look at my arms and track fingers over my hips.
"Speed?" The aforementioned boss trains a questioning gaze on me, "What's the matter?"
There's got to be a cut, a burn, a scratch some place…must be. Can't feel if I haven't cut. "Do you see it? Where is it?"
"Where's what?" He catches my wandering hands, "I don't know what you're looking for if you don't tell me."
I reply simplistically, "I felt something."
"You're supposed to feel. It's a part of being human." He informs, as Codyn walks in and I remember that Chris Markinsen is sitting in his customary chair by the door, "Right?"
"I'll agree to that." The doctor nods, then, "Do you want me to call your therapist?"
Shrugging, "I guess."
Why, oh, why did I say that? Tell him no, you asshole!
But it's too late and the elder man is gone, probably in a dead trot to the nurse's station at the end of the hall. Why do I perpetually screw myself? 'Cause now it's getting frustrating.
H's hand goes to one shoulder, "Keep that up, buddy." He's sincere and I hope that maybe I can get out of here earlier than he's already promised. I won't ask now, though. I'll wait until tomorrow when he first gets here before he heads off to work. When he's a bit more chipper.
Meg leans onto the doorframe, "Well, since Juni is on her way, I think I'll take this one and go hunt you down some lunch. Maybe some fries and chicken. That work for you?"
"Yeah." I sigh, and she grimaces. She goes, however, and leaves me with Chris for the indeterminable moments before the therapist shows up, "When are you going away?"
"When they decide you're no longer a danger to yourself." He replies, indifference in his voice as he flops his sports magazine down on the table beside his seat.
"I'm not a fucking danger to myself." I retort. His eyes roll when I curse. I continue, "Have I tried at all since you've shown up? No. Why would I start now?"
He shrugs, "I don't know, Speed. I've been doing this job for about seven years now and I've never been able to come up with a reasonable response to that question. I cannot judge everything that someone thinks or how their logic works."
"So it comes down to that no one trusts me. Not my friends or my mother or the staff."
"We trust you. To be openly hostile because you're upset, to do something that could cause you harm. You're sick, Tim. We want to help you, but you're trying so hard to push us away." He shifts, stands, "You don't think we trust you. Well, you have not given us a reason thus far to trust that you won't partake in self-injury or any other destructive behavior."
In smaller words – yes, Tim, we don't trust you because you've proven to be unsafe on your own. We won't trust you until you're a smiling little ball of fucking energy; bouncing off the walls and chanting over and over 'I love myself!'.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
"Fuck you, Chris."
"Tim." He scolds, "Listen, I obviously overheard the conversation with Lt. Caine. It's a good deal. You get to go back to work, like you've been begging, and will be switched to outpatient therapy. Not to mention that while you were sleeping he told Ms. Donner that this won't be put into your record because he's taking from your unused sick days that you've apparently racked up. He hasn't told any of his superiors where you are, and is risking his job by keeping information from them."
"I knew it!" I sit straight up, "I knew this little vacation would get me fired."
"If someone else finds out about it, yes. But as of right now, it seems your boss has all bases covered."
Which he can't do for long. Eventually, Calleigh or Eric will let it slip, but if what Markinsen is saying is correct, then…
"He obviously has a lot of faith in you."
"Yeah. I think they both do."
There's a tap on the door, and the raven-haired woman sticks her head into the room, "Chris. Out." She orders and he goes, "Hey, there. Andrew called me. Want to tell me what happened?" She asks calmly, like she did four days ago when she met me and made me show her all the scars on my body.
"I…uh…I…" A give up, lift my arm to display the cuts from days ago, "I felt and…it wasn't…wasn't from a cut." I slam a hand into my head, "Stop stuttering!"
Juni, Zen master, waggles a finger at me, "None of that now. You're stuttering because you're nervous."
"If you say 'you're only human', I swear I'll jump out the window." The heavy-dark joke makes her narrow her eyes at me.
"Actually I was going to say that you're entitled. But since you put it so eloquently, we'll go with that."
"Why is it that you can accept that I make those jokes, but if I were to say that to anyone else, they'd say I were suicidal?" I have to ask. Everyone else freaks out when I talk about death. Nevermind that it's my job and I've already buried people I loved.
She leans back in the social worker's chair, "I don't know. Why do you think they do that?"
"Don't start with the psycho-analytical crap, Juni."
"Hey, I went to school for many years to learn all that psycho-analytical crap." A blithe smile, "So let's talk about a little while ago."
Resisting the urge to scream, I choose to just tell her what happened, "I didn't do anything to myself and I felt."
"Felt what?" She asks, her blue eyes watching me with years of being taught to take in everything about a person. Much like I was taught to observe a crime scene or a suspect at an interrogation. Freaky.
It's my turn to shrug, "Protected."
"Really? By who?"
"Horatio. Meg." My ears fill with white noise, "They've been here. No one's ever stayed around this long after they found out."
The noise clears, and I hear her tell me, "What does that tell you?"
I think, "That they really aren't going to leave me like the others have."
"See? Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" She rises, "I know the Lieutenant's daughter has been sending you things. What do you think of that?"
Snorting back the truth, bottling it into my gut, "Gab's the same. She's not leaving me."
"Good boy." She pats my arm, and I glare. I don't know how I end up with the snarky bastards in the ward, but I really cannot complain 'coz I wouldn't want the kiss-ass ones anyway, "Do you want to talk about this morning? Dr. Codyn was telling me when he called me down that there was an argument between he and your mother."
I fiddle with my blanket, smooth out a crease in my sweatpants. Basically do anything that means I don't have to look up at the woman, "Lauryn's a bitch. There's nothing else to say." I shrug.
It's a lie. There is more to say. Like no matter how much I try to fight and stick with my hatred, I cannot stop feeling sick inside every time I'm mean to her. I'm so fucked up. Nearly thirty years of being verbally berated and left to learn everything on my own, yet I still need my mom.
"Nice try. I'm not stupid." She leans her elbows onto the bed's edge, "The truth, thank you."
So I look away, "I want her to be my mother, not my social worker. And she's trying to be both at once, which just doesn't mesh well."
"You know what I think?"
"Am I telepathic?"
She shakes her head, "I think your mother's having a lot of trouble accepting that part of your self-hatred stems from your childhood. I think that makes her feel like she's failed you and your brother, so she's falling back on what she knows."
"Why do you have to make so much sense?" I let myself to slam back onto the mattress and stare straight to the ceiling.
She must smile; I can hear the mirth in her speech, "Well, that's my job." I hear her groan and stretch, a tap of shoes while she moves to that space between the door and the chair, "Anything else you want to talk to me about?"
"Not really." I reply and wave her away, while my friends return with a good amount of food on gray plastic trays.
"I got fries and a sandwich for you." She passes off the turkey and swiss on rye, "I couldn't remember if you liked lemonade more than ice tea, so I got both."
I smile at the fact that Megan knows me as well as she does. Like Anna. Except I'd never date my mentor. They both look at me oddly; I only grin more. Because I've looked up and there's Jude, looking a little less like me by being dressed in new jeans and a plain black shirt.
"New clothes?"
He nods while he strolls in and leans against my bed, picks at my side dish, "Mom took me out shopping. She bought you some things, too." He's obviously tired, and I wonder why if he was still sleeping this morning. Or better yet – how the hell did he get here?
"Please tell me you didn't walk here."
"No. I took a bus." He scarfs another fry, "I don't do walking. You know that."
I choke down another bite, before I tell him, "Exercise is a good thing. It's your friend."
"When are you coming home?" J.T. asks after a period of murky silence.
Fuck. How the hell do I explain to him that I'm not ever going to New York again? Miami is home now and I have no reason to go back. Well, I have one. But as much as I love my brother, I just cannot return to all that pain. To my father.
"It's like this, bro. You remember when I left?" He admits he does with a wave of his hand, "Well, the day I did, I promised myself I wouldn't go back there. Because I can't just walk into the house and pretend to be happy like I used to."
He looks away, "Point taken." I knew he'd understand that. One day, I'll tell him the rest.
"But you know you can always come stay in Miami with me." Catch his gaze, and see the content harbored there, "Whenever you want."
"Dad would be mad." He shivers, but I know that while he fears our father, neither he nor I were abused. Neglected, yelled at, told we were worthless. But Cesario would commit a mortal sin before he laid a hand on his boys.
"J.T., don't worry about Dad, k?"
"Kay."
Horatio leans over to whisper something to Meg. She deflects him, "Hey, you wanna know – ask him."
"What?" I grouch out.
The redhead looks at my brother, "What's the T stand for?"
"Taren. Prissy weird name, but at least it's better than Jairus." He laughs while I grab for him.
"Evil…son of a…"
For some odd reason, I'm really not mad. Normally I'd be pissed off beyond words that my middle name has been divulged, but not so this time.
Some thing has changed in me.
I don't want it to.
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*v* Cassie Jamie *v*
csimiami@cassie-jamie.com
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I know this chapter's brief and boring. It is, like the previous chapter, pretty much filler to get us to the Dispo Day chapters.
Raven: Still enjoying this? :-D
Trinity: Soon he'll be out. Promise. (I hate them too!)
Aphy: Yeah…a dog. Maybe I'll name it Amish. He he.