II: The Devil You Know
"This is the Hour of Lead - Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons recollect the Snow - First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go"
Emily Dickinson
Present Day:
I awoke to the crescendo of machines.
Wave after wave hit me but just as soon I was down again, getting caught in the undertow. The cacophony was so loud, hurting me. I could not see, could not think. Only listen. Only feel.
I slipped in black as black ever was.
Black.
Blurry.
My only memory:
When I wake up, I want it white. I want to erase everything.
Be careful what you wish for.
Gasping. A thousand pinpricks of pure lightening running through my body. I open my mouth, sure I will scream, but nothing comes out. Someone is standing over me, wearing blue scrubs and holding a defibrillator. A look of exaltation bordering on disbelief.
"She's alive!" The joy in the statement stuns me. Of course I am alive. Should I not be? Why . . . ?
I cannot breathe. The world is dizzy and blackish and people are screaming. Tony. I need Tony. My Tony . . .
"You gotta stay with us, honey. Just hang in there," A nurse is looming over me, her eyes huge. Make me dizzier.
"Uhhh," I groan. She smoothes my hair back from my face and I wish for other hands, warmer and not so sweaty. Tony . . .
"Come on, honey, just look at me. We're going to get there. You're gonna be just fine. Come on, sweetie, you gotta keep looking at me," she says urgently. I start to cry.
"It hurts!" I scream. I am too hot and too cold, too deep in this well to claw my way out. I cannot, I cannot. My heart hurts so badly is screaming so fast I think it will fly from my chest. The world spins into black and takes me with it. The people are crying out, begging me to stay, but I cannot. There is something wonderful and white and warm waiting for me if I close my eyes, so close my eyes I will.
Black is as black is black.
Six months earlier.
I curled up on my side, trying fruitlessly to sleep. It was a difficult and useless task. My body would not leave me alone, would not allow me the sleep I needed so much. The innocent sleep, sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care, the death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, balm of hurt mind, great nature's second course, chief nourisher in life's feast. Macbeth, act two scene two lines forty-eight to fifty-two. A good summary for my life. I wanted to sleep.
My twitching fingers reached for the cell phone. Call Tony. Call anyone. Surely I had friends in other countries I could call and talk to now, something of a distraction. No more hearing screaming people, no more seeing blood everywhere. No more Tali. No more Jenny. No more bad memories to kill me so slow . . .
I dialled Tony anyway. The phone rang and I gripped it hard. The afternoon had been pleasant, spending time with him. We really had grown closer over the past couple of years. It was nice. I sighed and hung up the phone. I could not bring myself to bother him at this hour. He needed his sleep too. I considered going through my stores for something to drink, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. I could ill afford to be hungover and sleepdeprived on the job.
Why could I not sleep?
When would I finally sleep?
I wanted to scream I was so angry. The exhaustion was getting to me and I almost started crying. I knew deep inside it was the nightmares, that part of me was not allowing myself to sleep because it feared the return of the nightmares. God, I could remember it now, all the dust and fire and everything blown away. . . .
When would I sleep?
When would I finally sleep?
I had had enough. I threw off my covers and half-wild dragged myself out to the car. Shakily I climbed in and began driving. I gripped the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned a painful shade of white, the skin taut. No matter. Had to find a CVS. Needed sleeping pills NOW.
It was three in the morning when I stumbled in, likely resembling some drunk woman. The man behind the counter took one look at me and then quickly turned away, embarrassed I think. I made my way to the back of the store and took several boxes of sleeping pills. I would figure out which one was the most useful later.
"You want all of this?" the cashier asked, looking over my finds sceptically.
"Please." It was pathetic, really, the way I was ready to beg him. He packaged them slowly, eyeing me all the while.
"Remember, don't take these until you get off, can't have you falling asleep on the road. And don't take them all at once. Or too many. Here's a number I want you to call, you can use my cell phone if you want," he said, pushing a piece of paper towards me. I glanced at it and barked a laugh.
"You think I am suicidal?" I asked. He shrugged and nervously ran his fingers through his hair.
"Look, my sister went through some pretty hard times a little while ago and someone stepped up for her, and I'm sure glad about it. Now, I don't know your story and I don't have any right to go about assuming things, but I'm just saying that that's an awful lot of pills for an awful skinny woman and I don't want nothing bad to come to you. There's someone I'm sure who loves you very much and don't want anything to happen to you, I'm sure. Is there maybe someone I could call for you? You can use my phone for as long as you need, I don't mind, heck I hardly use the thing! You can even talk to me, if you want. I can't promise I'll understand everything but I'll try real hard and I don't judge anything, alright?" he asked, concern painting his features.
It was quite touching, really. Part of me wanted to break down and start crying. This sleep deprivation was killing me. All I wanted to do was get home to my bed and curl up, away from the world. I had to get up in a few hours for work anything, a few very short hours. I shook my head.
"I am fine. Thank you," I said. He reluctantly gave me the bag and I felt his eyes on me as I walked out.
"Remember that number!" he called. I nodded, but I did not turn around and I am not sure he knew. I drove home on silent, empty roads and when I arrived I took pill after pill after pill until the box said to stop.
I do not remember even making it to my bed before everything goes beautifully black.
I awoke on my kitchen floor to the sound of the alarm in my bedroom. It was still dark, only the faintest bit of light beginning to come through. I wanted to curl up and go back to sleeping, but I knew that that was not an option. Gibbs had work for me to do, and they depended upon me. I could not let them down. Failure was not an option.
I crawled to the bedroom and with shaking hand turned off damnable alarm. I slowly pulled myself up, leaning heavily on the bed. Slowly, consciousness was returning to me. Slowly, I was coming together. I yawned and picked out some clothes to run in, my mind half away as I tried to decided which playlist I wanted to listen to this morning. I had really come to enjoy running more since Abby had given me to the iPod, it just made the experience so much richer. It was wonderfully mindless, allowing me to mentally wander in any direction I pleased.
I took off down the streets just as the sun was coming up. It was pleasant outside, a hint of spring colouring the air. I took deep, greedy breaths and slapped myself every time I felt tired or wilting. Neither the time nor the place for that. I had to keep going, had to get to work and do my job and take care of the world since nobody else planned on doing anything. Our team worked like a well-oiled machine, and we complimented each other well. So well that without one of us the whole dynamic was off and things did not run efficiently if they even ran at all.
I passed the halfway point in my run and tried to push myself. The hardest part is out of the way, just keep going. Do not stop. You fear fat more than you love rest.
Huh?
I almost stopped as I realized my thoughts. What was wrong with me? I had not thought like that since . . . since Tali died. Those were teenage thoughts, inappropriate for a grown woman. I had fought that battle, conquered my hatred of eating, my fear of food and desperate need for my father to notice me in the wake of everything smelling like death. I had recovered from my eating disorder. I knew so much better now.
And yet . . .
I could feel it on my skin, feeling the devil trembling in her cage with anticipation, eager to starve and deprive me again. I winced. I would have to make an appointment with a psychiatrist then. I could not have this, could not allow my thoughts to stop being my own, could not give control back to her.
But when I took my shower that morning I did not look myself in the mirror, and instead of a real breakfast I opted for strawberries, barely contained any calories. I told myself it was because I was trying to eat less junk food because I knew how bad it was for you. In truth, it was starting again, much I as tried to deny it to myself.
The monster was back.
