Girl Adrift

When I woke up I realized I was in the hospital, again. They left me alone in a room filled with sterile odors and buzzing overhead lights, brighter than my eyes could take. I squinted and looked around for a clock out of some queer desire to determine how long I had been out. Then I realized I could have been out for days, so I abandoned my pointless search to determine the time.

I was surprised to find I was not taped or pinned to any devices, so I jumped out of the bed, and snuck over to the door, careful not to make any noise. The nurses who knew me didn’t like me, and skulking seemed natural and necessary to avoid a confrontation. I cracked open the door and peaked out into the hallway. It was dark and deserted, so I figured it was safe to sneak out.

When I reached the end of the hallway, I noticed a doorway leading into the emergency room, where most of my hospital visits had begun. I couldn’t resist the temptation to peek in the door, but I was surprised to find the atmosphere calm and a bit desolate. As I entered, I saw a man with a bandaged head sleeping on a gurney in the corner, and to his left was a worn and tired woman in bloodied clothes consoling a baby. And a man wheeling an IV paced the floor. No one looked up or seemed to notice that I was there.

Down a dark hall leading to the exam rooms, a red exit sign pulsed between bright and dim, inflicting a hypnotizing, vertigo effect. I jumped when a strip of overhead florescent lights flashed and crackled. Once illuminated, the light put a spotlight on a door that opened into an all too familiar room.

At first I was afraid to approach the door, but curiosity won against fear as I hedged my way down the hallway. When I reached the door I extended my hand and gripped the knob. I turned it slowly. There was a creaking and then a pop before I pushed forward and was sucked into darkness.

* * * *

Three days earlier I laid on an exam table in a private room in the emergency room.

“Liz. This is Miranda. She’s going to help make this easier on you Honey,” said the Doctor about the nurse who had just entered the room.

Why was she calling me Honey? There was no sincerity in her voice. At the very least, I expected sympathy from someone who knew what had just happened to me.

The room went absent of conversation, but the clanging of instruments, and the doctor’s chair wheeling across the floor echoed in my head. The nurse dropped the tray of instruments, causing the echo to explode. She nervously picked up the instruments and apologized. “I’m so sorry Dr. Norman, but I’ll have to get another tray from the room next door.”

The doctor stood up in a huff, ripped off her latex gloves and threw them in a nearby trash can. “Miranda I don’t have time for this.” The doctor left the room and the nurse followed. They left me alone, lying naked on the table, although covered by a thin sheet. Neither bothered to inform me of when they might return.

While alone, I stared up at a poster on the ceiling, reminding me to examine my breasts. On the poster were three generations of happy and carefree women. They looked perfect in all respects, which annoyed me. I closed my eyes to block out their gaiety and hid in the darkness.

After about a-half-an hour I wondered why I was still lying there. I was ready to leave when the doctor and nurse returned.

The room remained quiet but tense until the doctor spoke in a gentle and forced voice. “Liz honey, I’m going to do the pelvic exam now. I need you to move down to the end of the table.” But I didn’t move because I suddenly couldn’t hear. “Liz could you please bring your bottom to the end of the table?” asked the doctor. The second requested wasn’t quite as gentle. When I still didn’t move, the doctor motioned to the nurse.

When the nurse touched my arm my hearing returned. “Liz, can you move yourself down to the end of the table?” asked the nurse. I looked up into her eyes and was angry when I saw only pity. “Do you need help?” she asked. The nurse tried to take ahold of my hand, but I yanked it away. I braced myself to slide to the end of the table, and a sharp pain pierced my elbow. As I cried out in pain the nurse came to my aide.

“Don’t touch me,” I said.

The nurse backed off and the doctor sighed. “Liz, please let Miranda help you. We’re very busy in the emergency room, and if we can’t get this done quickly, we’ll have to call the police officer back in the room.”

How was I supposed to respond to her threats other than comply. I couldn’t believe the doctor had threatened to call in an officer, as if I were the one guilty of a crime.

“I’m going to start now Liz. I’ll try to do this as quickly as I can so you’re not in too much pain,” said the doctor. When she opened me to prepare to take samples, it felt as though she were cauterizing my insides. I was careful not to protest or cry out, fearful she might threaten me again. To ease the pain I closed my eyes and let out all my breath. Then I bit my tongue as I took in as much air as my lungs would allow. My breath was distracting and when I exhaled again, my body collapsed and I felt as thought my body had melted into the examination table. The burning sensation disappeared and the sounds in the room were muffled. I continued to breath deeply and with each gulp of air I disappeared further into a dark silence. I thought I might of hyperventilated and passed out, but I was still consciously aware even though I could no longer feel my physical body. I felt no pain, neither physical nor emotional, and nothing of my physical existence mattered anymore, not even the respiration that had brought on the relief.

“I think she stopped breathing,” said the nurse.

“How could she have stopped breathing?”

They checked my vital signs and found I was breathing albeit shallow. And my heart beat had slowed. “She must of gone back into shock,” said the doctor.

“Liz. Can you hear me,” asked the nurse. She touched my elbow and the piercing pain instantly brought me out of the darkness.

I gasped for air.

“Take her pulse,” ordered the doctor.

“She’s normal,” the nurse responded.

“Stay here with her and call me if anything changes,” said the doctor as she left the room.

“You can get dressed.” said the nurse. “The police had to take your clothes. There’s a sweat suit on the counter.” She approached me and helped me get off the table. “Do you need help getting dressed?” she asked.

“No. I’m fine”

“Okay. Press the call button if you need anything. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”

She left the room after being told to stay with me. Did they treat all rape victims like this, or was it just me?

I hobbled to the counter, and each step revealed a new wound. Pain in my knee forced a limp, and I wondered if I had a broken a rib. Although I supposed they would have told me about a broken bone. And I wasn’t sure if a hangover or injuries were causing the pain in my head until I looked in the mirror and saw two hammered black eyes reflected back at me. I turned away from the mirror, bent over and hugged my waist as a flood of tears welled in my eyes. I felt sick to my stomach that someone could hurt me so badly. Even sicker that I couldn’t remember how the wounds had been inflicted.

The nurse returned and found me standing in the corner naked and crying. “Liz, did they call anyone for you?”

I sniffed. “I don’t know.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a woman in the waiting area.”

“My sister? Marlene?”

“Would you like me to check for you?”

“Yes please.” The nurse turned and left the room.

I managed to put on the sweat pants, at least four sizes to large, before I heard a knock. “Hello,” said a familiar voice. It was Marlene. I didn’t respond as I struggled to lift the sweatshirt over my head. “Hello,” she repeated.

“Just a minute.”

Marlene didn’t listen. She opened door and paused when she caught sight of me. Her expression turned to a forced smile mixed with a frown. “Why isn’t someone helping you get dressed?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Here, let me do that.” She snatched the sweatshirt from my hand. “Did anyone even offer to help you?” she asked. Marlene forced the sweatshirt over my head and the sleeves over each of my arms, not at all concerned that she might hurt me.

“Is there anything else you need to do before I take you home?” she asked.

“No. I just want to go home.”

“They’ve discharged you?”

“Yes,” I lied.

Marlene guided me into the hallway, and about half way to the exit the police officer who questioned me earlier that evening approached. I pretended not to notice her, but she persisted toward us. “You’re not leaving are you?” she asked.

“Yes we are,” responded Marlene.

“I need to ask you a few more questions Liz. Would you please return to your room,” she waved her hand at the exam room.

After being in the hospital for over twelve hours, tears welled in my eyes at the thought of being there another minute. When Marlene noticed I was upset she asked, “Do you have to do this now?”

“Yes,” she responded.

“No. No more. I can’t take any more.”

The police officer sighed and rolled her eyes. “If we don’t do this now, you’ll have to come down to the police station tomorrow.”

“Fine,” said Marlene. “She’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Here’s my card. Please call ahead and make sure I’m in the station.”

Marlene grabbed the card. “Can we go now?”

“Yes,” said the officer.

Marlene and I walked toward the nearest exit when she started in on me. “You’re darn lucky you were just drunk, and not high,” Marlene snapped.

“But it’s been six months since.”

“You’re an addict Liz. What were you thinking, hanging out at a bar? Drinking?”

I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth. “I was raped,” I said as loudly as I could through my teeth. Why were they all treating me like I did something wrong?

“Shut up. You’re embarrassing me,” she growled. Marlene grabbed a hold of my arm and hurried me through the exit.

“And calling me an addict in front of everyone doesn’t embarrass me?”

“Do you want me to leave you here?”

I shut up.

Marlene took me home and cared for me that night. She cooked me dinner, although I barely ate. She stayed with me that night, and the following day we both called in sick and spent the day together, although most of it was spent in silence. Our conversations were limited to Marlene asking if I needed anything, or what might be on TV in the next couple hours. What little I could remember about the rape flashed through my memory repeatedly the entire day, but not once did we discuss what had happened.

That evening Marlene asked if I needed her to stay another night, but I told her she should go home. “I’ll be fine by myself,” I whimpered before I started to cry. “Really.” I sniffed. “I’m okay.”

“Why do you always do this?” she asked.

As far back as I can remember, Marlene had acted as my caretaker, but she had never been very sympathetic.

“Do what?”

“Put on the drama-queen act.” She shook her head. “Why can’t you just ask me to stay?” She put her arms around me and hugged me. I hugged her back although there was no love or warmth in her hug.

“You should take a bath,” she said. Marlene pushed me away and disappeared down the hall.

I didn’t want to take a bath, but I heard the water running, so I followed her into the bathroom. When the tub was full, she left me alone to undress. There were too many black and blue reminders of the rape I didn’t want to see, but I knew that Marlene would be back to check on me, and if I didn’t get in the tub, she’d undress me and force me in anyways. So I slipped off my clothes and settled into the hot water.

I tried to relax but couldn’t. So I grabbed the bar of soap and washed my body. As I ran the soap over the bruises, I looked at the shape and color they had turned over the past couple of days. They wrote a painful story I couldn’t bare to read, so I closed my eyes.

I heard a knock at the door and jumped. “Liz.”

“Yeah.”

“Need anything?”

“No.”

I placed the soap back in the soap dish and waited for Marlene to ask another question. A disposable razor fell from the soap dish into the water.

Sitting up, I felt cold, so I submerged up to my neck. The razor bobbed in the water, and floated toward my chin, taunting me. If only you had the guts to kill yourself. I grabbed it and threw it from the tub, and water splashed across the bathroom floor.

I felt a stinging in my thumb, and found three cuts seeping blood. The droplets fell into the water and created a crimson cloud. I squeezed more blood from my thumb and stared into the dilating cloud until my eyes went out of focus. An illusion of red devoured the clear water until all color ceased, and (as I had in the hospital) I floated pain free in darkness.

Suddenly I heard voices. Go back! Leave. And I was surprised that I could feel their voices striking at me, pushing me through the darkness back toward the crimson.

Marlene shook me and water splashed across my face. “Answer me!” she yelled, her voice now more dominant than the others.

“What?” My eyes tried to refocus.

“Where did you get this?” she shook the razor in front of my face.

“What?” I repeated, my vision was blurry and my voice shaky.

“Where did you get the razor?” Marlene continued to shake me frantically, thrashing my head about like a rag doll’s. The force threw Marlene off balance, and she slipped on the water and crashed to the floor. I couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s not funny.” She picked herself up and slipped, though this time she remained standing. “What were you planning on doing with this?”

“Nothing.”

“How can I leave you alone? I have a life you know. I can’t watch you twenty-four hours a day. And I won’t let you move you into my house.” Marlene’s lecture was typical, so I let her continue without hearing a word she said. She ended with, “I hate you,” and slammed the door on her way out. That part I heard.

Marlene left me alone in my apartment, and I was glad she was gone. She hadn’t told me she was leaving nor did she leave me a note telling me if she’d return.

I went to my bedroom and fell asleep for five or six hours. When I woke up I was hungry, so I got up to get something to eat. On my way to the kitchen, I noticed that Marlene was back and sleeping on my couch. I wished she hadn’t returned.

In the kitchen, Marlene found me staring into the refrigerator. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m getting something to eat.”

I grabbed a brick of cheddar cheese and threw it on the counter. From the dish drainer I picked out a steak knife, but she snatched it from my hand, probably nervous I might use it to slit my wrists. “I’ll do it. Go sit down.”

She brought me a plate of cheese and a glass of water. We sat quietly while I ate, although Marlene’s body language said she had something to say. When she finally built up the courage, she blurted out, “I’m pregnant.” I nearly choked on a piece of cheese because Marlene had been trying to get pregnant for years. Before I could congratulate her, she added, “I can’t take care of you anymore. You understand that, right? I’ll have to take care of the baby, and I’ll have less time for Andre.” Andre was her husband, and he didn’t particularly like me. “The time I spend here. I mean the time I spend taking care of you will have to be spent with Andre and the baby. You understand that, right?” She paused then continued with her poorly rehearsed speech. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you, but I can’t do this anymore. You understand that, right?”

“Of course.” I tried to sound happy for Marlene’s pregnancy, and again to congratulate her, but she cut me off.

“So you understand that you need to go back to the treatment center?”

“No fucking way!” A loud scuffing sounded as I forced my chair away from the table. I picked up my plate and glass and carried them to the sink.

“I talked to your counselor today and she agrees. You need more help. You’ve been drinking and after what happened you’re just too weak.”

I threw the plate in the sink. “I’m not going back there!”

Marlene let out a loud sigh. “What are you going to do if I’m not around to save you anymore?”

My heart raced. I had no intentions of going back to the drug treatment center.

“I’m taking you back tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

Leaning over the sink, I stared at the steak knife until it went out of focus and divided into two. Both visions vibrated and a humming sound turned to use it in my head. Don’t go back. Use it. The internal voice was not mine.

Marlene continued to lecture, but all I heard were muffled sounds in the background. But the voice in my head was clear. It continued to egg me on. Use it.

“Liz!” Marlene’s voice screeched and I jumped. “Are you listening to me?”

The knife was back in focus, but the voice remained. Don’t let her take you back. My hand reached into the sink and I poked the knife.

Don’t listen, piped in another voice.

“Liz?” Marlene repeated as she approached.

I took the knife in my right hand and clutched it until my knuckles turned white.

Do it.

No. Put it down.

“Liz are you okay?” Marlene touched my arm and I felt as if a trigger had been set off. I thrust the knife into my stomach.

The knife went in an inch before my body froze, and I let it go. It fell out and dropped to the floor. My stiff body leaned and toppled toward Marlene, and she held me the best she could before we both crashed to the floor, and the knife entered my femoral artery.

The instant I had thrust the knife into my stomach, my consciousness jutted forward and lifted out of my body, flying head first toward the wall. In a fleeting instant I became a projectile with no boundaries as my consciousness sailed right through the wall. I felt paralyzed as I traveled faster than I thought humanly possible through flashes of colored lights. Then the colors disappeared and I was engulfed in darkness. I heard the words, it’s too late, then nothing but silence until I woke up in that brightly lit hospital room.

* * * *

Back in the hospital, an instant after I fell into the dark doorway of that all too familiar exam room, I found myself back in the hospital in the same brightly lit room with the buzzing overhead lights. I wondered about the time, but again realized I might of been out for days. I jumped off the bed, walked toward the door and grabbed the handle, but paused and pulled my hand back when I felt a sense of deja vu. I’d already lived this once, and I knew what would happened next. I’d peek out into a dark and desolate hallway, searching for nurses who weren’t there, then sneak out the door and down the hallway toward the emergency room. I fought the impulse to follow the pattern and turned back toward the bed. My eyes widened then teared when I realized where I was, in the hospital morgue. I looked down and saw blood caked on my body. Where had it come from? My stomach, where I remembered forcing the knife, was not the source. Then I felt a second puncture through the femoral artery in my right leg. What had happened?

I ran from the room and didn’t stop until I reached the emergency room. This time I rushed into the all too familiar exam room, and as I opened the door, I fell yet again, into the darkness.