“Have you ever been on any medication for anxiety or depression before?”
“If you had looked in my medical record, you would have known the answer to that.”
“Please, Miss Devlin, can you just answer the question? The faster you cooperate, the faster we can get you transferred over.”
“I’ve taken Zoloft and Buspirone before, one is an antidepressant, the other is an anxiety medication. Do you need me to tell you which is which or did your medical education at least teach you that?”
“Did you have any issues when you were taking those?”
“The zoloft didn’t seem to help, and the buspirone made me dizzy. I didn’t like feeling that way, and it interfered with my ability to drive to work.”
“Do you have a family history of mental illness?”
“If you consider my parents being borderline abusive with occasional drug and alcohol addiction a mental illness, then sure.”
“Do you have any documented family history of mental illness?”
“I don’t think so, they both died in a car accident when I was seventeen, so I can’t exactly ask them unless you provide me with a Ouija board.”
“Thank you for your time, Miss Devlin. Your transfer paperwork should be ready within the hour,” and with that, the recording ended.
Normally, intake interviews took between thirty minutes to an hour. Her’s lasted around fifteen minutes. Whether it was because the interviewer obviously didn’t care or because of the stubborn attitude, it was hard to tell. I never had to conduct one myself, but most interviewers went into more detail with the questions,following up on any breadcrumbs a patient might drop in their answers. I’d definitely be talking to the head of our psychiatric department about it as a follow-up.
I made a few notes on her empty file while sitting at my desk. Something about her answers and her tone didn’t sit right with me. Most patients who were admitted due to a failed suicide attempt accepted on some level what had happened. Very rarely did anyone deny it; the area was almost black and white to professionals in the field. It was something I intended to give my best effort in trying to figure out. This woman was determined to have someone listen to what she desperately wanted to say, and I was willing to give that to her.
February 25th 2020
Three weeks in a row, the most amazing man has sent me flowers at work. Ranging from eloquent roses in crystal vases, to bouquets of wildflowers wrapped with parchment paper and a colored ribbon. I’ve never been spoiled like this before.
Each note he sends with them has a sweet saying or a romantic quote, speaking to the depths of how he feels about me. He’s not as confident with his words in person, but the effort he puts into the flowers and cards makes up for it.
I tried to thank him by making him dinner this week and inviting him over to spend some time together. Riley wasn’t a huge fan of his, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. Craig says he loves dogs; he’s never met a dog that didn’t like him before.
Riley had to go in his crate because I was afraid he was going to bite him. He wouldn’t stop growling at my guest all night. My dog has always been selective when it comes to being friends with men, but never have I seen him so uncomfortable so quickly when someone new was introduced.
Chapterfour
The Phoenix
September 24th 2023
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t slow my racing heart as I lay in my bed, paralyzed. He was too close to me. I couldn’t see him, but I could sense that he was in the room. He had that effect on me after I fell asleep. I wasn’t sure how he would sneak in, whether it was through the window or an open door, or how he could get past Riley, who was still asleep in his dog bed on the other side of the room. Nothing I tried to do had kept him out once my conscious self slipped away.
Cold air hit my skin, causing gooseflesh to erupt all over my naked body, pebbling my nipples to the point they were almost painful. Blood pulsed in my ears, reminding me of the rising panic attack that I could feel approaching. I couldn’t endure this again, couldn’t endure another night or the touch of his hands on me. A shadow moved across the foot of the bed where my feet were shaking slightly, even though I was unable to consciously move them. He was watching me, his eyes like pools of ultramarine against the endless darkness. The light blue orbs sent anxiety rocketing through me; they saw into my very soul and mocked my fear with a ferocity that made me tremble.
He stayed in the shadows for a moment. Like every other time he appeared, he remained patient. The demon of my nightmares never needed to rush; he always got what he wanted in the end, keeping me on edge with never knowing when he was going to step out of the shadows and into the sliver of moonlight streaming in from my window between the curtains. As soon as he would, just as I would be able to see his face, I would wake up. Maybe tonight would be different, and I would finally be able to see the monster who stalked me in my dreams.
My bed was wet, sweat dripping off me as if I had run a complete marathon, all while lying down, chilling my body even more. As my limbs shook in their locked position, I could feel the dampness against my skin and how it formed a tacky buried between my body and the duvet. Every night that he appeared, my clothes were always missing despite the fact that I wore them to bed every night.
I could hear him breathing as he moved along the wall, closer to the head of the bed. His deep, even breaths revealed just how calm he was during his game. He never made a sound when he moved, other than his intentional rhythmic breathing that I could hear growing deeper as he moved closer. He wanted me to be aware that he was inching closer to me. My body reacted whenever he started to move, shaking more violently than before, dreading what was about to come.
My heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to break out of my ribcage and start beating on the floor, flopping around like a fish out of water. Maybe a death like that would be preferable to whatI knew he had in store for me. Even just the thought of his touch made my stomach turn to lead. I needed to move. I needed to find an anchor to grab onto, to ground me in reality. Fear kept my hands pinned at my sides, leaching my strength from trying to regain control.
The inability to overcome that fear and break out of the spell scared me. I was his puppet, only instead of keeping me suspended with strings, he kept me compliant with his invisible restraints. My lips moved without making a sound. To scream, to plead, to curse, I wasn’t sure what words were wanting to fly off the tip of my tongue, only that none would come when I needed them most.
His boots didn’t make a sound as he made his way forward again. Always in the same spot, just behind the same sliver of light that penetrated my dark bedroom. He stopped next to the bed, keeping his face forever hidden in the shadows. His gaze found mine with those ice blue eyes, even though I couldn’t move my head from it’s forward-facing position. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I silently cried, wishing for it to be over quickly and resigning myself to the fact that it was real and I wasn’t ever going to escape him.
A gloved hand lifted from his side. He gently placed the back of his hand against my thigh as he let his fingers graze the blanket I lay on, drifting up and down, caressing my thigh. When he pulled his hand up to examine his fingers, he marveled at the red that now coated the pale blue latex gloves he wore. It was worse than the thought I had produced so much perspiration that I had saturated my bed, I was lying in a pool of my own blood. I couldn’t even comprehendtaking stock if I could even feel an injury; my adrenaline was too high for me to feel any ounce of pain.
