He placed his blood-covered hand on my chin, holding it tightly between his forefinger and thumb, manually forcing my head to turn to face him.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, Rae,” He whispered, bringing his face slowly closer to mine. He was going to destroy me. Slowly, he was stealing away pieces of me until nothing of my former self could be found. “You can’t hide from me forever.” His deep voice sent a chill down my spine, only adding to the shivers already racking through my body.
I awoke with a start in an unfamiliar room, covered in sweat, and my heart beating expeditiously in my chest. A scream from my own mouth had broken through my dream, startling me awake. The echoes in my head, residual from the dream that had been plaguing me the past three nights, lingered like fog in my mind. As I took in the room, trying to calm my breathing, I wiped the sweat away from my face and remembered where I was. The blankets scratched against my calves, my scrub pants having hiked up to my knees in my sleep, as I reminded myself I wasn’t in the comfort of my own bed, but rather in the Behavioral Health Clinic.
The dream drifted away from my memory like they usually did most mornings, never lingering long enough for me to recall the vivid details. This one was starting to become a broken record, playing on repeat, ever since I had tried to escape my relationship with Craig. My mind seemed to be hardwired not to retainanything it endured during my subconscious state. I threw the thin white blanket off me as I got out of bed, ashamed at how damp the mattress was from sweat, wishing more than anything that these newfound night terrors would find someone else to torment. Logically, I had no reason to have such issues in a place where you couldn’t even take a shit without someone having a front row seat. I was safer here than in my own home.
I stripped my clothes off quickly, knowing the faster I could get myself clean and scrub away the residual odious feeling lingering on both my body and in my mind, the faster I could start to feel normal in my own skin. The nightmare must have started early in the night since half the sweat that covered my body was partially dried, leaving me feeling encrusted in my own skin.
The shower in my room wasn’t much, and offered little to no privacy. A saloon-style door made of a clear, thick plastic was the only thing separating me from anyone who looked in my room. Like clockwork every fifteen minutes, my door would open and someone would make sure I was still alive before moving down the hall to the remainder of the rooms. In my shower stall, I was only allowed a small wash rag and a small plastic bottle of soap and shampoo. Razors were against the rules, so I didn’t have a choice but to ignore the prickling feeling on my legs as hairs were starting to grow.
Turning on the water as hot as I could stand it, I let it scald my skin. Holding my head under the stream of water, I tried to rinsemy mind of whatever negative thoughts plagued me in my sleep. I held my breath as the scorching water ran down my face, wishing I could feel anything other than the horrific and empty feeling that started the night before I found myself in the hospital.
As carefully as I could, to avoid getting my bandaged arm wet, I scrubbed my pale skin until it was red and raw, cleansing myself of not only the layer of sweat that had accumulated in my sleep, but the aches and pains in my body that made me feel as though I had been running instead of sleeping. It was difficult washing my arms while trying not to ruin the gauze protecting my stitches. The last thing I wanted to see was the damage they kept saying I had inflicted upon myself if the bandages needed to be replaced. My muscles were tense, despite the lack of physical activity I had seen the past few weeks, though I supposed getting pushed from my second-floor landing was enough to leave me feeling like I had been hit by a truck.
As if on cue, as soon as I had rinsed my hair, I heard my bedroom door open, letting light in from the hallway. I didn’t bother looking to see which nurse was doing the rounds this time, having forced myself late last night to adjust to the constant invasion of privacy. There was no such thing as a private moment in a facility where they thought their patients were going to off themselves the second they were no longer being watched. Other than just needing to set eyes on me and make sure I was stillbreathing, they didn’t say anything, just wrote a tally mark on their clipboard before making their way to the rest of the patients.
The nurse didn’t say anything as they closed my bedroom door; they typically didn’t unless they had a reason to ask something. I waited under the water for a moment after I heard the door close completely, trying to time getting dressed before the next round went by. Exiting the shower and wrapping myself in a towel, I grabbed a clean set of scrubs from my sink and dumped my soiled ones next to the door.
I sighed and pulled on the scrubs as quickly as possible, not giving a shit that I didn’t have my own belongings, so that meant I had to go without a bra and properly fitting underwear. After my intake assessment last night with the nurse who didn’t seem capable of even pretending to care about me, I was humiliated and wanted nothing more than to just get these next few weeks over with as swiftly as possible.
Even though the clinic was on the same campus as the main hospital, they still insisted on transporting me by ambulance last night. I wished they would have let me walk instead, allowing me to work out my issues physically rather than being strapped into a vehicle for a three-minute ride. After arriving, before I was even shown to my room, they had one of the nurses conduct another exam on my body. This one however, wasn’t for medical purposes, but rather to document any and all injuries, scars, tattoos, and piercings. The documentation process even included takingphotos of every inch of my body. They told me it was standard procedure to make sure I didn’t acquire more injuries while in their care.
Having to strip naked for a medical exam was one thing. Having every scar photographed, no matter where it was located on my body, was another. The only positive note the nurse had to say about my nude and vulnerable body was that she liked my tattoo on my left arm.
The intricate sleeve took up the entire expanse of my arm. Purple flowers grew along detailed vines with objects mixed in, hidden in their foliage. The lovers tarot card, a favorite of mine though not from the practice of tarot, a gray beaded bracelet with a heart-shaped pendant sat along my wrist, peaking out of the leaves and down my hand. A strand of pearls wove in and out with small, detailed insects appearing in various places.
She even went as far as to take the dressing off my right arm, which ran the entire length of my forearm, and photographed the lacerations. It was the first time I had seen the damage done to it since I had woken up. There was no way I would have ever been able to inflict that much damage on myself with my left hand wielding the knife.
Two deep cuts ran from my elbow to my inner wrist, requiring stitches. But that wasn’t all of the defilement. Fifteen cuts, held together with butterfly stitches, were also on my outer forearm. I seriously questioned where the doctors studiedbecause there was no way my non-dominant hand would have been able to do that many clean cuts. After the altercation with Craig, I knew who must have done it, the fucking idiot probably didn’t even know I was right-handed. My biggest concern was just getting someone to listen to me, that I wasn’t suicidal, and that I had been attacked. Having been with the man for almost three years, I knew in my heart that he wouldn’t give up that easily to just let me walk away this time. It was just a matter of time before he appeared to either finish the job he started or convince me to belong to him again.
March 27th 2020
The past few weeks have been almost perfect. I only wish Craig wasn’t under so much stress at work. He’s told me that they’ve been getting on him for trying to do things a better way and won’t listen to him when he tries to make improvements. So it makes sense that he’s been a little more short-tempered lately. I’ve had long days at work, too, so I can relate. I’ve told him I’m a good listener if he ever wants to talk about it, but he insists that he would never want to burden me with his problems.
A few days ago, however, I saw a side of him I hadn’t seen before. The couch I had ordered for my living room had finally come in. Originally, I had planned to have the store deliver it and put it together, but since Craig has an old truck, he offered to pick it up and do the work for me so I could save money. Only, it wasn’t as simple as that.
I’ve never seen someone lose their temper as quickly as he did when the couch didn’t just slide through the door without resistance. I tried to help him the best I could from inside the house by pulling it, but with little direction from him, I wasn’t sure what else he wanted me to do. When we couldn’t get it through the door the way he wanted, he came around the back door to see what I had been doing wrong.Craig tried pulling it with all his weight as leverage, and it still wouldn’t budge. That’s when he started kicking and punching the half of the couch that was stuck in the door. I’ve never seen someone attack a piece of furniture so violently before.
Riley had been resting in the kitchen, but when he heard the disturbance and came out to look, he must have thought Craig was angry at me and tried to bite him. I was able to grab his collar even though I was shocked. Riley didn’t like Craig, but I never thought he would charge at him the way he did. Craig wouldn’t stop yelling at the couch while I tried to put Riley in the office, about how it was a fucking stupid piece of shit not worth my money.
When I came back out to try and help, he snapped at me, telling me it was my fault the couch got stuck in the first place because I didn’t know how to measure furniture before buying it. Normally, I have no issue standing up for myself, but his accusation shocked me, and I immediately started to cry. He had such a blank look on his face when he left, admitting he couldn’t get the couch in.
I had to go to my neighbor for help so I would be able to shut my door. Mr. Parson thankfully didn’t ask what had happened, though the pity on his face was evident since my tears hadn’t dried when I went to him.
Later that night, Craig called to apologize. He hadn’t told me yet that his aunt had passed away that morning, and he wasn’t taking it very well. We talked for a few hours, but not before I had to promise him that when he was at my house, Riley would have to be put up inhis crate due to his fear of large dogs. I agreed only because we don’t spend much time at my place, and after seeing how Riley went after him, it would break me if he ever bit someone.
Chapter five
The Phoenix
September 24th 2023
Standing outside my room with all the other patients in my hallway, I couldn’t help but continually pat my right arm. After my intake late last night, they redressed my butchered flesh, but it was starting to itch like bugs were burrowing in between the stitches. Not just any type of bugs either, but the carnivorous kind that consumed flesh to create their tunnels under the skin. Scratching at it wasn’t an option, and with my nerves completely shattered after the past few days, it was all I could do not to tear the dressings off and dig at my mending skin.
They had told me at the hospital, with judgment in their eyes, that the stitches weren’t due to come out any time soon, with how deep the cuts were. I didn’t bother arguing with them that time. Nobody else wanted to hear what I had to say, so I didn’t see the point in wasting my breath.
In total, there were six patients, including myself, in this hallway, even though there were enough rooms to house many more. We were spaced out, none of us having a room beside another patient. It must have been a slow season for crazy people.I chidded myself for the thought, knowing that I suffered from an illness just like the rest of the adults here. But I couldn’t help it; sarcasm and inappropriate thoughts made up at least eighty percent of my personality.
