Chapter Four
Bethany stared at the shower. She didn’t want to go in.
Her aversion to water had become worse after her stint in the pool. She’d avoided the shower for three days by using dry shampoo, copious amounts of wetted wipes and washcloths. She’d worn hats for pity’s sake, to cover the tell tales signs of her hair.
It was past time to go in. A quick shower, just turn it on to pre-wet, turn it off, lather, on to rinse, turn off, condition, on to rinse again, off and get out. She’d done it plenty of times and it was better than trying to put her head under a sink.
She shuddered at the thought of contouring herself under a sink faucet. It was too close of a position to the memory that haunted her. She was afraid she’d drown herself. Which was just silly. People couldn’t drown themselves without purposely using certain measures. A human’s survival instinct was too strong.
Bethany looked at herself in the mirror. She liked to be clean. To look perfect. Her father and mother had instilled in her from a very young age that she should always look her best. School had reinforced that edict. She didn’t look grungy, but she felt it. She wished she could take some of the left-over pills that her previous psychiatrist had prescribed her. Bethany wanted to numb her fear right now.
She also wanted to remember. The two needs warred with each other and Bethany sighed, giving up. She left the bathroom and compromised by crawling into bed.
She’d shower tomorrow morning.
Procrastinating wasn’t going to help her, she thought drowsily.
Sleep claimed her.
Where was it? Her childish feet slapped against the weathered boards as she ran in the hot sunshine. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be out here without the boys, but they were doing somethingboring,so she had slipped away.
It wasn’t like she was going to try to steal the boat. She just wanted to find it and pretend she was a pirate. Or a princess on a boat tour. Or shipwrecked.
Was it this boat? Or the next one? She couldn’t remember.
Bethany searched the marina. There were so many boats. She did a little skip, a pirouette, then bounced forward. She was going to be an amazing ballet dancer.
Maybe she’d pretend to be a ballerina on vacation.
Ballerina’s could afford yachts, couldn’t they?
She jumped onto a boat, confident in her ability to judge the distance over the water from the dock to the deck. She began to explore even as she realized her mistake.
It was the wrong boat. It was far too big. Yet that didn’t stop her from looking.
She stopped in the yucky yellow colored bathroom. The boys called it a head. She didn’t know why. She was also stumped because this one had a bathtub. Sure, it was tiny, but it was there and no boat that she knew of ever had a bathtub. Of course, she only knew of one other boat.
Bethany shrugged. She was about to leave when she heard voices.
Voices that she knew.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. Bethany crouched down, hiding beside the toilet. If they found her, she would get in a lot of trouble. She tried to shrink her little body down to nothing, so they wouldn’t see her.
The door opened.
Bethany jerked awake in bed, her heart hammering. She grabbed her journal, furiously writing down the details of the dream so that she wouldn’t forget anything. Once the words were down, she read them over, adding or crossing out as her mind remembered the dream.
Who did she know that had a boat?
Bethany put the pen and book back down, laying in her bed and staring at the ceiling. She searched her mind and came up empty. Tossing off the blankets, Bethany grabbed clothes and headed to the shower.
This was going to happen. She took a deep breath and turned on the spray. Maybe while she was under it, she’d get another flashback, she told herself.
Bethany forced herself to take the shower, hating every moment of it. Afterward, she felt much better for being clean but disappointed that no memories had surfaced. She knew it wasn’t wise to force things, Dr. Urshman kept telling her that. However, Bethany wanted to know the truth about what had happened so long ago. Why had she constantly been made to go to psychiatrists? To be medicated? Her mother had talked about her having constant nightmares as a child, that she had become difficult and unruly. Her father said it had been necessary.
She just didn’t understand.
It was near dawn and the sun was starting to slowly light up the world. Bethany grabbed her coat and keys. She called a cab and waited impatiently in the lobby for it to arrive.
