He's My Savior

Nine

Shawn

I sat in my Dad's office, being questioned. I wasn't going to talk.

"So... What have you been doing since you got back from Germany?" He asked, clicking his pen. I picked at my nails, cleaning them out. "It must have been hard... Readjusting to walking with the prosthetic... Do you want to talk about the accident?" I continued to pick my nails. "Or should we talk about your first accident? With Jessica, Blake, and Derrick?" I wouldn't give in. Nothing would make me talk. "Or about your first kill? Michael Garner?" I crossed my legs, not answering. He wrote some stuff down, and I knew it said non-compliant.

"What about your squadmates?" I was beginning to get irritated. "Specifically, Grant Dorian?" I clenched my jaw, staying quiet. "The door is locked until you speak. We're going to be in here until you open up, because I know you need help." I don't need help. "If you're not going to speak, then I can convince you one way or another. How about we start with Michael Garner? You were sixteen, in a national competition in New York, on the way to go to Seoul. Instead of stepping to the side, you kicked him in the head so hard, the helmet couldn't absorb all of the impact." I closed my eyes, trying to block it out. "He was an organ donor, you know? He saved seven people's lives after he died. A woman got her eyesight back, and burn victims got new skin." That didn't make me feel any better. I still killed him.

"Or what about the resentment from the families of your friends after they died in the crash?" I clenched my fists in my lap. "You were with Derrick for... Two years? Longer?" You don't give in. "Do you even visit their graves? Place flowers? Talk to them?" I breathed evenly, trying not to lose it. "Do you still talk to Grant? He saved your life, you got close during your recovery, and now you're not speaking to him or any of your squadmates..."

"You know nothing of what I went through. You think you can waltz in here, trying to get me to talk about my problems? Have you maybe considered that I don't want to talk about it?" I said lowly, standing up. "I don't need a fucking shrink. I need my leg back! I need my friends back! I need you to quit questioning me because I don't want to fucking talk about it!" The door opened, my mother peering in. I yanked it open, walking out. "If you wanted me out of your hair, you should have just thrown me out on my ass like the damn Navy did!" I screamed at her, going directly to my room, and locked the door. I slumped against the door, falling to my ass, and just breathed.

So I packed a bag, calling an Uber, and I went outside. I grabbed my keychain that didn't have the truck keys, since I left them with Frost, and I waited outside for the Uber at the gate.

The Uber driver took me to the lake house with no questions asked, and thankfully, no talking.

Once inside the house, I went to the bedroom that was designated to be mine and sat down on the bed.

Alone.

I was alone.

I had been alone after Michael's death, after the car accident.... And now...

I was tired of the constant fight of actually receiving some love and affection and being alone constantly, unable to talk about the things I've done.

I sat there, on that bed, until sundown. Then I went into the kitchen, all the events, derogatory remarks, and glares replaying in my head.

I couldn't take it anymore.

So I grabbed the knife from the block and cut.

*

Mason

I had a bad feeling. I had a really bad feeling and that's why I only gave her a few hours before heading out.

When I knocked, there was no answer. I peered into the window, finding the kitchen light on. I unlocked the door. "Shawn?" I was expecting a "fuck off," at the very least, but I heard nothing. I went into the kitchen, and found her slumped in a puddle of blood.   "SHAWN!" I ran over, feeling for a pulse. It was weak. Too weak. "No, no, no baby, you don't get to do this...." I tied towels around her wrists and called 911. I held her, keeping a feel on her carotid. "Shawn, please.... Stay with me..." I pleaded. I couldn't let my only daughter die. Once the ambulance was here, I didn't care that I was soaked in blood. I needed her alive.

"Sir, we have your daughter. You can't ride with us. Please, change your clothes and meet us at McKinney Presbyterian."

My mind was a blur.

I made it there, but she was now on a strict 72 hour psych hold.

They had units of blood being pumped into her, but she still hadn't woken up.

"Mr. Clairmont?" I turned. "I'm Dr. Harlow, I'll be your daughter's doctor."

"How is she?" I almost pleaded for the answer.

"Shawn has lost a lot of blood, but we got four units into her, her BP is back up, and we put her under heavy sedation. Can you follow me so I can ask you a few questions?" I followed her to a private room. "I have her medical records up to before nine years ago. Can you fill me in?"

"Shawn... She enlisted nine years ago. She had a couple of injuries that were insignificant but she only recently lost her leg a few months ago."

"Has she sought help for her mental health?" I shook my head.

"I tried to get her to talk to our Psychiatrist, but she stormed out. She doesn't like to be open about her issues." I shouldn't have pushed. I put her here.

"Any history of non-compliance with medication? Allergies?"

"She has no allergies but I can't answer for the compliance." She nodded.

"I'm going to ask you to refrain from being near her while we take care of her. I think it would help her open up about her problems better and that way we can help her. I can keep you updated, but I cannot talk about her therapy." I nodded. "I will give you a call after the 72 hours are up. If you can, just drop her ID and phone off." I looked back at Shawn, who was finally sleeping without the nightmares, and went off to retrieve her items and tell Leysa what happened.

*

Shawn

"Can you please tell me your name?" I was questioned the moment I woke up.

"Shawn Sadie Clairmont." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"How old are you, Shawn?"

"Twenty Eight."

"Do you know what day it is?" I shook my head. "It's Wednesday, July Third... Do you know where you are?" I nodded. "The psychiatrist is coming in to speak with you. Your mandatory 72 hours begins today. You will have daily therapy, you will learn your medication schedule, and you will talk. Refusal in any of these situations will result in further commitment to a facility, and you will be deemed unfit to make clear and concise decisions for yourself."

I drowned her voice out, closing my eyes. I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted the constant voices, judgement, and flashbacks to stop.

"Am I understood, Shawn?" She demanded an answer.

"Crystal clear."