The first month I wanted to die. I wanted to die so bad I cried in frustration that I had nothing to do it with. I was angry and upset so much so I just didn't talk. I didn't leave my room. I didn't eat. I didn't drink. I was having nightmares every night. My hair had started to fall out. I was at my wits end and it was all Derricks fault. He left me here, he gave up on me. He couldn't take it anymore. I was becoming too much of a burden. He threw me away far far away from him where he wouldn't have to think about me anymore.
That hurt the most. I let myself think he cared and in the end I was something that could be tossed away when times got hard. I was sure he was relieved. His sons were probably happy to have their home back. To throw out my things. Derrick had some of my stuff sent here. I would never leave and even if I did I would be on my own. If I somehow got better and didn't kill myself I would have to navigate it all by myself.
Killing myself was the better option.
Everything was on a tight schedule. It was like prison. Breakfast, downtime, solo therapy, group therapy, lunch, journaling, downtime, dinner, and then bed. Everyday. I was surprised we didn't have to wear jumpsuits all the same color. Instead we wore our regular clothes.
My first solo therapy session she asks me how i'm feeling and I don't speak. I don't even look at her. It's not until the third when she asks that I finally say it.
"I hate him."
"Who?"
"Derrick."
"Ah. I think he brought you here because he was worried about you, Aaron."
"I hate him."
I filled an entire journal with that line. Over and over I scribbled the words to the point that my hand started cramping. The ink smudged the pages and I didn't even know who I was talking about anymore. Alot of them were about Derrick but I think the others were about different people. It was easy to hate Derrick to blame this all on him. He took me in, fed me so much bullshit about how I could have a life beyond the trauma, he made me be friends with his sons, he made me talk about my feelings and made me feel safe.
He let me make my own decisions with only him as a guide through it all. I had the baby, I gave up the baby, I got depressed. I was depressed during the birth but soon after it go so much worse.
I closed in on myself. Derrick couldn't take it anymore. His sons didn't come home, he didn't go to work, he didn't sleep, he watched me day and night. It wasn't enough. I was already thinking about suicide. When I would do it. How I would do it. He didn't let me get a chance
Instead I was here. Alone. Far far away from comfort. He lied to me. I hated him. It was all his fault. He should've made me get the abortion. He should've talked some sense into me. Put his foot down.
I hate him. I hate him so much that I would wake up from a nightmare calling out his name. He doesn't come though because i'm here and he's far far away from me.
The second month I started talking to some of the other people here. There was a girl who self harmed to the point where she scars all over her face. A nasty gash was on her forehead. It was fresh too. I wished I had the balls to do that. It made me think I wasn't that far gone. That maybe I didn't want to die so badly. That might have been the medication talking.
There was also another girl. I didn't remember everyone or their stories or their feelings but this girls. I didn't really know her name. I think it was a little weird. Different. Her father would beat her everyday until one day she knew she was absolutely sure he was going to kill her if she didn't didn't do anything. She killed him. She was only fifteen when it happened and luckily it was ruled out as self defense. She said she would've done it even if it wasn't life or death. She would've done it just to make it stop.
She had a psychotic breakdown afterwards. She's been here a while.
Sometimes I imagined killing Derrick. I hated myself for thinking it. I didn't know why I was thinking it but the thoughts came to my mind and they scared me. I would see him after leaving this place and I would just choke him. Or beat him. One dream I shot him over and over and over. I woke up in a panic attack. I told my therapist and I know she wrote I was a danger to myself and others. She says the rage and feelings of betrayal were normal feelings to have. Though, murderous thoughts would keep me here longer.
"For over a year he's been a constant in your life and now he's not. You're hurting and that's okay."
"I stabbed him. Right in the throat in my dream."
"Did you ever have dreams like that about the men who assaulted you?"
"Yes."
"Would you put Derrick and those men in the same category?"
"Never."
"Derrick putting you here made you feel as powerless and disposable as they did. Maybe it made you feel even worse because he was good to you—because he was nothing like them and in your mind you're categorizing him and the other men the same."
The third month I got my phone back and I was allowed to have visitation two times a week. After six months I would be able to have twenty four hour leaves. I didn't want to think I would be here for that long but realistically I would probably be hitting the year mark. There were thousands—actual thousands of missed texts, calls, and voicemails. They were mostly from Cameron, Carter and especially Rylie. I skimmed them. I don't let myself listen to them all. Carter graduated. I remember when we talked about it. How I said it would be fun to go and cheer when his name was called to embarrass him.
The day came and I wasn't there. Cameron was saying something in a voicemail about being nervous to be a senior and not knowing what he would major in when he got to college but apparently he was receiving offers to some top schools for basketball. He also says one of our favorite shows got cancelled. Rylies were short. They were sweet. He was pleading for me to call him back. To answer a text. I hated the way he sounds. I was causing that. I deleted the rest.
Before I delete everything I skim and search and there's nothing from Derrick. I had notifications from Chase but not him. Not a text. Not a call. He hated me. I didn't blame him. Not after what I did. After what I said. It was mortifying thinking of how I acted that day. I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye. I wouldn't be able to apologize enough. He had every right to not want anything to do with me.
I propositioned him for sex. I made a nasty comment about his wife and his intentions of fostering me. Derrick. The same Derrick that held me when I cried. The Derrick that didn't make me feel alone. The Derrick that always kept his eyes closed when he was helping me in and out the shower. The Derrick whose hands never roamed. Eyes never drifted. He was the absolute last person who would ever do that to me and still I made the move. I tried thinking he would. I thought of him the same as everyone else. Derrick wasn't everyone else and now I lost him. I lost his kindness. I lost his family.
I didn't hate him. I wish I could tell him that but it probably wouldn't make a difference. He was there and I was here.
"How will I want to stay alive when I know no one is going to be waiting for me if I leave? I don't have anything beyond this."
"You don't think anyone will be there?"
"No. I don't."
"Have you tried to make amends with Derrick and his children? I think if they care about you the way you've spoken about them then it wouldn't be too hard."
"I don't know if I want to go back to them."
"At the end of the day you have to want to stay alive for yourself."
The fourth and fifth months bleed together and I feel better. I eat better. I sleep better. The thoughts are still there. The feeling that I'll kill myself if I have the right opportunity still plague my brain. I didn't like taking the medication. I got into fights with staff on numerous occasions about it. I lost the visitation privileges maybe three or four times. It didn't matter. No one comes. I won't let them.
It's been a year. Im not sure of anything other than the fact I was somehow still alive but that didn't seem like it would last long. I was starting to think maybe I did kill myself and my ghost just hadn't processed it yet. I turned eighteen a few weeks ago and all I got were some flowers with a pre-typed message. No initials. No name. Just; "Happy Birthday Aaron." Maybe they were from him. Maybe they weren't. It was a shit way of letting me know he's still around.
I opted to start staying in my room on visitation day. It didn't do anything for me to watch everyone be happy.
I knew Derrick was getting my progress updates. I don't think he cares though. He probably just puts the emails in his trash folder. Maybe they would visit If I took them off the no contact list. I didn't want to though. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to talk or cry or face the harsh reality that I probably had no place there anymore. So I don't get visitors and I don't get calls. My phone is always turned off. I didn't have much use for it anymore. I effectively got rid of them.
"Aaron, you have a visitor," Casey was one of the staff who always asked if I would be getting a visitor and every time I would tell her no. So to see her beaming I was surprised. I think she paid someone to come.
"Who?"
"Go see!" She pulls me out the bed and guides me to the front area her hands on my shoulders talking about how happy she is someone came to see me and that she knows it'll do me some good.
We get to the area and I cross my arms over my chest. I scan the room and then I see him. Brown eyes. Tan skin. How the fuck did he get in here? This wasn't allowed. He was on the list. He couldn't just come here. They can't just ignore my wishes like this. What if Chase was a trigger for me or something. What if he was a bad person. I know he can see the anger in my eyes. The confusion.
"Hi, Aaron."
I dont even feel like fighting him.
Chase and I walk around the garden in the back of the building. For a while neither of us say anything until he starts talking about his brothers and things that have been going with his own kids. This felt weird yet so normal. Chase and I didn't really build that much of a relationship when I was living with his family since he was usually busy with his work and his own. Maybe it was my fault. He invited me to things I just didn't want to go. I never got the feeling he liked me much.
"I was starting to think they were lying about you being alive," I look at the ground. So Derrick did read the emails.
"Why are you here Chase? How are you here?"
"I'm rich," He deadpans. Trying to make a joke. Of course. Money could buy just about anything," I got a fake ID made just to come here. I wanted to check up on you."
I bite the inside of my cheek. People didn't know him here. Sure he had been in magazines and on television but it was mostly like he was celebrity of our city. If he goes anywhere else he's just a guy. I should've added pictures and plastered them all over the walls. I didn't think anyone would go to these lengths. It would be comical if I could feel anything.
"Why? We barely talked. You don't like me," I tell him flatly. We weren't about to sit here and pretend he was always on my side and that the little relationship we had wasn't anything but the fact that his dad took me in.
He exhales, "I do like you, Aaron and I can apologize for not building more of a bond with you. I know how it can be more than anyone. Im here because the people I love care about you."
If he came to guilt trip me he was too late. I had already severed the last piece of them. I was done.
"Talk to me."
"Leave."
"I don't think you want that."
"Well you don't know shit do you? You don't know me. You don't know anything," I could feel myself start to tremble. He had no right to come here. I should run back inside and tell them who he actually is and to never allow him back. I don't though. I keep instep with him until we reach a bench and he sits down. Patiently waiting.
"It wouldn't be fair to them to come see me and I just act awful. I know myself and that's what'll happen because I have so much resentment and i'll put it on them because I can't put it anywhere else."
"You don't think they know that? They've dealt with it before. I've done it. They didn't give up on me. They haven't given up on you."
This was a round and round conversation. I wasn't Chase and Chase wasn't me. He was the small percentage of success stories. The stories they write about to make kids believe it'll happen for them. It wasn't going to happen for me. I knew that. I wasn't even sure I wanted it anymore. I hardly wanted to live. I didn't want to burden them anymore.
"He hasn't called. He hasn't texted me. He doesn't check in. He has money too. He doesn't care anymore."
"You know that's not true."
He wasn't in the car that day. Derrick didn't even tell me goodbye. He put my suitcases on the concrete and left.
"He brought me here under false pretenses and then he left. He doesn't want me and I don't need him. If I get out of here i'll just figure something out," I don't think he believes a word that comes from my mouth because I don't even believe it. Every syllable that slips from my mouth feels like poison on my tongue.
I didn't even want to think about being alone again.
"He loves you so much and I know how hard it is for you to grasp that but it's true. I don't think you should keep pushing away like this," He tugs at my arm but I pull back. Love didn't exist for me. No one would ever love me. They liked me. Sure. They cared for me. Sure. Love? That wasn't real. That wasn't something accessible for me and even if it were somehow true I would never be able to reciprocate.
I didn't think that was fair either. I cared about them. I liked them. I yearned to be around them. I don't think I loved them. I don't think I knew how to love anyone. I didn't even love myself. I simply existed in their lives and grew to mimic how they acted. I often wondered if I felt anything real at all. Sometimes I look back on moments when I was at my lowest and still laughed because they laughed. Talked because they talked. Hugged because they hugged me. None of it was real.
I was empty. Hollow. I wanted to be loved so badly I let myself believe I was like them. That I felt for them. I was a leech. Sucking them lifeless. I was taking and taking until the point I couldn't take anymore.
"Just stop."
"He was only doing what he could to help you."
"It's been a year and it's not fucking helping, Chase!" My voice cracks with the scream and I watch as birds fly away frantically. It feels like it echoes. "A whole fucking year and now I don't feel anything. There's nothing left! I'm already dead. Tell him that. Tell him he fucking killed me. It wasn't the rapes. It wasn't the beatings. It wasn't the fucking baby. It was him. He did this to me."
Chase hardly looks phased. If anything he looks like he was expecting the words. Fuck him. He didn't know me. He didn't fucking get it. It doesn't matter if we grew up the same. He wasn't me. He still had a biological mother. He got parents and brothers. He had a family now. He didn't even talk to me when I was there. He's only here so he'll have something report back to ease their minds. This wasn't for me. He wasn't here for me. No one was here for me.
It was all shutting down. Everything. My thoughts, my feelings, all of it. I just walked around and felt empty. Like a spirit roaming. I can't tell if I liked it or not. It was better than feeling one hundred things at once and not knowing what to do with it.
"You're still here, Aaron. You aren't dead. I think it's for a reason," He tells me. How the hell did he know.
I could puke I feel my eyes start to burn, "I don't feel like a person anymore," I whisper to him, "I don't know who I am. I don't have anything left."
My skin doesn't feel like my own. My thoughts don't feel like my own. I don't know what I am. I don't know what I will be. I don't know anything. I just know i'm here and I wish I wasn't.
"You're Aaron Hendrix. One day it's going to be Phoenix. You are my brothers' best friend. He'll never say it out loud but you're his favorite. Soon, you'll be my kids favorite aunt. You'll be my best friend, Aaron. Maybe that's not enough right now but it is what you have. You always will."
"Stop."
"You are very loved and wanted, Aaron. Even if you don't feel like it—you are. We all want to help you the best we can. We all want you to get better so we can continue having you in our lives. You might not believe it now but one day you will and this will all be just a memory. So you can fight it all you want and you can continue to shut us out but no one is leaving."
A lump forms in my throat. He stands up facing me. His hands on my shoulders keeping me in place but also keeping me steady, "I want to tell you to let these people help you but you know that. You have to do this for yourself. It's a good thing to know you have people in your corner and you have something to look forward to but at the end of the day it's only up to you."
"I truly think you're still hanging on for a reason. You could've left as soon as you turned eighteen," Tears slip down my cheeks and he brushes them away before engulfing me in such a tight hug I swear my spine shifts. I didn't want to breakdown. I hadn't planned on it but I feel my throat tightening every second he doesn't let go and then I just slack in his arms.
He was right. Once I turned eighteen staying was optional. I was scared to leave. I could admit I wasn't in the right mindset to go off on my own. Derrick apparently was still paying for it so it was like free housing at this point but with therapy.
"I don't know if I can do this anymore. I tried for them, Chase. I did. There's no point anymore," I say the words that have been plaguing my brain. It felt like there was no better. Like, it doesn't go beyond this. I didn't see a life without this feeling. It's always been there since my parents died. It's the only constant i've ever had.
"There is," He pulls back. A look in his eye that was confident and sincere, "I've been you, Aaron. I know so many people like us. I've met hundreds of us. There's some that don't and there's some that do get better and we," He gestures between us, "We get fucking better. We get everything we deserve."
"Why?"
Chase smiles, "He won't allow anything less."