© Amber Kalkes 2015
Chapter Three: Allocution
"How are you feeling?"
I grimace at the question but answer, "Fine."
Dr. Reynolds lifts one bushy eyebrow, "Care to elaborate?"
"Not really." I answer quietly.
He's obviously unimpressed by response and begins scribbling on his notepad while I take the opportunity to study him. Dr. Reynolds is a man in his late fifties with a rather impressive white colored comb over, probing blue eyes and a cleft chin. He wears thin gold wire glasses but consistently peers over them when he talks to me. I think they might be reading glasses but one can never really be sure.
The office is fairly nice. An expansive desk against a bay window, showing a view of the parking lot below and some of the chiropractic business across the street. Dr. Reynolds sits in front of me in his fairly large brown leather office chair, his back to his desk as I face him. I drop my gaze to a loose thread on the tweed chair I'm sitting on and start to pick at it, waiting for his scolding. Sometimes I think he's worse than my mother with all the lectures.
He eventually lowers his pen and looks at me dispassionately, "Shoshanna I can only help you if you talk to me. We've been over this."
"I'm aware."
"Then you're also aware that your cooperation in these sessions was also a stipulation of your outpatient status with the hospital."
I shift in my chair a little, "Yes."
"Then why don't you tell me where you got those bruises on your face."
I wipe my already sweating palms on my baggy jean legs and stare at the entwined fingers in my lap. It's only been one night since the incident with Lawrence and I'm still the worse for it. I feel disgusting no matter how many baths or showers I take or how hard I scrub my skin. I swear I could still feel his hands on me in my sleep. As a result I kept waking up covered in sweat, shaking and crying all through out the night.
He's never taken it that far before and now that he has, I'm not sure if I can face the possibility he could do it again. That being said, I don't know what I else I can do. Calling the police seems like a waste of time. He hasn't done anything other than touch and force a sloppy unwanted kiss on me. I shudder at the memory and try to shut off the building emotion as I glance at Dr. Reynolds, who continues to watch me. He doesn't need to know about the incident.
No one does.
"I fell."
"You fell?" He repeats doubtfully.
I hum a response and nod my head, "Yes. I s-slipped on some ice and fell."
"The how do you explain the fact that they are the size of finger tips?"
My finger knot nervously on my lap, "I landed at an odd angle I think."
He sighs heavily and removes his glasses so he can look me directly in the eyes, "Shoshanna, we won't get any father in your treatment if you continue to be evasive."
"I'm not."
"You are and I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that I don't know you are," He says before sitting back in his chair, "We need to talk about what happened the night you came under the hospital's care and you've been able to evade that subject as well. I don't need to tell you that keeping these things in is unhealthy."
"I don't want to talk about." I grit out, feeling my anxiety begin to climb.
"We have to talk about it at some point, Shoshanna. You tried to kill yourself and this incident wasn't the first time. Seven attempts in the past six years is not a simple matter to just sweep under the rug."
I stare down one of his framed degrees on the wall and feel tears sting my eyes. The 'incident' in question is not my finest hour. I can admit that. Glancing down at my covered up arms I remember what got me in this chair in the first place.
It's crazy how one little thing can change everything. I had taken myself off my medications probably about two months before and I had been feeling fine. I wasn't a happy go-lucky cheerleader but I was feeling as melancholy as normal. I didn't have a job yet but I was taking a few online college courses, you know just to try it out. I was on my way to being...I don't know, normal I guess.
As I said before, it was a small thing that pushed me over the cliff that I wasn't even aware I was teetering on. It was the middle of the night and I couldn't sleep. Instead all I was doing was drawing and writing thoughts down in the margins of my sketchbook. Then the pencil broke. I had been gripping it so hard, it snapped clear in half. It seems stupid but it felt like the last straw.
What was I doing with myself? Why was I pretending to be something I wasn't? My entire life at this point felt like a sham. I wasn't some college bound girl with hopes and dreams. I was the girl who sat quietly in the back of the class and was waiting for her time to be up. I didn't want to make a new life because I was pretty sure I wouldn't be happy that one either.
I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside out. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think correctly. It was like everything was chaos and nothing would be right again. I tried to get a grip, convince myself that I was being crazy but it didn't work. No matter what I tried to tell myself the truth was I wasn't meant to be like this. I wanted out and I could only think of one way.
I feel a tear drip down my face as I remember the feel of the blade sliding across my wrist and quickly reach up to wipe it away. "I-I was having a hard time."
Dr. Reynolds poises his pen for notes as he regards me, "What about it was so hard?"
"Everything."
"Nothing specific?"
I shake my head and wipe away another escaped tear from my cheek. I bite down on my lower lip and rip another piece of skin from its surface. The sting of it focuses my mind on the pain and I can feel myself already calming down. That's all I needed, just a little focus. I wish I could sneak into the bathroom for a few minutes and use the emergency blade in my jacket pocket.
"Why didn't you talk to your parents about it?"
I let out a dry laugh, "That would have been a waste of time. I would have just been back in the hospital again."
"But if you had, you wouldn't have made the attempt."
I meet Dr. Reynolds pale eyes, "I think you're forgetting that I didn't want to be saved."
He scribbles on his notepad before speaking again, "What about your sister?"
I instantly go tense at the mention of Charlotte. Narrowing my eyes, I try to keep my voice as dull as possible, "What about her?"
"Did her death have any impact on you? Your file says that you made the first attempt on your life shortly after her death."
"Of course her death impacted me. She was my baby sister." I snap before lifting my legs up to cross them in front of me. "I was fucked up long before Charlotte. Her death didn't make me sick."
"But it did drive you to attempt to hang yourself in the family dining room."
"It wasn't about Charlotte!" I yell before sitting back in my chair. I run a shaky hand through my hair and try to calm down. I shouldn't have let him get to me like that. I'm sure that's what he wanted and here I am just giving it to him. I know better than this. Lowering my tone I repeat myself, "It wasn't about Charlotte."
He looks completely unaffected by my outburst, "Then what was it about?"
"I just...I didn't want to be here anymore, in this body, in this mind."
"What about being you upsets you so much?"
I don't like this question because I'm pretty sure the answer sitting on my tongue isn't going to satisfy him. So instead I just shrug and purposely shut down again. I've given him much more than I intended to today. I don't want to make the same mistake twice.
"Shoshanna," He begins with a sigh, "I'm going to ask you a question but I don't want you to answer it now. I want you to think about it until we meet again. Can you do that for me?"
I frown but nod.
Setting his notepad on his desk he sits forward in his chair and locks his gaze with mine, "The question is: Do you really want to die or do you just want relief?"
"Is there a difference?"
"Yes."
He doesn't explain why they're different but I think that's part of the process he's trying to instill in me. He wants me to think of my motivations. The 'how' and 'why' my brain goes the darker directions it often does. The good doctor and suspected ex-hippy is all about self-discovery and self-understanding. Personally I couldn't give shit why I feel this way. I just want it to stop.
"Shoshanna?" He calls, getting me out of my thoughts.
"How much longer do we have left?" I ask quietly as I pull my sweater sleeves over my hands.
"Fifteen minutes."
I nod and pick at the loose thread again. I'll have to call a cab to pick me up from here to go to my parent's house after this. It's Saturday, which means tomorrow is a family dinner back home. I feel my stomach churn at the idea but I try my best to ignore it. I can only hope dad is the one cooking this time. Mom always manages to burn everything. God love her for trying though.
"What are you plans for the rest of the day?" Dr. Reynolds asks after a minute.
"Just go home. I have a family dinner on Sunday though."
"Good. Time with your family is good. It'll keep you connected to the here and now and less in your head. Distraction is one of your best allies, Shoshanna."
I nod by head but internally I'm rolling my eyes. Distraction, I mentally scoff. Yeah, well, I tried it your way and it gotten me nowhere. The rubber band snapping didn't work out. My mom took them away saying that the bruises on my arms were no better then the cuts so that was thrown out the window. I'm a horrible runner so that isn't an option. What else is there? I can't carry a note so karaoke is out of the lead for a replacement.
"Is it time yet?"
Dr. Reynolds nearly rolls his eyes at me but refrains, "Yes, you can leave. How's your prescription working out for you?"
I freeze mid-motion as I start getting out of the chair. Pulling down the hem of my baggy dark gray sweater I reach up to tuck some hair behind my ear, "Fine. I have enough for the rest of the month."
He sticks his hands in the front pockets of his slacks while he assesses my face, "You'll let me know if you run out?"
"Yes."
"Make another appointment with Marie for next week."
I nod and grab my jacket off the coat rack in the corner, "I'll see you next week, Dr. Reynolds."
"Have a good rest of your weekend, Shoshanna."
I don't answer. Instead I walk down the hallway, past the other shrink's offices and towards the exit to the waiting room. It's a medium sized room with chairs lining the walls, a play table for kids and a TV in the corner of the room. On the far end of it is a secretarial area with the kindly looking Marie sitting in it. She's by far my favorite part of coming here, I have to say.
"Done already?" She asks as I approach the desk.
I nod and offer a small smile, "I think I might have bored him."
Marie waves one sun spotted hand, "Don't be silly, Shoshanna. Doctors aren't paid to get bored."
"If you say so." I shrug.
"So what time can I sign you up for next week?"
I'm chewing over the question when something on the small TV on her desk catches my attention. It's a news bulletin with the words 'Fourth Victim Of Downtown Ripper Found' flashing across the bottom on the screen. I don't take my eyes off the screen as I speak to Marie.
"Can you turn this up? I want to hear what they're saying."
Marie frowns at me but does as I ask. The same somber newswoman from the previous broadcast is standing in the city park while she speaks into her microphone, "Stefanie McMullen was found in Griffith City Park today and has been confirmed as the fourth victim of who the police have dubbed 'The Downtown Ripper'."
"What has the world come to these days?" Marie says with a shake of her head but I hardly hear her.
"I'm here with Detective Vincent Sanchez for more information. Detective what can our young women so they are not vulnerable to such a brutal killer?"
An older Hispanic man is dressed in a smart suit with a thick coat on over that. His dark hair is slicked back from his face with gray coming in at the temples and a graying goatee. He wears his badge around his neck and has a very severe expression that means business.
"Keep your eye out, be safe and be smart about who you go home with tonight. The suspect is a tall, dark haired Caucasian man, described to be in his mid to early twenties. He has a habit of picking up his victims from the downtown nightlife. So if you're going out tonight, keep an eye out for suspicious behavior."
"Wise words." The newswoman agrees before the camera pans over to focus solely on her. "Words to take to heart as the city grieves for yet another lost citizen. Back to you at the studio."
"Sickos." Marie mutters before turning the TV off, "You'll be safe out there, won't you dear?"
"Huh?" I ask before her words sink in. Swallowing thickly I nod my head, "O-Of course. I'm not much a night owl anyway."
"Just as well. So next week, what day were we thinking?"
After scheduling an appointment for next week Marie gives me a cherry flavored sucker for the walk home. Savoring the taste of it on my tongue I slip on my jacket as I leave down the stairs. I zip up my jacket as I push open the doors just in time for the cold winter wind to hit me in the face. Putting on my mittens and hat, I start making my way home while trying to process all the new information.
He struck again. Another young woman and this one followed the last victim much sooner than before. I pull the sucker from my mouth and lick my cherry stained lips. The detective did say he was circling the downtown nightclub area. Maybe that's a good place to find him, I think.
Sticking the sucker back in my mouth I let the flavor settle on my tongue as I formulate a plan. Of course there is just one problem. I hate dancing.
+
Standing in my bathroom I look at myself in the mirror and fidget with the neck of my shirt. This is probably the only outfit I own that doesn't look like someone's grandmother was buried in it. My mother bought it for me for my twenty-first birthday to go out in and I only wore it the once.
It's a red bandage skirt that cuts off about mid-thigh with a loose white tank top. Of course with my arms in the condition they're in, I have to throw a baggy black and white flannel button down over it. Since its also winter I add some tights so my legs don't fall off on the walk there. I haven't put any makeup on. This is mostly due to the fact I don't own any.
Brushing my hair back from my face I lean against the sink as I stare into the eyes of my reflection. I don't know if I want to die or if I just want the pain to end, like Dr. Reynolds said. My motivation is unclear even to me despite all this fantasizing. I can't answer his question because in truth it doesn't matter to me. No matter what I choose, I know that I'm tired of waiting for all this to just go away in time. I'm tired of living like this. I'm tired of having to pretend. In the end, it's now or never and I choose now.