Page 56 of Fighting for His Life

“Tell me,” Jax says. “Tell Zane. Pretend likes she’s not here.”

“I didn’t try to hurt myself,” I say looking at Jax and then Zane. “I did hurt myself. I tried to kill myself.”

The doctor nods in approval of my smartass remark. “Yes. That’s true. It’s good that you aren’t trying to sugarcoat what you did. Can you tell me why, though?”

I swallow hard, casting my eyes toward the ceiling. “Because I wanted it to stop hurting. Nothing ever worked. Not the alcohol or drugs or sex. I didn’t want to feel because all I ever feel is pain, shame, and guilt. I just wanted it to stop.”

“And do you realize now that it was a mistake?”

I look to Jax with a silent plea of understanding and remorse. I can see in his face the moment he realizes what my response is going to be. I see the hurt and heartbreak. He squeezes my hand encouraging me to answer.

“No, I don’t think it was a mistake. The only mistake was that it didn’t work because I still have this horrible ache in my heart and soul. The memories of that night torment my mind day and night. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. Every time I hear someone walking behind me, I’m almost paralyzed by fear. I’m always paranoid and afraid. That night changed everything for me and cost me so much.”

Dr. Thompson’s brows fall causing a crease to form between them. “Are you saying you’ll try again?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I hear a small gasp come from Zane.

I look to my brother for a moment. The anger that was lining his face has been replaced by sadness and grief. It makes the sharp pains that constantly throb in my chest so much worse.

“Zoey, have you talked with anyone about what happen to you?”

I shake my head sharply. “Until, a few minutes ago, I’ve never said it out loud. Any of it.”

I draw my knees up to my chest. I go to bury my face as more tears form. A sob threatens to escape me, but, somehow, I push it back down. I feel Jax’s large hand gently rubbing the back of my neck. The sensation brings much needed feelings of comfort. My deeply fractured mind, however, wants to reject the comfort. It screams at me that I don’t deserve it.

“Zoey, you need to talk to someone. You must see that keeping all these feeling bottled up is doing you so much more harm than good. The pain and hurt you feel can’t heal without you acknowledging how you it.”

I begin rocking back and forth as I have done in the privacy of my room for months now.

“Okay,” Dr. Thompson says without preamble, “let’s answer a few more questions. How much do you sleep, Zoey?”

I don’t look up, and I don’t stop rocking. “A few hours a week. The drugs do help with that. They keep me awake.”

“What do you mean a few hours a week?”

I shrug a bit not knowing an exact number. “Maybe ten or twelve,” I answer with a guess.

“Fuck,” I hear Zane mumble.

“Why don’t you want to sleep?” the doctor asks, delving once again into the issue.

I don’t answer this time. I don’t want to discuss the nightmares. I don’t want to think about the face that haunts me every time I close my eyes.

She quickly learns that I’m not going to answer her question, so moves on to the next. “What about eating? Do you eat well?”

I shake my head. I know my diet mostly consists of whatever drug I can put into my body and whatever whiskey I’m in the mood for. It’s affected my health. I’m not blind when I look in the mirror at the way my bones jut out in ghastly ways. Even as a teenager, I had curves in all the right places, but those curves have vanished giving way to a gaunt, frail figure – if you can call it that.

“Why don’t you eat, Zoey?”

“I’m just not hungry,” I answer honestly. “Food makes me nauseous.”

“I think we’re done for now,” she says to my relief. “Mr. Valen. Mr. McCabe. If you two would join me in the hall, I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

“No,” Jax says without hesitation. “She needs to hear what you’re going to say.”

“Jax, she wants to talk to us alone,” Zane says with anger once again lacing his tone.

He stands from the bed, turning toward Zane and the doctor. I can feel the tension and frustration rolling off of him. “I said she needs to hear,” he demands. “We’re not going to talk about her like she’s not right here. We’re not going to toe around the issue with her and treat her like she’s breakable. She’s already broken. How much worse do you think anything you say will make it?”

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