I want to shake her and tell her that I was an adult. She didn’t need to protect me!
Finally, at four in the morning, I drift off to sleep, strands of a song I remember from The Darkest Nights following me.
Bronwyn
Walking quickly, my boots crunch against the snow on the sidewalk as I head into my mid-afternoon shift at the call center at the Crisis Center. After I graduated high school a year early, I applied at University of Detroit to get an undergraduate degree in psychology.
I was broken hearted, didn’t know what direction I wanted to go in, and broke.
Since I left Gareth’s home, I don’t have any of my own money. Jack told me to focus on my school work, and he would cover what was needed. Apparently, he’s loaded as a third owner in his security company, but being as humble as he is, you’d never realize it.
As much as I didn’t want a handout, I accepted Jack’s offer. He paid someone to completely change my identity, while ensuring my background in private school remained intact. All the sleepless nights and working for those dumb points weren’t a waste, at least.
When I applied to the University of Detroit, the first question I was asked in the interview was why I had decided to “slum it” in public school after having been born with a silver spoon all of my life.
The interviewer didn’t know anything about my real life, but was going off the fact that these schools don’t give out scholarships. You either have the money to fork over, or you won’t be allowed to attend.
As surprised as I was by the interviewer’s question, I explained that I went through a financial hardship when both of my parents died. Thankfully, I was able to get a scholarship that pays for both tuition and books while I live with Jack for my undergraduate degree.
In many ways, Gareth is dead to me. I had no idea he was capable of what he did to Dahlia, and have a sick feeling I only know a sliver of the truth.
Jack put himself on all of my paperwork after I left home as my guardian, ensuring I went to therapy when he saw I was spiraling. He told me it was a perfectly appropriate response.
Losing my fucking mind at finding out my girlfriend was being raped by my father is worth spiraling over. I may not know exactly what he did, but my imagination is a terrifying place. So, I went to therapy, attended school, and tried to move on even as I missed her.
Now, I’m nineteen-years-old and graduating at the end of the year with my degree. I only have four months to go now that it’s January. I want to work with people who are struggling with life, and feel as if their emotions are too much for them to handle.
The world is unkind, all we can do is find a way to survive.
That’s what brings me to the Keller Crisis Center. They allow people who are in school for mental or behavioral health services to work here under close supervision, gaining real world experience before they graduate.
Working here has only managed to solidify my desire to continue school, but it makes me feel as if I’m doing something worthwhile.
Opening the door to the Center, I hurry inside. I have about five minutes before I start my shift, and I want to make sure I’m settled at my desk first.
“Good morning, Bowen,” the security guard says, raising his hand in greeting. I told Jack I wanted a name that was as close to mine as possible. Otherwise, I’d end up forgetting it.
This is what we landed on. I still refuse to go by “Bee”, as it just doesn’t feel right without her, even though Jack started the nickname first.
“Good morning, Nate,” I say with a warm smile as I put my badge over my head to identify myself. He buzzes me through the door, and then I’m climbing to the second door to my office.
It’s really more of a cubicle, but it works. Sitting down at my chair, I put everything away, including making a trip to the lounge to place my food in the fridge, and pick up my headset to connect it to the server.
Once I’m in, I’ll get calls as they come through. Almost immediately, I get a call, allowing myself to focus completely on the person calling.
Sometimes, they want someone to talk to, and others they’re in the midst of a crisis. I never know until I pick up the phone. The Center does have therapists I can grab on site if it’s something I can’t handle, but I do have training and a script to work from that helps me.
Right now, I unfortunately have someone I’m going to need to call the police for to give her more assistance, as she’s straddling the railing on a bridge.
“Marie, think hard, is there anyone you want to talk to instead of jumping?” I ask, calm despite my heart pounding as I text dispatch. I’m grateful that there are multiple people we work with for when we have someone who calls who has suicidal ideation with the intent to die. There’s the off chance someone is fucking with me, but I don’t feel as if she is.
“What?” she asks, her teeth chattering. I can hear the wind whipping around her, which is another reason I can tell Marie is serious.
“There’s my Aunt Sarah, but she doesn’t want to talk to me…”
“May I ask how you know that?” I ask, voice soft. “If you do this, you won’t be able to speak to her, because death is forever.”
The reminder makes her begin to cry, and my supervisor, Taylor, stops next to me. Lifting my cell phone, I show her the conversation I’m currently having with the police dispatch. Nodding, she tensely squats next to me, listening to my side of the conversation.