Page 101 of Tear Me Apart
My voice is so soft I can barely hear myself. “What if I can’t stand it anymore? What if I can’t take it? The stares, the snickers. What I did. I can’t stop thinking about it. How it felt. The blood...there was something...good about it. I don’t want to be here. I want to leave.”
My voice is building to a wail. Tears come unbidden. I am trapped. Trapped, like a bird. In a cage. I will never fly free again.
“You can’t leave, honey. It’s either upstairs here, with me and some pretty interesting characters, or it’s MTMHI. Those folks out there are lifers. Most are never getting out. Trust me when I say this is the better gig.”
“My sentence says I have to go to that hospital.”
“Let me work on it. My friend upstairs is a cool chick. She knows Judge Gilbert. We already have a call in. I swear I can help you if you let me. Help you find a reason to live.”
“Do you have to use my real name?”
“We do, hon. I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
After that, I don’t fight them. They do their intake tests—blood, urine, weight, height. The nurse helps me dress in some shapeless cotton things, looks at me knowingly. Dr. Freeman comes back in. Now he is kind, soft-spoken.
“Liesel. Are you aware that you’re pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s the father?”
I stare at him, defiant, until he says, “Oh,” with a sad little sigh that makes me want to scream. “We’ll let the judge know.”
“She already does. That’s why I got the sentence I did.”
“We’ll talk about your options tomorrow, then. Once you’re settled.”
At this, I laugh. “I have no options. I keep telling you this, but you won’t listen.”
* * *
When they take me to the psychiatric ward, I walk meekly, head down, hands clasped in front of me. The lidocaine hasn’t worn off entirely, my wrist and arm are still numb, wrapped in bandages from palm to elbow.
They lead me to a private intake room. A nurse takes my vitals again, logs my weight, gives me a pill. “It will help you sleep.”
I take it, though it’s morning. Sleep sounds good right now. I want to sleep forever.
They walk me down the long, white hall. The room has two beds. It is empty.
They’re talking, but I can’t understand what they’re saying.
The room is spinning, and not in a good way.
It’s the pill. It makes me feel strange, disembodied, like I’m not touching my skin even though I’m inside of it.
They leave me alone. A girl comes in. She has dark hair. She is staring at me. She leaves, and I hear arguing down the hall, then she returns. She walks around me like a wolf circling prey, and I’m helpless to do anything to stop her. She snaps her fingers under my face, and I am tempted to bite them off, but I can’t move. I hear her taking apart my bag, but I just stare, stare, stare out the window.
I know I need to stand up for myself. For once, I need to try to own the situation. She is waiting, I can feel it. She wants me to talk to her. So I do. I spit out the words because my tongue is numb and dry.
“Touch my things again, and I’ll kill you.”
“Right.” The disdain in her tone pisses me off. I manage to turn and look at her, really seeing her for the first time. She is pretty. Long black hair, eyes like sapphires. There must be something in my face because she startles and backs off. Good.
I look back to the parking lot.
Welcome to the next year of your life, Liesel.
