Page 76 of My Salvation
“Even after months of rehab, Collin never regained sensation in his lower body.” Looking over at Thayer, I see his face whiten. “He was diagnosed a paraplegic. And not only did this impact his life, it also impacted his career.” Thayer’s eyes bore into me as he waits for me to continue. “Collin was a neurosurgeon. After the shooting, his muscle control was weak and inconsistent, causing his hands to shake. He would never operate again.”
Picking up the water, I use the coolness to ease the tension in my throat. I’d never told anyone this part of the story. While my mother had guessed some, she never knew the full picture.
“When he finally came home, he was so cold to me. I hoped with time he would realize he was alive, and while changed, his life could still have meaning. He could be a doctor, just not a surgeon. Or if he wanted to do something else, I would help him find a new path. I tried to get him to go to group therapy, but he refused. The only time he left the house was to go to rehab. The rest of the time, he researched spinal cord injuries day and night, trying to find a cure. For the rest of the first year, we visited every doctor in the world who specialized in spinal injuries.”
Knowing the toughest parts were coming, I took a few minutes just to breathe.
“Each disappointing visit ate at his hope until not an ounce was left. For a month, I think he was just empty. There was little response to anything. He stopped going to rehab. Stopped talking. It’s as if he was frozen, waiting for death. When death didn’t save him, he filled himself with rage and bitterness. All of it directed towards me. I was the reason this had happened, after all.”
My lips twist in remembrance. Lev puts his arm around me and squeezes me tight. Lowell sweeps my hair back from my face. Taking a deep breath, I turn to each of them and smile in reassurance.
“His hate was brutal and alive. It’s as if a creature entered our home and took over. He allowed it free reign to spew constant hate and abuse. At first, I fought it. I tried everything possible to get him to counseling or get through to him. Nothing worked. I gave up, and then my brain stopped thinking and started listening and believing. If it wasn’t my fault he couldn’t be a surgeon, then who’s fault was it? A grieving father’s? It was a deliberate act of violence in response to my decisions. I didn’t pull the trigger, but it was my fault.”
My hands shake as I reach out for the glass of water and take a drink. I don’t trust myself to set it down, so I hand it to Lev to set on the coffee table.
“Once I accepted it was my fault, the verbal abuse stopped having the same impact. It didn’t stop. No, he had too much fun spewing hate towards me. It had new life, after all. It could see I believed it. But it wasn’t enough for Collin. He needed me to hurt. That’s when the physical abuse began.” Shaw jumps up and starts pacing. “At first, he would squeeze my arm or pull my hair when I was helping him in and out of the chair. It was so subtle; I didn’t even realize it was going on. He would berate me for picking him up the wrong way, or for not putting my hair up so it got caught in his arms. And I believed him. He would never hurt me. And he was in a wheelchair, he needed my help. Until the night when the creature lost control and the wheelchair became a weapon.” Looking over at Thayer, I watch as the anger drains from his face. “The last few months of our marriage were hell. Every day. I only got a reprieve at night because I slept in the guest bedroom. During the day, though, he used it to hurt me. He would constantly run into me until my body was black and blue from the waist down. When I avoided him, he used his need for assistance to get me closer.”
Staring at Thayer, I acknowledge his earlier statement. “You’re right. I’m afraid of wheelchairs. But I can control it at work. I can’t control it around someone who looks like my husband and is full of anger. It’s too many triggers for me.”
“Why didn’t you leave him?” Thayer’s voice is rough as he asks.
Laughing hysterically, I reply, “Yes, let’s examine why I didn’t leave my husband. Before the shooting, he was the man of my dreams. He thought the world of me. We were the golden couple. Both specialists in our field, young and ready to take on the world. After the shooting, there was so much anger and hate from friends and colleagues, from the press, and from the public, I felt I deserved it. All those people couldn’t be wrong. It must be my fault. So, when my own husband started telling me I was at fault and punished me for it, I believed him. Why would I leave? I was lucky to have him. He was one of only two people left in the world who loved me.”
Lev squeezes tighter. My voice is soft as I finish explaining. “Thankfully, my mom came to visit, and when she saw what was happening, she made me come home with her for a month. While I was there, she painstakingly wiped clean the abuse from my heart and soul. She made me realize that even if it was my fault - which she could not convince me it wasn’t - that it didn’t give him the right to abuse me. Nobody had the right to abuse me, especially not my husband. She gave me my strength back, and I knew I couldn’t live like this anymore. I went home to face Collin.”
Rolling my shoulders and neck, I try to ease my tension. Shaw comes over and rubs my shoulders for a few minutes. Looking up, I thank him and notice the tears burning in his eyes. Inhaling, I finish my story.
“When I got home, Collin was worse. It’s as if my physical ability to leave triggered something fanatic in him. I told him I was divorcing him. He spewed abuse for hours before going to bed.” My eyes drift to the past as I think about that night. “Later that night, I woke up to find Collin sitting by my bed with a gun in his hand.” Shaw’s hands tighten on my shoulders. “He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything either. We sat there for hours, staring at each other. At first I was terrified, but then anger came to my rescue. In the morning, I told him I was going out to get breakfast and if he was going to shoot me, he should do it before I left. He shook his head. I left to get breakfast. While I was gone, he committed suicide.” Sadness chokes me as I think about that day. Shaking it off, I look at Thayer, anger shining brightly in my eyes. “So now you know the worst of my story. This was fun. Next time, let’s flay you open and pull out your guts, OK?” I watch as his face flushes with embarrassment and shame.
Standing up, I smile sadly at Lowell, Lev, and Shaw. I don’t know what to think about today. One part of me understands they needed to hear the story, but the other part wishes they had just stood up to Thayer and told him to “fuck off.” I know it’s unreasonable. After all, I insisted on telling the story, but I don’t delve into their wounds from the Army or make them tell me how it felt to have Vanessa leave them and marry another.
It’s my story. Having to tell them my history in defense of my fear is even worse. It pisses me off. I am tired of defending myself. At least Lowell spoke up and asked if I wanted him to tell Thayer to fuck off.
Tugging Lowell off the couch, I walk out, holding his hand. When we get to my car, I give him a deep kiss to thank him for offering a way out.
“I’ll text you later, darling,” I tell him as I get in the car.
Driving back to the apartment, sobs rack my body so bad, I have to pull off the road.
Fucking asshole, Thayer. Fuck you!
My hand holds my stomach, as if to keep my insides from spilling out further. I sit there crying for an hour before I can gain enough control to drive home.
