I woke in a rush of sweat from the nightmares I couldn’t remember. I tossed the blankets off my injured body and showered, letting the hot steam comfort me as the water soaked my scabs. Some had left my body, leaving me with fresh pink skin. Others would become scars. Would they be beautiful?
I turned the taps off and let the water descend, then stood still until my naked body was cold and covered in goose bumps. I grabbed the towel and wrapped it around me. Warmth slowly spread over my skin. For a split second I felt OK.
It had almost been a week since my first therapy session and I was dreading my return to that place. Nothing had changed since I’d been there. There was nothing new I remembered. In the one week and two days since I had been home, Mum had tiptoed around the house making sure things were fine – that I was fine. I was. I think. At least that’s what I wanted her to think. I didn’t want her to be any more concerned than she had been.
I knew she was stressing about the police and the charges that I might be facing. She tried to hide her worries, but I caught her sitting on the floor counting the coins she had in her secret money jar. I was worried about the charges too. I was stupid not to think about the consequences. I was stupid to think I could drive with just my learner’s permit, alone in the dark. But this gut feeling swivelled in my insides reminding me I hadn’t had a choice.
Since being home I still felt like a patient. I knew I’d feel better if Mum stopped being so gentle. There might be some normalcy back in my life if she stopped making me feel smothered.
Liam had gone back to college. I convinced myself that I wasn’t sad to say goodbye; I knew that’s where he needed to be. Not at home with me. He had already taken too many weeks off to stay at my bedside and make sure Mum was stable. I remembered lying in the hospital bed telling him to go back to college, telling him I was OK, that Mum and I were going to be OK, that it was alright for him to go.
Although I love my brother to death, a part of me was relieved that he’d left. I didn’t need two people tiptoeing around me. He sent me a couple of text messages, which made me miss him.
Liam: Just arrived back on campus … This place is crazy P! Promise me u won’t tell mum what happened the other week. Almost being expelled would’ve been the beginning of the end.
Me: I promise I won’t. My lips r sealed big brother. But I expect to reap rewards 4 my silence!
Liam: & u shall baby sister. Ask & if it’s in my power it shall be yours.
Me: OK. Speak soon then. And Liam try to stay out of trouble! X
Liam: Speak soon. Miss u P! xx
During my early recovery Mum shortened her hours at work, but the lack of money began to take its toll. It took me a few days, but I convinced her to go back to working her usual hours, in turn giving me much-needed free time. Time to think. Maybe even time to remember the crash.
I’ve gone hours without remembering something, but days without remembering is like torture. And a part of me wasn’t even sure I wanted to remember the whole truth.
The days slithered by and I still couldn’t recall the accident. When it happened. Why. How it happened. Trying to remember it was like trying to remember a stranger’s memory. Every time I tried to think about it, a haunting feeling took over. Each time the feeling darkened then flashes of memories sparked. I shook them away before they became too real. Before they became too clear. Before I knew what they were and I had to remember.
I knew I was blocking something. A little bit of me remembered what it was. But I didn’t want it to be real. It couldn’t be real. That’s why I shook them away. Maybe even why I craved my dark place.
At the second therapy session I sank into the same cream chair with my legs crossed. Dr Wilson’s magical grey eyes focused on me. I wondered if I stared into them for a certain amount of time, would they hypnotise me to speak my darkest secrets? I looked away before he had the chance to try.
“Peyton, how are you feeling today?”
“I’m OK.” Let’s move onto the next thing shall we? Who was I kidding? I knew it didn’t work like that in therapy.
“You know this hour is for you and if you choose not to talk, that’s up to you. But I’m here to listen. I’m here to help.”
I sighed. He didn’t know, but this would be our last session together. I knew I had to say something, just in case Dr Enderson or Mum asked if I had given it my best shot. So I decided to talk about the reason why I was there in the first place.
“A little while ago I was in a car crash, but I don’t remember the accident.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Really?” The word wasn’t supposed to leave my mind. “Sorry, I just …”
“It’s fine … When you’re ready.”
“I actually don’t remember certain days leading up to the crash either, and I don’t like not knowing … I was in an induced coma for five days and I feel like a part of my life, a part of my story, has been stolen. Those days feel like chapters or paragraphs unwritten. Not that I’m a writer, more of a painter and drawer.”
“An artist; that’s interesting.”
“I haven’t drawn or painted in a while.”
“Why is that?”
“Because things with school got in the way.”
“Well what did you like to paint?”
“Anything really. You could put a paint brush in my hand and I’d paint what I imagined or what I could see right in front of me.”
“Do you think you’ll paint again?”
“What, now that I’ve dropped out of school?”
“When did you drop out of school?”
Wow. Nobody had told him anything. “A few months ago, much to my mum’s disapproval.”
“Did you not want to continue with your studies?”
There they were again. Those flash memories. I shook them from my head.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I leapt from my seat and continued to shake my head, hoping the imagery didn’t find a fresh place to latch onto, that it would just seep to the back of my mind.
“Peyton, are you OK?”
I didn’t answer. I focused on ignoring the flashes. I had done that before. I could do that again. “I think I want to finish for today.”