Bent not Broken (334 page)

In my twenty-four years of life, I’d never anticipated the overwhelming feeling I would get when I’d cuddle my baby in my arms until the moment the doctor handed her to me in the delivery room. In an instant, my whole world changed as I embraced my little miracle in my arms. On nights like these, the moment we settled down together in the rocking chair, my anger and frustration would vanish as I’d peer down at my precious angel and watch her stare at me with wonder. I couldn’t believe that in a single second I could go from hating the drudgery of motherhood to cherishing the quiet moments of snuggling my sweet girl in my arms.

I sang a few lullabies and within minutes, she was sound asleep again. It didn’t take long for me to doze off as well. It also didn’t take long for my back to start aching, forcing me to wake up again. I imagined my husband taking up most of the bed in our room. Usually his body miraculously sensed when I got out of bed because by the time I made it back, I’d have to shove him over to be able to climb back into my side. God, I despised him sometimes.

He’d wake up in the morning and say, “Good morning. How did you guys sleep last night?” He’d ask that as if I were the only one on the clock at midnight.
Hello. He’s the father. He should take a shift every now and then.
In the past few weeks, I’d tried to wake him up, but he’d just grunt, roll over and put a pillow over his head instead.

Life with a baby was nothing like what I’d expected. It was grueling, menial work with little reward. No one warned me how difficult having a child really was. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. I knew that newborns didn’t sleep well for the first few weeks, but I had no idea that sleepless nights would last so long. It was really starting to mess with my head.

I was a counselor for Christ’s sake. I should’ve been able to get a handle on the depression that was suffocating me. I should’ve been able to talk to myself like I did my clients and snap out of it. That’s just it. I had always thought depression was a matter of ‘snapping out of it’ until my own depression overtook me. Now I realized how foolish I was to think that.

Parenting just flat out sucks sometimes.

Then I peered down at my beautiful, sweet baby with chubby cheeks and wispy hair sleeping soundly in my arms, and I immediately beat myself up internally for thinking that.

She’s amazing and perfect in every way, Salem. How dare you think she’s ruined your life!

Geez, what is wrong me?

Carefully, I laid Alexis down in her crib and swaddled the plush pink blanket around her like a cocoon.
Please, God, let her sleep
, I thought to myself as I tiptoed out of her room.

As suspected, I had to shove my husband back over onto his side of the bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I looked at the clock. Large, digital numbers taunted me with their burning red lights, reminding me of just what little time I had left to rest. 4:16 AM.
Kill me now.

I’d barely fallen into a deep slumber when I heard Dixie barking down the hall.
What. The. Hell?

I scrambled out of bed and poked my head into the hallway. “Shut up, Dixie,” I hissed.

The stupid mongrel continued barking at the beam of lights that poured through the windows, reflecting on the wall. The newspaper delivery guy was making his rounds. “It’s just the newspaper, Dixie. Shhhh.”

I swear, if I could’ve gotten to her fast enough, I would’ve delivered a swift kick to her black, Labradoodle behind. But I couldn’t, and before I knew it, I heard the familiar, disheartening shrill of Alexis’s cries coming from her bedroom.

I glanced back at the clock. 4:48 AM.

“Dammit!” I yelled and kicked the wall, immediately regretting it as the pain shot through my toes.

Needless to say, my first morning back to work following maternity leave didn’t exactly start out smoothly.

****

“Good morning,” I said flatly, glancing up at my first case. I really did love my job, but with only two hours of good solid sleep under my belt each and every night for twelve weeks straight, I was barely functioning.

On many of those long, exhausting days with Alexis, I had been eager to get back to work. I was ready to get back into some sort of a routine. I’d started working at Fairbanks a month before I found out I was pregnant. It was my first real job straight out of grad school. Graham balked at the idea of me working for a juvenile justice center. He worried it might be too dangerous, but I was drowning in student loans and counseling jobs were scarce, so when a great job with good benefits came along, I jumped at the opportunity.

Fairbanks was an all-male juvenile justice center serving a five county radius. It was a fairly large facility with several cell blocks. Each block had at least one or two counselors and supervisor. I worked in cell Block-A, seeing kids one-on-one and in group settings. At times, it was overwhelming, but it could also be incredibly rewarding. I was eager to get back into it.

I felt slightly guilty dropping Alexis off at the babysitter that morning. It was the first time Alexis had spent time with a sitter, but I’d known Mrs. Betty for years, so I knew she was in good hands. Mrs. Betty treated all her daycare children like her own. She was a sweet lady who could calm a screaming baby to sleep in a matter of seconds. She was what I would deem “The Baby Whisperer.” Alexis would be just fine. Besides, I could never admit it to anyone, but deep down, I was ready for a break. I was in no rush to get back home. Going home just reminded me of how much my life had changed in the past three months. I never knew in all of my twenty-four years just how much I’d appreciate going to work. It was nice to get away from the house for a change of pace.

“Mornin’.” The dark haired, brown-eyed teen shuffled his feet into my office and plopped down in the chair. His sullen eyes stared at the floor.

I glanced down at his chart.
Chris King.

“Chris, right? It says here you came from East Jenkins.”

“Yeah.” Clenching his teeth, his jaw twitched. I must’ve struck a nerve by mentioning his school. But besides his jaw, he didn’t move a muscle.

“Well, Chris, I’m Salem Honeycutt.” I reached out to shake his hand, but he didn’t budge. “I will be your counselor while you are here at Fairbanks. You’ll be visiting me at least three times a week.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes, sliding his feet across the floor out in front of him. Slouching in his chair, he folded his arms across his chest. The gray jumpsuit he wore was far too baggy, and the state-issued, black beanie sat low on his brow with a few sprigs of brown hair flipping out from under it. He glared at me with his deep, espresso-colored eyes. Frustration and annoyance were evident in his expression. “Whatever,” he groaned.
Hmmm, tough nut to crack.

Fresh out of grad school and still green with experience, I nervously shuffled through the papers in his file. In the few months that I’d been at Fairbanks, I’d learned very quickly that the kids here weren’t as eager to participate as the children at Over the Rainbow Play Therapy Center where I’d spent the last semester of my internship.

“Looks like this isn’t your first time here.”

“It’s not,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Sorry.” I gave him an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to bear with me. It’s my first day back to work from maternity leave. I’m not familiar with all of my new clients, and I’m still trying to wake up.”

“Congratulations on your new baby,” he grumbled, sounding about as happy for me as I was at four in the morning.

“Thanks,” I replied with the same lack of exuberance.

“I’m not crazy, you know,” he muttered, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I never said you were. Counseling is just a part of the detention process. Everyone has to do it, crazy or not.” I smiled at him, hoping to make him a feel a little more comfortable. I wanted him to know that I was on his side.

I’d already scanned his file, so I knew his previous charges. Trespassing. Arson. Grand Theft. Possession of a Weapon on School Grounds. Assault. Despite the convictions, I never judged a kid based on the charges in his file.

A flicker of a smile crossed his lips, but he quickly recovered. Furrowing his eyebrows, he clasped his hands in his lap and continued to slouch in the chair.

“Now,” I said, grabbing a pen off my desk and preparing myself to take notes, “I know what your chart says, but can you tell me, in your own words, why you’re here?”

“Because.” It was a typical teenage answer. It hadn’t been that long ago that I was a teenager myself, so I remembered that response well.

“Because,” I prompted him as I exaggeratedly wrote the word in my notebook. “Interesting reason. Can you expound on that?” My sarcastic retort caught him off guard.

He looked up at me, his hard stare holding a depth that addled me. The depth of his glaring eyes was like an emotional abyss. My curiosity of his brooding petulance gnawed at me.

“Because,” he seethed through clenched teeth, “I almost slit some asshole’s throat.” Sitting up, he angrily punched his fist into his hands and leaned against them, supported by his bent elbows that were digging into his legs.

I flinched. Two hours of sleep and meeting a kid I knew nothing about had put me a little on edge.

Chris looked at his fist grinding into his palm, and immediately released it, running his hand nervously through his hair. Softening his tone, he mumbled, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I relaxed a little.
There has to be more to this story.
“Why did you almost slit someone’s throat?”

Chris hesitated and then leaned forward in his chair, looking me directly in the eyes. “Because he needed someone to teach him a lesson.”

“And what lesson would that be?”

His face hardened, and his nostrils flared. “Let me just put it this way. He won’t be messing with
her
again.”

Oh, I get it now. He was protecting someone. A girl.
“One of those guys, huh?”

“Yeah…a fucking coward,” he growled through gritted teeth, smoldering with rage.

“I see.” I jotted a few words into my notebook.

He groaned and threw himself back against the chair, causing it to screech against the tile floor. “You think it was stupid, don’t you?”

Glancing up from the paper, I found his dark eyes settling on me again. I shook my head. “I never said that.”

“Well, you’re writing it in your little notebook. Talking shit about me in there. Writing things you can’t say out loud,” he huffed. “Just like the counselor I had the last time I was here. He made up his mind about me the first time I met him.”

I cocked my head, studying him as he glared at me. “I’m not writing anything negative about you in this notebook. I’m only jotting notes about what we discuss, so the next time I see you, my sleep-deprived brain can remember. I don’t write my personal opinions in here.”

“Well, what is your opinion?” he asked hesitantly, glancing toward the wall.

“Does my opinion really matter?”

He quickly caught my gaze again. “No,” he said adamantly, while his eyes said ‘yes.’

I folded my hands in my lap and leaned forward a little. “Let me assure you, it doesn’t. What matters is how you view yourself.”

Rolling his eyes, he groaned, “Don’t talk to me with all your touch-feely mumbo jumbo. I couldn’t care less about that shit.”

I stared at him, unyielding, as if I could look hard enough at him to read him like a book. “Something deep down tells me otherwise.”

He peered back, unblinking, seemingly pleading with me to understand him, but with the reservations of a frightened teenager afraid to let another adult see his emotional side. He quickly reined in his emotions as if allowing me to get a glimpse would make him too vulnerable.

After a few long seconds, he broke the silence. “Are we done here?”

I nodded. “For now.”
I’ll scrape past that hard exterior soon enough.

Hopping to his feet, he blurted, “Fine. See you later, then.”

“Just one more thing,” I told him. “You’re on my schedule every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. However, my door is always open. Just let the guards know you need me, and they’ll see if I’m available. I just want you to know you can trust me.” While I talked, I hoped the sincerity in my voice helped him believe me. “The things you tell me are confidential—it’s the law. But I also need you to realize that I would never break your trust and repeat anything to anyone unless you gave me a reason to fear for your life or someone else’s. Do you understand, Chris?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a nod, but seemed unconvinced. Glancing at me again, he deadpanned, “I guess I’ll see you Wednesday, then.” Turning on his heel, he stepped out of my office directly into the custody of the awaiting guard, practically slamming the door behind him.

The sharp sound of the closing door from his eager escape was a small wound on my heart. As a counselor, I couldn’t help the fact that I was so in tune with my feelings. I had a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve, even though I was trained in school not to show my emotions because exposing your feelings tore down the professional barriers. I needed these kids to like me enough to open up to me and trust me enough so I could help them. I wanted to make a difference in their lives, but in order for me to do that I had to scale those walls they’d built around their hearts. It was a difficult task, but I was always up for a challenge.

Chris glanced at me one last time as the guard escorted him past the window of my office door. It wasn’t a cold look of hatred. It wasn’t a look of insolence. It was a look that translated to a plea of ‘help me.’

This silent plea hit me like a ton of bricks. “I will, Chris,” I mumbled under my breath as I sorted through his records another time. “You just have to let me.”

Chapter Four

SALEM

Mrs. Betty answered the door with a big smile accented by crinkled laugh lines around her eyes. She wore a bright blue smock with white piping. The shoulders of the smock were streaked with spit-up stains, but she didn’t seem to care. “Your sweet girl was perfect all day. She slept, ate, and played like a champ. You don’t have to worry one minute about her while you’re at work. She’s such a pleasure to keep. It’s almost time to feed her again, but I tried to hold her off because I figured you might want the snuggle time when you get home. I always loved feeding my babies their bottles.”