Exposure (13 page)

I
had checked
myself into the psychiatric center in New York Presbyterian several weeks earlier. I told nobody at all. Not Scarlett and certainly not Asher. I needed to just be in a safe place where I knew that I could get help. I also was looking forward to telling my story both to the shrink who would be assigned to me and to the groups where I would have my therapy.

It was going to help me to know that I wasn’t alone. I wanted to hear about other people’s tragedies. Perhaps mine was not even as bad as it could possibly be. Maybe there were going to be others who had similar tales of guilt and regret.

At first, it was difficult. But I secretly was thanking that bitch Sophie in my mind for finally helping me break through my darkness to actually acknowledge, in words, what I was going through. I was finally ready to talk about it, in no small part to Sophie.

So, when the psychiatrist came to visit me when I first checked myself in, I accessed my feelings about what had happened, and it poured forth in a gush.

“Tell me what brings you here,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Wyatt, said to me. She was a petite blonde with a short bob and appeared to be around 50 years old.

“I killed my little brother,” I told her.

She looked shocked, and wrote in her book, but said nothing at first. “Okay. Please be a little bit more specific.”

“I took him out to 7-11. I left the car running and somebody stole it. Somebody stole it, and they ended up driving the car into the river when the police started chasing them. They got out, but my little brother was still strapped into his seat in the back. He couldn’t get out.” And then the tears started coming. “He couldn’t get out. Oh, my God, he couldn’t get out. And it’s my fault. All my fault. He didn’t deserve that. It should have been me.”

The psychiatrist just let me speak for about an hour about the incident before she broke in. “Okay. It seems that there are a variety of issues that need to be addressed here. One is survivor’s guilt – you feel that it should have been you who was killed, not your little brother. Another is the profound sense of regret that you feel for not being more diligent. Still another is the feeling that you have that you were completely at fault for what had happened. It seems that you don’t even blame the carjackers at all for this crime. And you also are telling me that you are suffering from acute agoraphobia because of what had happened.”

I nodded. “Yes. All of those things are absolutely true. And that’s why I’m here. I need to find a way to possibly move past all of this and find a way to start living again. Because I’m ready to start living. I’m ready to go outside and be in the world. I’m ready to start working again. I’m ready to make amends to my mom, if she’ll let me. I know that I should live my life in honor of Nathaniel, and that if I just waste away, it would be a dishonor to him. I know this. I need help. I hope that you can help me.”

Dr. Wyatt nodded. “I think that I can. The first thing that I would like to do, however, is prescribe an anti-depressant and an anti-anxiety medication regimen that will hopefully help you overcome your panic attacks. I will also put together a treatment plan that will combine intensive psychotherapy with group therapy.”

I nodded my head, hoping against hope that my new insurance would cover all of this. I also wondered why the other doctor, the one that Asher assigned me, didn’t think to put me on drugs.

“It sounds like Dr. Valence was a psychotherapist, therefore she can’t prescribe drugs,” Dr. Wyatt said when I asked her this question. “Don’t worry,” she said, with a pat on my hand. “We’re going to do all we can to make sure that you get all the treatment that you need to overcome your issues.”

S
o
, for several weeks,
I was put on different drugs and I talked and talked and talked. I talked to the psychotherapist and I talked in group. It did help me to hear the stories in my group. One woman said that she was a drug addict, and that she took her own son to the playground and got so high that she passed out. When she had come to, her son was gone, and was never found.

I reached out to her first. I had already told the group my story, so she knew what had happened to me.

She and I bonded over meals in the cafeteria. Her name was Emily, and she and I had much in common. Guilt, regret, wanting to do anything at all to change places with the one that we lost – we had all of this in common.

As much as I didn’t want to cling to her, I did find myself following her around. I had nobody else. I had, once again, tried to reach out to my mother, but she refused to answer the phone. Even though I left, on the message, where I was, she didn’t ever pick up and she never tried to call the hospital.

I didn’t try to call Asher. I didn’t want to see him. I felt that he had put me into a bad position, knowing that Sophie was a total bitch and would probably try to humiliate me the way that she did. I was right, of course. So, I didn’t want to talk to him anymore.

Plus, I was feeling, more and more, that I was falling in love with him. Considering the fact that he had told me, point blank, that love would not be in the cards for him, I felt that having him in my life would only lead to absolute ruin.

And Scarlett…I should have called her. I really should have. I didn’t necessarily know why I didn’t. I loved her, and she always was very supportive of me. But I made so many mistakes, especially the mistake of leaving the apartment without a word. That was just one more regret that I had on my table, and I didn’t want to face up to that one, too.

So, Emily, who was rapidly becoming my best friend and lifeline, was the one who I turned to. We got to know one another very well. We had progressed from talking incessantly about our tragedies to bonding over our shared love for movies. We would meet in the communal room and would just watch whatever movie happened to be on that day.

Since we were in a mental hospital, the movies were pretty benign. There were so many things in movies that could trigger any one of us in that facility that the hospital had to show things that pretty much wouldn’t trigger anyone. And that was difficult to do.

“Okay,” she said to me, as we settled in with some popcorn. “Looks like it’s another rom-com.”

I giggled. “It’s always a rom-com. I guess because there probably won’t be anything that will be sensitive for us.” We were surrounded in the room by about twenty or so other patients, most of whom were high-functioning but had, like Emily and me, suffered some profound tragedy that stopped them from functioning properly out in the world.

“True that,” Emily said. “God knows that they couldn’t even show a Disney film, because most of them involve some kind of dramatic loss.”

I nodded my head. On one hand, I was a bit non-plussed by the bland selection of movies. On the other, I was relieved that I wasn’t going to be subjected to people dealing with tragedy on-screen. I needed the movies to be a moment of escapism, and I enjoyed the romantic comedies for just that reason.

A
nd so it went
. I gradually, through the combination of the therapy, the medication, the group sessions and my budding friendship with Emily, started to feel in control of my life.

By the six-week mark, I was able to go outside in the courtyard. It was tentative, but I went out there, all by myself, and I felt normal. I breathed in the fresh air, and I reveled in the crispness that accompanied autumn in New York. The leaves were changing and there was just a hint of the bitter cold that was soon to come.

Emily came out to join me. “So, you’re out here, now. Good for you.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, I think that this is a milestone for me, really. So far, I don’t feel frightened or panicked, either. So, I’m very hopeful.”

She smiled and gave me a hot chocolate. I sipped the warm liquid and thanked her. “You think you might be able to get out of this place soon?” she asked me.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I’m still a little bit frightened to try to leave. I know that I have to, but I just have no idea what is going to happen when I try to resume my life.”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “Imagine my dilemma. I not only have to deal with the awful thing that happened with me, but I also have to deal with my drug addiction. Be happy that you don’t have other things on your own plate to have to think about.”

I knew that she was right about that. “Oh, I know,” I said to her. “I feel so badly for you.”

“Don’t,” she said. “I’ve been here for six months now. I’m just now starting to come around and feel that I might be able to take control of my own life.”

“Six months?” I didn’t know that she had been in the hospital for that long. “You must have amazing insurance.”

“Nah. I just have very wealthy parents. Thank God they didn’t disown me after what had happened. Otherwise, I don’t know where I would be.”

I wanted to tell her that she and I differed in that way – my parents
did
disown me. Or, rather, my mother did. Like Asher, I never really knew my father.

“So,” she said, “when you get out, do you have support? Anybody you can talk to and hold your hand when things get rough?”

“A roommate and best friend,” I said. “I haven’t been treating her very well, though. I hope that she doesn’t hate me.”

“No boyfriend, huh?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said sadly, thinking about Asher. “No boyfriend.”

“Ah, well, that’s probably for the best. Boyfriends are nothing but trouble, most of the time.”

I smiled. “Ain’t that the truth.”

I had tried to leave my feelings for Asher behind. I knew that, when I got out, and started my recovery process, I couldn’t have toxic relationships in my life. I could think of nothing more toxic than having a man in my life who wanted nothing from me except sex.

So, imagine my surprise when, one day, I was informed that I had a visitor.

My visitor’s name was Asher Sloane.

A
sher
? He was here?

My heart was racing. I didn’t want to see him. Not just because of Sophie, but also because I knew that he would be bad for me. I needed someone in my life who would love me. I needed to find that one person who would be a part of my long-term team. Who would be able to hold my hand when I was afraid, and who would be there to cheer on my triumphs.

I didn’t need a man who made it clear that he wanted me for my tight pussy and my ability to make his psycho ex-girlfriend leave him alone. Of course, I did appreciate that his insurance was the reason why I was finally able to get the help that I needed. But that was as far as my gratitude for him went.

Still, I decided to go ahead and see him. I did owe him a note of thanks for putting me on his insurance, and I wanted to tell him this. I also wanted to impress him some, so I told my psychiatrist that I would meet him out in the courtyard.

In spite of myself, I looked in the mirror before I went into the courtyard, and I spiffed myself up. I put on some makeup, the first stitch of makeup that I had bothered to put on my face the entire time that I had been in the hospital, and I put on some actual clothes. The hospital had helpfully supplied me with clothing and other things that I needed while I was in there, because I didn’t have anybody on the outside to do this for me.

I went down there, and waited for him nervously.

He appeared, and I caught my breath. I had forgotten how just the sight of him made me feel. He was so fucking handsome in his black trench coat. His dark hair was newly trimmed, and his gorgeous blue eyes were sparkling. His sensuous mouth broke into a wide grin when he spied me by the picnic table, and I just about melted into a puddle on the ground.

Oh, this was a bad idea. A very, very, very, very bad idea.

“You’re outside,” was the first thing that he said when he saw me. “This is amazing.”

I smiled back, feeling suddenly very shy. “Yes, Asher, I’m outside. It really is a big deal, so I’m not going to minimize it. And I really owe it all to you. I wanted to thank you for this.”

He looked down at the ground. “Thank me. That’s interesting. I really feel that I owe you a huge apology for putting you through that with Sophie. It was incredibly selfish and short-sighted of me, and I’m so sorry.”

At that, he put his arm around me, and I lost my breath again. “It’s okay, Asher. It was really helpful for me. It made me check myself into here. What Sophie said to me was horrible, but it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. It made me face up to my demons, and, when I did, I knew that I needed help in overcoming them. That was what brought me here. Well, that, and your insurance, and I owe you a debt of gratitude for that as well. If you didn’t put me on your insurance, I never would have been able to come here.”

He looked shy. “So, I helped you indirectly?”

I nodded my head. “Yes. Without you and without Sophie, I doubt that I would have gotten the help that I truly needed. So, yes, the two of you definitely helped me.”

He shook his head. “I was so scared for you. I’ve been trying, every evening, to find you. I went through everything I could, but it wasn’t until I got the bill from my insurance company that I actually did find out that you were here.”

I smiled. “Well, you found me. I’m really happy to see you, as a matter of fact. I mean, I really needed to talk to you to tell you thanks, so…”

I took a deep breath. He stared at me, his beautiful blue eyes penetrating my own.

We were wordless for a few minutes. There was so much that I wanted to say to him, yet I didn’t know how. I wanted so much to tell him that I needed to get away from him, for good, because I was feeling so strongly for him. That just being near him, feeling his arm around me, and smelling his masculine scent, was making me feel weak. That I knew that I could never work my recovery in the way that I should if he were in my life.

I wanted so much to tell him that I knew, definitively, that I had fallen in love with him. And that, since he had made it clear that love was not in the cards for us, I felt that he needed to depart from my life permanently.

I didn’t get a chance to say any of this, though, because Asher told me something that changed everything.

“CJ,” he said to me, “I wanted to come here to apologize to you about Sophie, and to also tell you something more important.”

My heart started to race. “Go on,” I said.

“I’m in love with you, CJ. I realized that in these past few weeks. I’ve thought of little else but you. I would like you to come home to stay with me, and I would like it to be real this time. No acting this time. I want the two of us to explore what might happen between us, and I want it to be authentic.”

I nodded my head. I was starting to feel as if I had entered the Twilight Zone for real. This was Asher asking me for an honest chance? This was Asher admitting that he was in love with me? The man who had told me, not two months earlier, that he didn’t have the ability to fall in love? Was this really happening for me?

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say,” I said to him. “I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting this from you at all.”

He looked shy. “You weren’t? Does that mean that you don’t want to be with me?”

“No, no, no, of course not,” I said. “I feel the same way about you. I just wasn’t expecting that from you, that’s all. I mean, you told me that – “

“I know what I told you, but things have changed for me. I realized that, when I lost you, I had real feelings for you. And I knew, when I had spent weeks just thinking about you in every waking moment, that I wanted to be with you for real. I’m sorry for putting you through all that I put you through, because it really wasn’t necessary at all.”

I smiled. “What about Sophie? Is she still giving you problems?”

“Of course,” he said. “But, surprisingly, she’s laid low since the night of the party. At any rate, I no longer care about her about what she might do. What matters to me is that you’re safe and, hopefully, that you’re going to be in my life.”

I tentatively put my hand out, and he took it. “Okay, Asher,” I said. “I would like to be with you, too. I would like to explore a way forward with you for real.”

Then he smiled and he kissed me on my forehead. That was always the most intimate act, much more intimate than sex. The kiss on the forehead told me that he cared about me. That he thought tenderly about me. I craved the kiss on the forehead as much as I craved him being buried deeply inside of me.

I breathed in deeply and smelled his cologne. He held me tighter and put his hand in my hair. “Oh, CJ, I’m so happy right now. I’m so happy that you want to be with me, and I’m so happy to have you in my arms again. And I’m really, really, really happy that you’re outside. I feel that you’re going to be recovering soon, and I want to be there every step of the way.”

Every step of the way. I had to admit, those words sounded more than appealing to me. I was so afraid that I wouldn’t have any support, at all, yet, here he was. The one person that I feared and loved the most. He was there, and he was asking for a chance. Just a chance.

And I knew, suddenly, that I wanted to get out of that hospital. I was anxious to actually begin my recovery in earnest. To really try to grasp life, to take it by the horns and announce to the world that I was back.