Past Imperfect (35 page)

“We’ve stitched up the laceration on the back of the head.” He glances around the room, making sure it’s still empty. “Can either of you tell me what happened to cause this?”

“We found her lying on the bathroom floor. There was blood on the tile and the edge of the counter. She must have slipped and hit her head,” Sylvie replies.

“Does Mabry have a history of self-harm?” he questions.

Sylvie and I exchange glances, not understanding what he’s asking.

“Self-harm?” I’ve never heard the term before, but its meaning is obvious.

“When I examined Mabry’s skull, I saw a lot of scar tissue in the surrounding area from healed lacerations and there are also scratch marks on her upper thighs. We found skin and blood under her fingernails.”

I look at Sylvie for some explanation, but her expression is as puzzled as mine.

“There has to be another explanation. I would have noticed something like that going on,” I say.

“Why would she do something like that?” Sylvie asks.

“It’s a coping mechanism some people turn to because of a traumatic event in their lives.”

“Her mother committed suicide after a long bout with depression when Mabry was young.” Sylvie informs.

“She just found out that her father killed himself.” My voice trails off.

“Oh my god,” Sylvie breathes out.

I flash back to Mabry’s words.

“The way my mom was… I have that in me. There have been times in my life I didn’t want to get out of bed, the pain was so stifling.”

My stomach twists in knots and I blurt out, “Christ, does Mabry want to kill herself?”

“Usually, those who self-harm don’t have a desire to end their lives. They use it to numb themselves and distract from the emotional pain. They cut, burn, embed, or hit. From the way it looks and the area that’s been affected, it appears as if Mabry’s been hitting her head for quite a while. She has a few marks on the side of her skull that could have been caused by hitting with a hairbrush, but the back of her head is too damaged for it to have been done by a brush. My guess is she slams the back of her head against hard surfaces like a door or edge of a counter.”

I’m still having a hard time believing Mabry would do this to herself. “You said she had scratches on her legs?”

“Sometimes self-harmers alternate between multiple methods to inflict pain. The tolerance levels keep rising, so they have to intensify the pain to get the same rush of endorphins. Maybe one day, the head banging wasn’t giving her the desired effect, so she cut or scratched.”

“But she’s going to be okay, right? I mean, she’ll heal from today.” Sylvie’s voice trembles.

“I have her scheduled for a CT scan,” he informs.

“A CT scan? For what?” I ask.

“To see if there’s any brain injury. If she’s been doing this type of thing for several years there’s a good possibility that today’s episode caused lasting damage. Look, Mabry’s physical wounds will heal eventually, but she needs to get into counseling and learn how to deal with things without hurting herself. I’ll have the nurse come get you when you’re able to see your wife.” He gives us a slight smile before turning and leaving.

Sylvie takes the seat next to me. As I lean back, closing my eyes, I rest my head on the wall. When I make contact, the thought of Mabry performing this same action, only with more force, sprints across my mind. I tighten my eyes, lift my head off the wall slightly, and then let it fall back hard. I know my lame attempt at trying to understand what Mabry feels from hurting herself comes nowhere near to her experience. The thought of her feeling this desperate and in pain is unbearable. My breathing is deep and rapid, gasping for air, as I fight off the tears.

I feel the touch of a warm hand covering mine. With a shaky voice, Sylvie says, “You better change before you go see her.”

Placing the ball of my hand over my eyes, I nod, choking back a sob. “Why would she do this to herself, Sylvie?”

“I don’t know. She was a lost and lonely little girl. I guess this was the only way she knew how to handle being left and forgotten.” Tears stream down her face.

The sound of squeaky footsteps join our sniffles and throat clearing as the nurse comes into the waiting room. “Mr. Darnell, you’ll be able to see your wife in about a half hour.”

Looking up at her, I say, “Thank you.” I steal a quick glance at Sylvie and we exchange smirks.

Grabbing the scrubs beside her, Sylvie tosses them to me. “Change before you go see your
wife.
”

I take them and we both stand. Before leaving, I turn to her, place a soft kiss on her cheek, and whisper, “Thank you for being such a good friend to Mabry and me.”

She gives me a small smile in response, emotions overflowing in her eyes, as I turn and head out of the room.

I take a deep breath before entering Mabry’s room. Inside, the atmosphere is quiet and still except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and an occasional hiss from the IV pole. Mabry looks like a little girl lying in the bed. She’s asleep, her head supported by a neck pillow holding it up slightly off of the bed to protect where they stitched up her injury. From the front, her hair looks untouched, but as I approach, I see the large bandage peaking over the top and around the side of her head. She’s going to be pissed when she sees the haircut they gave her.

My throat tightens as I think of the pain Mabry’s endured, emotionally as well as physically. I wish I could take everything bad that’s happened to her and make it disappear. Memories invade my mind. The headaches, the glassy eyes, and the times I felt her body stiffen when I placed a kiss on the back of her head or when my hands would move too close to the area.

Why didn’t I say something? I promised to protect her and I failed.

Her features are relaxed and peaceful. I lean down, with every intention of placing a quick light kiss on her forehead. But once my lips touch her skin they won’t move. After several seconds, she inhales deeply, a small whimper escaping on exhale. I remove my lips and look down, meeting beautiful azure blues.

“Hey Sweetness,” I say softly.

“Hey.” Her voice is breathless and groggy. Gazing at me, she slowly scans the scrubs I’m wearing. “When did you become a doctor?”

“While I was waiting to see your gorgeous face.” The corners of her mouth curl up slightly. “The CT scan was clear. You’re going to be okay. How are you feeling?” I trail my fingertips from her temples down to her jaw.

“Sleepy.” She casts her gaze down. “I’m sorry.”

I place my index finger under her chin, guiding her eyes to mine. “No reason to be sorry. I love you.”

“I’m so embarrassed and ashamed.” Misty azure blues look back at me.

Shaking my head slightly, I swallow the lump in my throat. “Don’t be. I love you,” I say, running my thumb mindlessly over her cheek.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Her chin quivers in my hand as the tears threaten to spill from her eyes.

Intensifying my gaze, I say, “I love you.” Unable to keep the emotion out of my voice.

“I… um… I can explain,” she stammers.

“I love you.”

Her eyebrows crinkle together and she asks, “Is that all you’re going to say to me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Cause it’s all that matters right now.”

“Brad, I…”

I lean down, stopping her words with a light brush of my lips across hers. Our foreheads rest against each other’s as I whisper on her mouth,
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
My emphasis gets stronger with each word. “Nothing has changed that for me. You don’t owe me an explanation or an apology. I want to be here for you. Please let me.”

She nods her head. The movement is so faint it’s almost imperceptible. “I love you.”

The remainder of the day I watch Mabry dose on and off. When she’s awake we chat, but not about anything serious. There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now I just want to be near her and let her know what she means to me. I haven’t taken my hands off of her since entering the room. I’m either holding her hand, trailing my fingers down her face, or placing soft kisses from her forehead to her lips. At one point, she invites me to climb into bed next to her. I spend the entire night holding her close to me. For the first time in two weeks I feel settled and know I’m where I belong, doing what I was put on earth to do.

“Mabry, are you in here?” Sylvie calls out from the door of my hospital room.

The parade of tiger lilies started first thing yesterday morning. Beautiful arrangements of varying sizes had been delivered the entire day. Every surface that’s available in this room is covered in lilies, including the over-the-bed hospital table that sits directly in front of me. There are so many lilies that the bright orange reflecting off of the stark white walls gives the room a warm glow. I push the table as far to one side as possible, revealing myself to Sylvie, who still has a shocked look on her face from all the orange.

“Hey,” I say, peeking around the huge arrangement.

“It looks like a pumpkin threw up in here,” she jokes.

“Brad may have gone a little overboard.”

She glances around the room again, shaking her head, still not believing the sight in front of her. “So, where is Hottie McGee? He hasn’t left your side in two days.”

“He looked exhausted, so I finally convinced him to go home, shower and get some rest. He’ll be back later.”

Sylvie takes the chair next to my bed. We sit in awkward silence. She and Brad discovered my self-harm two days ago. I know both have questions they want to ask me, but they have both been sweet and patient, letting me decide when to talk about it. After several seconds, we both open our mouths to speak and then close them, to allow the other to go first. We break out into giggles at how silly we look.

“Sylvie, I want to tell you how sorry I am…” I start.

She raises one hand up stopping my words. “There’s no need to apologize to me.”

“But, I want to. Please let me just say this.”

“Okay.”

I look down at my hands fidgeting with the edge the sheet. “When we were younger, I didn’t tell you about my self-harm because I thought I was a freak and was afraid that you would stop being my friend. As we got older, I was too ashamed and embarrassed to say anything. Plus, I knew you’d try to talk me out of doing it and I didn’t want to stop.”

Water fills her eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend to you,” she chokes out.

Sitting up, I lean over and reach for her hand. “Sylvie, you’ve been a wonderful friend to me. A good friend is someone who’s there to get you through things. You did that for me, every time you invited me over for dinner and let me spend time with your family, when you would experiment on me with makeup and different hairdos, or we would just sit around giggling at silly things. Being with you gave me a break from the pain and loneliness. It was because of you that I survived.”

She moves to sit on the side of my bed and we wrap our arms around each other as the tears flow. The love and caring that we had for each other over the years is pours out in that hug.

We give each other a tight squeeze before pulling apart. Sylvie leans over and snatches a few tissues from the bedside table, handing one to me. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room is the blowing of our noses.

“So, when are they going to spring you from this joint?” she asks, clearing her throat.

“Tomorrow. That’s another thing I need to tell you.” I glance away, avoiding eye contact.

Her eyebrows furrow together in worry. “Is everything okay?”

Looking back at her, I nod my head. “I’ve talked with my counselor, Jennifer, about setting up a treatment plan.”

“That’s fantastic, Mabry.”

“Yeah and a long time coming.” I return to fidgeting with the sheet, my eyes alternating between looking at my hands and Sylvie. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous to tell her this. Maybe because with each person who knows, it becomes more real.

“Mabry, what’s wrong?” she asks.

“Jennifer recommends that I enter a treatment facility for a little while. You know, just so I can focus and get on the right track.”

Sylvie’s hand comes up to cover my restless ones. “It sounds like a good idea.”