Stolen (25 page)

As I’m being carted by wheelchair to the washroom to
be cleaned up, a question for Bruce pops into my head that I just have to know the
answer to. “Hang on, Doc. Hey, Bruce?”

 “Yeah? What’s up, Jess?” He bounds to me from
his seated position on my bed.

I can’t help but smile up at him. He and I may not
have gone through all that I thought we had, our bonding may only be in my
head, but I know he’s a genuine guy, a good guy who I’m lucky to have in my
life. My question will confirm unequivocally whether he and I are as close as I
believe us to be.

 “Come down here,” I whisper conspiratorially,
hooking my index finger into the air near his face to coax him nearer to me. I
probably should have thought this through better. Poor guy has to smell my
nasty vomit-covered self up close and personal. Despite this fact, he still
bows in front of me. “Do you, or did you ever, have a cupid tattoo on your
bum?”

“Oh God,” he says loudly, followed by a slap to the
forehead. “I guess some things stuck with you. I don’t know why it couldn’t
have been something better, but okay. Yes, I
did
have a cupid tattoo on
my bum. Happy now?”

 “As a matter of fact, I am. Thank you very much
for not taking that memory away from me,” I say with humor, though I’m quite
serious. It’s a fun memory, a fun memory that’s a
real
memory. With a
squeeze on the shoulder, Bruce is to my back as I’m pushed away to the
washroom.

Kyle pushes me out the door and into the hallway where
I’m immediately passed off to another nurse who’s going to help me clean up.
Before I go, looking back to Kyle, I ask, “So we’ve never been friends, not you
nor Rachel? You were never interested in me, never asked me to go out with
you?”

I know it’s masochistic to want to know the answer. I
know that what he says isn’t going to make me feel any better about this
situation, but the feeling of his touch, the sound of his voice, the way he
looked at me are so real I can’t get past it. How could I have created such an
elaborate alternate reality? One where Kyle took center stage, one where the
possibility of new beginnings was more than possible? It was happening to me in
that very moment.

He bends on one knee, coming in direct contact with my
face. I see the look I know, the look I shouldn’t be familiar with, the look
that I know I’ve seen before, though, saying, “Jess, I’ve known you for a while
now, but only in the doctor/patient capacity. Our relationship has never been
anything more. Now, I have to go. Amber here will take you to get cleaned up,
okay?” he questions without waiting for an answer. I’m looking at his back
before a response has formed on my lips. Why did he run away like that?

Present
day . . .

I don’t see nor hear from Kyle again, or Rachel, or
Bruce, or Rogan for that matter. I learned from my new doctor that Kyle and
Rachel went on vacation. The timing seemed strange, but who am I to say when
someone should or shouldn’t take a vacation. I’m sure they had it planned
before I made my miraculous recovery.

Bruce is working a case, so he’ll be away for a couple
of weeks, and I guess Rogan had to take care of a relative out of state. I’m
not saying I feel abandoned, but well, I kind of do. Mom hasn’t even come back,
supposedly buried in work since her boss quit and she took over his position.

This doctor isn’t helping my mood any. In fact, the
very sight of him makes me want to bash his head into the concrete walls of my
room. He’s the stereotypical shrink, tall, lanky, receding hairline, bowtie
wearing, dweeb. I swear if he straightens the papers on his clipboard or
adjusts the blinds on my window one more time I’m following through with my
threat of death.

Ugh, I hate shrinks! I don’t deserve to be in here! So
I may be a little loopy; if I were a celebrity, they would just call me
eccentric. If I were a celebrity, you know damn well I’d never have been locked
up like a criminal!

“Jess.” Finally, it speaks! “Why do you think you’re
in here?”

Glad he didn’t disappoint; he really is one of
those
doctors! Through glaring eyes, I inform him that I think it would be best if he
told me since I apparently have no grasp on life,
my
life to be exact.
His approving look at my answer makes me hate him even more. I thought he would
get angry at my smartass answer and leave. The Cosmos have failed me once more.

The only sound bouncing off the walls at the moment is
that of his pen scratching the clipboard in his hand. I know he’s writing about
me, most likely what I just said, so I wait until his pen rests in his lap
before raising my brows as a dare for him to ask me another asinine question.
He doesn’t disappoint.

“We all care about your well-being, Jess. We just want
to make sure you’re safe both physically and mentally from yourself.”

“You think I’m going to hurt myself?” I ask
incredulously.

“Haven’t you already?”

Typical doctor response, answer a question with a
question. “I’m not going to hurt myself!” I proclaim. “Yes, apparently I’ve
found a disturbing coping technique, but that doesn’t make me crazy or
suicidal, okay? I’m fine now,” I huff. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” I say
in a low voice. “I just want to go home, so tell me what I have to do to make
that happen, Doc.”

I won’t bore you with the details of the remainder of
our session; suffice it to say there’s little I can do to speed up my release.
“My mind will tell me when I’m ready.” That’s an official quote from the good
doctor. The way he explained it is that I mentally self-mutilated myself. I
tore apart the pieces of my life in a vain attempt to assuage my guilt over
Cass’s death. It was my self-imposed punishment.

When I’m alone, my thoughts run rampant. I run over
events I could swear happened; the way I felt during those events, the things I
said in response to something someone said, waiting in line at the coffee shop,
texting Bruce at all hours of the night, especially after two in the morning;
the excitement I felt when I was around Kyle, the way he made me feel like
everything was new and fresh, like I could be renewed, that I wasn’t dead
despite feeling otherwise.

This can’t have all been in my head. That just doesn’t
make any sense. Something isn’t right, but how do I make anyone believe me when
they would know if I were making this up, they would have been alongside me
during it all.

I’m seen by the doctor every day for two weeks
straight. If that’s supposed to help my sanity, I can assure you, it doesn’t. I
hate seeing him every morning. I hate it even more that once he’s gone, once
the room is silent but for my breath once more, I want him back.

In the beginning, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I
closed my eyes my life would pass before me—the life I apparently never lived.
This made for a great insomniac inducer. Sleep eluded me until I was put on
medication to treat it. That had the opposite effect, then I could barely stay
awake. Narcolepsy became my middle name. I was incoherent at best; at worst I
was a breathing cadaver, an oxymoron, I know; just think zombie. My doses have
been adjusted letting my mind relax, though that does little for the quality of
my sleep. Memories of my life
before
now refuse to relent to the life I
lead
now
.

Glancing at the red lights on my digital clock next to
my head, I see it’s 2:08 in the morning. I must have fallen asleep. I wish I
had a phone so I could text Bruce. I miss him so much. I miss our talks, the
ease with which we spoke to one another, the way he understood me when no one
else seemed to; I miss it all.

It’s 11:09 in the morning now. My session with the doc
ended about ten minutes ago, leaving me alone once again. Looking out the
window from the chair I sit in, I imagine what the sun would feel like on my
skin, what the air would feel like weaving through my hair, and what the world
would sound like outside these walls. I imagine using real utensils, real
dishes, and an actual ceramic coffee cup. I’m not allowed those things. I guess
they still don’t believe I won’t hurt myself, so instead, I get plastic everything.

Lost in my despair, I fail to hear the door open or a
human enter.

“Penny for your thought?”

Startled, I nearly jump from my chair, gasping until I
comprehend who spoke. “Bruce!” I shout, while launching myself into his open
arms. “Oh, I thought you were never going to come back! Everyone has left me
here. Everyone has forgotten about me. I feel like I’m dying, Bruce. You have
to get me out of here!” I beg.

“Shh, shh, now, just calm down. That’s why I’m here
actually. I can’t take you home just yet, but I’m working with the doctor to
hurry things along. Your cooperating with the doctor like you have been is
working in our favor. Just hang in for a little while longer. Okay? I promise
it will be soon.”

With my arms still linked behind his back, I pull back
enough to see the honesty in his eyes; he really is going to get me out of this
place, I believe that. “Okay, Bruce. Whatever you say, I’ll do. Just don’t
leave me here, don’t forget about me,” I cry into his chest.

“Forget you? I could never, would never, do that to
you. I’ll get you out, just be patient.” Gently freeing himself from my grasp,
he tells me he has to go, that he has an appointment with the doctor to talk
over my release.

I want to beg him to stay, not to leave me alone
again, but this is my freedom we’re talking about, so I relent, tears pooling
in my eyes, tumbling down my cheeks as I hug my arms around myself watching him
leave.

“I’ll be back, Jess. I promise,” he whispers before
the door locks behind him.

He’ll come back for me, I know he will, and until then
I’ll wait for him to save me from this place, from the nightmare my life has
become. I wish I had never woken from the life I had created; I would take a
stalker over this any day. A stalker can have a face, a voice, a scent, something
distinguishable; something I could fight if we were to come face to face.

I can’t fight this hospital. It’s faceless, void of a
voice that will argue back with me should I scream at it. Its walls hold me in
place. There’s nothing I can do to free myself other than to wait for help from
someone on the outside, and I will wait; wait for someone to save me from being
trapped in this cage, from being forced to watch myself fade into nothingness.
Until then, I’ll sleep. Sleep will cradle me safely from harm, and when I wake,
I’ll be free, free from my confines, free from myself.

A few more days go by before I see Bruce again, a few
more visits with the good doctor, a few more meals eaten with plastic cutlery,
a few more days in Hell. When there’s a knock on the door at noon I know it’s
lunchtime. “Come in,” I answer irritably. I hate meal times.

“You don’t have to sound so happy to see me.” A male
voice says.

“Bruce? Oh my God, Bruce, you’re here! You came back!”
I scream as I jump from my bed and into his arms.

” I told you I would. Did you really not believe me?”

He seems upset, but can he blame me? I haven’t seen
anyone else since I learned where I was, which has made the fear of being
forgotten quite real.

“I’m sorry. I know you said you’d be back, but I can’t
help that I was afraid you wouldn’t.” I admit.  

“Well, I’m here now, and I have some news. Can we talk
a sec?” he asks calmly after situating himself in the uncomfortable green chair
in the corner of my cell, I mean, room.

“Of course, Bruce. What have you heard?” The rise in
pitch of my voice gives away my hopefulness.

“I’ve spoken to the doctor,” he pauses for dramatic
effect, all the more to amp me up, I think, “and . . . they said they will sign
your release forms!” he says excitedly.

“Really? You’re not messing with me, are you, Bruce,
because that would be so cruel of you!”

“I swear I’m not. They are drawing up the papers as we
speak. You should be out of here within the hour.”

It takes a moment for the reality of his words to sink
in. When they do I sprint from my bed to where Bruce is in the chair, bounding
on his lap like a lost puppy finding its owner.

“I knew you’d be happy, but be careful, I’m liable to
break with all your weight on me like this,” he teases me after playfully pinching
my side.

“What are you saying, that I’m fat?” I ask after
punching him in the gut.

Stifling a grin, he reassures me that I am
not
fat, that he was kidding, and to go easy next time on his gut. Rubbing his
stomach in an exaggerated manner, as if I really hurt him. He tells me to put
down my boxing gloves and get packed up because we are out of here!

Jumping off his lap, I search the small closet for
some street clothes, finding the essentials—a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt,
and some ballet flats. “Can you step out a sec so I can change?” I ask
hurriedly not wanting to waste any time.

“Of course. Just knock on the door when you’re ready,”
he says as he’s halfway to the door.

“Hey, Bruce?” I call for him before he leaves the
small room, the room that is no longer my room. Thank the Cosmos for that gift.

“What’s up, Jess?”

Throwing myself into his arms, I give him the tightest
hug I’ve ever given anybody. He has to know how happy I am and how much I
appreciate what he has done for me. Afterward, I push him into the hallway so I
can get dressed. He seems slightly taken aback by my show of emotion, but
leaves without questioning it.    

“You all set?” he asks after opening the door to my
knock.

“Um, yeah! I’ve been set to go since I woke up in this
hellhole!” Laughing at my enthusiasm, he tugs me along the long hallway, giving
my hand a comforting squeeze before we step out into the mid-day sunshine.

Barely a foot outside the main entrance, I freeze,
taking in the feel of the sun on my skin. I must look like a drowning girl who
just came upon the shore, able to breathe comfortably once more.

The door swishes closed behind us, breaking me from my
trance. “Sorry. We can go now.”

Bruce pulls on my hand when I start to walk away. “No
need to be sorry.” He reassures me. “Take as long as you need. I’m not going
anywhere.”

“Thanks, but really, I’m ready to go.”

“You sure?” His brows furrow with concern, as if he’s
afraid he’s rushing me.  

“Stop worrying so much,” I say while pulling his hand
to get his feet moving. “Let’s get as far from here as humanly possible. You
wouldn’t by chance have a private jet that could take us to Paris or something,
do you? I’m serious when I say I want to get as
far away as possible
!” I
drag the words out, affirming the seriousness of them.

“Sorry, I don’t, but I do have an SUV with a full tank
of gas and tinted windows to hide you from the world. I would say that’s even
better than a jet, what with the possibility of air sickness and all,” he
exclaims with a shrug and a wink.

“Ya know, you are absolutely right. Who needs the
hassle of air travel when you have the option of staying on good ole planet
earth?”

“Well, damn, I was going to suggest a trip on a space
shuttle since I happen to be good buddies with an astronaut, but if you’re good
with your feet staying planted to this boring ole planet instead of propelling
through space . . .”

“Shut up!” I yell. “You do not have the ability to get
us into space; even if you did, I wouldn’t go with you.”

“Wait? What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks
curiously.

“You would hog up the whole space ship. If I’m going
to space, I don’t want to get stuck sharing a small space with a big old goon
like you!” Clutching my stomach, I bend at the knees trying desperately to calm
the laughter almost violently overtaking me. Damn it feels good to laugh. I
wasn’t sure if I’d ever laugh like this again.