Chapter 26
October 2007
Charlotte
“How are you settling in, Charlotte?” Dr. T asks. It seems like such a simple question. It should be simple, I guess, for some people. The phone presses snugly between my cheek and shoulder so I can move my heavy-ass textbooks off the edge of the desk and into my backpack. If I don’t leave in the next eight minutes, I’ll be late for class. Fuck me.
Breathing heavily into the receiver from the exertion of heaving those cinder blocks that I call books around, I plop my butt down on my bed. “Okay, I suppose. Zach returned over the weekend and moved the big stuff around that we hadn’t gotten to on move-in day a few weeks ago. Dad was able to get me a single. So, no roommate, which is a relief. I’d hate to have the awkward talk about my night terrors with someone new…” My sentence trails off, embarrassment creeping up my chest as heat settles in my cheeks.
I pick at imaginary lint on my comforter while I sit silently and wait for her response.
“Charlotte, we’ve been through this. It is perfectly normal to have nightmares after such a traumatic event.” She assures me, like always– but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I know what would… No. Charlotte, no. I don’t need the drugs. I don’t need the drugs. I don’t need the drugs.
Six months ago, I walked into a courtroom, ready to see my boogeyman receive his just desserts… and boy, did he ever .
A young girl, the sister of one of the many victims of Priest, was delivering her victim impact statement during his sentencing hearing.
This petite girl is wearing a black dress, black tights, and black shoes. The one who looked as though she came dressed for a funeral. Little did we know, she would be attending one and it would be the last thing she ever did.
With rage in her mind and revenge in her heart, she somehow snuck a gun into the courthouse and shot Priest dead right then and there. Though it shocked everyone, it was really no skin off my back. The world is better off with one less deplorable Priest in it.
But, when she turned it on herself…
Though, Ursula – the personalized identifier I’ve given to the part of my brain that craves the darkness. The numbing. The escape – still tries daily to lead me into temptation, to rid myself of the decrepit memory carousel I find myself on. I’ve held fast.
Watching someone be murdered right in front of me didn’t hit me quite like I’d ever imagined it would. When that someone has made your life a living hell, raped you, let his friends rape you, and forced drug use on you, my moral compass starts to get a little wobbly.
Watching a sweet but murdering young girl kill herself… that’s something I’ve yet to wrap my mind around.
I’ve had countless sessions with Dr. T. I’ve attended at least one NA meeting a week. I’ve even found a sponsor here in Alabama, Genevieve “Genny” Lambert.
During the day, I keep busy. Class, study, meeting, therapy, food. Rinse and repeat. But at night? The demons flood in from all sides. My subconscious forces me to relive different traumatic events from the last year or so.
My body is locked in a chair by thick ropes that cut into the skin of my wrists and ankles. So tight that the blood caused by the friction of my frantic movements pools onto my jean-covered thighs. My head is strapped to the back of the chair with an unforgiving restraining metal band across my forehead. Sharp claws of a rusty metal speculum dig into my top and lower eyelids, forcing them open in plain view of the tattered projection screen that is pinned to the crumbling red brick wall in front of me .
Flickering images dance across the screen, and a chilling sensation surrounds me. The sepia-toned frames flash rapidly, casting eerie shadows as if whispering secrets of a dark past. Each scene unfolds with a haunting moment of my life. The otherwise silent air is punctuated with unnerving whispers and disembodied cries coming from the darkness that surrounds me.
With a forced gaze, I am peering through a window into the darkest recesses of my psyche, where the echoes of bygone terrors still linger. And as the final frame fades into darkness, I am left with a lingering sense of unease and dread, haunted by the spectral fragments of what I had just relived.
Waking is the same every time. As my consciousness slowly returns, I find myself suspended in a transitional space between dream and reality. The remnants of the nightmares clinging to my mind like tendrils of shadow, refusing to release their grip. My heart hammers against its cage. Each beat echoes like a drum in the silence of the night. With a gasp, I try to sit up, to escape the clutches of the darkness that still linger in the corners of my mind.
But to my horror, my body remains motionless, as if shackled by invisible chains. Panic surges within me, a primal instinct urging me to flee, to break free from the paralysis that holds me captive. Every fiber of my being screams for release, for the ability to move, to escape the suffocating grip of terror. But still, I remain trapped, a prisoner in my own flesh.
Time suspends around me as I battle against the invisible bonds that hold me. After what seems like an eternity, slowly but surely, sensation begins to return to my limbs, like a thawing frost melting away under the warmth of the sun. But even as I regain control of my body, the memory of the nightmare lingers, haunting the edges of my consciousness.
After one of these episodes, my body is thoroughly drained. Feeling like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson and somehow survived more than one hit.
I always check over my skin in the full-length mirror, expecting to see a battered and bruised reflection, finding nothing but unblemished flesh before me.
“Yeah. Normal.” I retort sarcastically. I thought shrinks weren’t supposed to use words like “normal”. Makes the loonies itchy .
“Is the medication helping?”
I reach for the bottle of sleeping pills she’s referencing, turning it in my palm. “Yeah.” When I take them. Which is almost never. They make me groggy and floaty. It’s too close to how I felt back then.
“Good. Well, I know you need to be off to class. I’ll call you at the same time next week. Take care, Charlotte.”
I barely utter an agreeance before the line is cut off. Dr. T is all business. Whatevs, I need to get going anyway. Checking the time on my phone, I now have three minutes to make it across campus.
Of course, I would be racing the clock for English Lit, Professor Gentry’s class. He fucking hates me. I have no idea what bug crawled up his ass, but he seriously has me at the tip-top of his shit list.
I hoist the hundred-pound bag around my shoulder, instantly feeling the ache from the repetitive motions over the last three weeks. When I step out of the dorm building, I’m immediately met with the harshest torrential downpour I’ve ever seen.
Not having another choice, I flop my wafer-thin hood from my sweatshirt on top of my unruly blonde hair and head toward the English building as quickly as my tiny legs will carry me.
Every eye is on me as the heavy wooden door slams shut behind me. Dozens of stares latched onto the dripping rat, who is now– looking down at my phone– six minutes late. So much for sneaking in without being noticed.
I give Professor Gentry an apologetic smile. I open my mouth to pour out some lame excuse. He stops me with a shake of his head and lifts his hand in a “stop” motion.
“Miss Johnson, if this class isn’t important to you, that’s fine. But you will not interrupt the students who actually want to be here by creating an unnecessary disruption with your–” he flails his hands up and down my body with disgust plastered on his face. “Unpreparedness and abhorrent attire.”
His gaze lands pointedly on my chest in distaste. I look down and find that the rain has soaked completely through my white blouse, and my rock-hard nipples are on full display through my thin beige bra. Fuck me.
I quickly pull the side of my hoodie around my front, covering my borderline pornographic demonstration from the prying eyes of the lecture hall. A whispered “Hey!” captures my attention from the back row. A very broad-shouldered, dark hair man whines at the covering of the titty show. I narrow my eyes at him in warning before turning back to Professor Gentry, getting ready to put on the show of a lifetime.
“I apologize for the interruption and the unacceptable tardiness. I won’t bore you with excuses. I want to be here. It won’t happen again.” I force a submissive expression onto my face, hoping like hell he buys my apology. This is all he’s getting. I am not a beggar.
He sighs and rolls his eyes while waving me off to find a seat. I waste no time finding an empty chair at the end of a nearly empty row towards the back. I set my bag down quietly, dig out my textbook, notebook, and pen, and settle in for class.
After the longest hour ever, Professor Gentry dismissed us with a fucking ten thousand word essay due by next week as homework. I stuff my things unsystematically into my backpack and make my way down the student tiers, passing by “Leer-oy, The Giant.” I give him the finger when he blows me a kiss.
Making my way into the flow of students, a hand lands on my shoulder. I immediately stiffen, ready to tell Bigfoot-Little Dick to fuck all the way off and fall short at the petite, fairly familiar, mousy brunette standing before me.
Startled, I stare at her nervous expression, frozen in place. She tucks an errant strand of thin, pin-straight brown hair behind her right ear. Her left hand grips onto the top of her blue cross-body bag. She must have significantly fewer books in hers than I do in mine to be holding it so effortlessly.
I chuck the backpack strap higher on my shoulder as my words find their way to my mouth again, “Uh, yes? How can I help you?”
“Hey, um, Charlotte, right?” she asks, nervousness coating her words.
“Yep. That’s me. And you’re…”
“Rebecca Crowe. I’m Gentry’s TA. I’m sorry he’s been so hard on you. I don’t know what his deal is.” That’s right, she was introduced on my first day of class. She just kinda blends in with the background, easily forgettable face, apparently.
I shrug my shoulder, “It’s not your fault. I just have that charming way about me, I guess. So, Rebecca, was there a reason you stopped me or–” I let the sentence trail off, hoping she’ll explain why she’s deterring me from making my Calc class on time.
“Oh yes, um, so I know you’re new, and I haven’t seen you with any friends or anything. I’m kind of a loner myself. I was wondering if you might want to hang out sometime?”
Surprised, my eyes widen unintentionally. “Oh. Um, yeah, sure. I’m kind of busy, though, so I’m not sure when I’ll be free. But, maybe?”
Rebecca’s shoulders drop, and crimson covers her cheeks. She’s embarrassed at my dismissal. I’m such an ass. This poor girl just wants a friend. Why can’t I just be nice and take her up on her offer? I’m trying to turn over a new leaf here.
I’ve always been the one to have a very small, tight-knit group of friends and dozens of acquaintances. Unlike my social butterfly best friend, I am perfectly happy being alone.
But ever since the nightmares started, being alone doesn’t give the comfort it once did. Fuck it. New school. New me. Let’s do some friend shit.
I reach out and gently lay my hand on top of hers, pulling her attention back to me. “Hey. I’m sorry. I’m still pretty rattled from racing over here in the middle of the monsoon and being chastised by Gentry. I’d love to chill sometime. Here,” I rummage through my side pocket and grab a loose pen, holding it out to her with my right hand. I offer my left palm as a paper substitute, “Jot your digits down, and I’ll text you this weekend. I saw there was a pretty popular pizza place just off campus on Magnolia. I’ve been wanting to check it out. You down to go?”
A wide smile lifts her lips, and she nods frantically at me. Her brown eyes show off flecks of gold as the reflection from the window casts a light through them. She grabs the pen and starts scribbling across my palm. “I’m free on Saturday night, anytime after six.” She says as she hands the pen back to me.
Tucking it back in its pocket, I nod my head, “Okay, so how about we meet there at seven?”
“Seven sounds perfect. See you then, Charlotte.” She waves as she strolls down the hallway in the opposite direction I am heading.
“Charlie!” I holler at her back in correction, and she turns and offers another grin. “Charlie.”
Internally, I high-five myself for putting myself out there. Dr. T will be so proud of me for making a new friend. This could be the great fresh start that I desperately need. Savvy might be a little jelly, but she’ll always be my numero uno, my ride-or-die, always . But having a new friend in a new place will be nice. Rebecca’s clearly familiar with the school, being a TA and a sophomore.
Yeah, this is going to be the change I needed—to heal, move on, grow, and flourish. And it all begins with my newest pal, Rebecca. Becky. Becca? I don’t know what her nickname will be. We’ll work it out.