Chapter 1
Chapter One
Chaos Inside
NORA
ONE YEAR LATER
Every day when I wake up, my first thought is how badly I want to die.
My eyes flutter open and burn from the rays of sunlight pouring in through my lacy, sheer curtains, and I want to drift back off to sleep and never have to open my eyes again.
The lake outside my window sends its waves rising and falling, crashing onto the shore in tumultuous chaos, mirroring the feelings I carry inside of me.
I squint my eyes as I stand and peer out the window, the Mackinac bridge taunting me in the distance, like a ghost from my past life that will stand and haunt me forever. Every morning is the same.
I can’t tell my therapist any of this. He’ll send me back to the psych ward, a place where misery reigns and dreams go to die.
I’m not like them, the people who dissociate from reality and can no longer decipher between reality and imagination.
I know someday I might heal from my trauma, from the loss of the two greatest people I’ve ever known, and that someday I will move on. I know, and yet it changes nothing.
Life feels so meaningless.
As I pull on my cutest sundress and quickly smear make-up across my eyelids and lips, my limbs feel heavy and worn down.
I have nothing left to give, but I must keep up the facade.
Smile. Laugh. Tell them I’m alright. If the past year has taught me anything, it’s that people see what they want to see.
Grabbing my keys off the counter, I glance at the clock above the stove, the ticking sound ringing through the air and reminding me that time is still moving. Most days I forget.
I rush through town, savoring the quiet calm of the place now that tourists have left the island to avoid the isolation that comes when winter hits and the lake freezes over.
They crave the peacefulness that comes from a town that prohibits cars and allows travel only by horse-drawn carriage, like some fairytale world where time moves slower and things are simpler.
Yet, the thought of not being able to leave, of being stuck here with no way out terrifies them.
I guess some fairytales aren’t meant to last forever. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
The ferry ride takes twenty minutes, and I barely remember going from point A to point B.
There are many times I struggle to remember what I’ve done or where I’ve been.
Every day passes in a blur of faded colors and muted sounds.
Jumping off the ferry and onto the dock in Mackinac City, I push my shoulders back and remind myself to appear normal as I stride toward Dr. Cooper's office.
Smile.
Laugh.
Everything is just fine.
As I sit in the dimly lit waiting room, the walls covered in sickly green wallpaper, I pick at the skin on the edge of my nails, impatiently waiting to be called back.
“Come on in, Nora.” Dr. Cooper's bright smile radiates positivity as he holds the door open wide and watches me pass through. “How are you today?” We both sit down.
“Hi, Dr. Cooper! I’m doing good, thanks. How are you?” My voice is too high and too bright and too much like anyone but me.
“Good, good.” Bradley shifts in his seat in front of me, crossing one leg over the other, and looks down his nose at me through his thick, black-rimmed glasses. “Tell me, Nora. How have you been, really?” His voice is silky and velvety, a sound that seems to caress deep into my mind and soul.
Dr. Cooper’s voice is like a dark velvet dipped in honey, deep and comforting and sweet.
It has always reminded me of my boyfriends voice in a way, and I’m pretty sure Ere’s voice alone is enough to heal anyone in all the right places.
His smile is small, but it’s there. He truly wants the best for me, and I know it, but I can’t trust him.
I can’t trust anyone around me anymore. I glance behind him at the cherry oak wood shelf lined with books from floor to ceiling and briefly picture him sitting at home with his favorite book and a glass of wine by the fireplace.
It seems like a very Bradley thing to do after a long day of talking the crazy out of people like me.
The thick curtains block out the sunlight, giving his office a cozy, relaxing atmosphere.
If I try hard enough, I could maybe let my fucked-up thoughts and feelings seep out and leave them in the dark here in this place with him.
But trying is hard. It’s so tiring and I’m tired of being tired.
I give him my best ‘I swear I’m not suicidal anymore smile,’ tucking my red locks behind my ears and fluttering my eyelashes up at him, attempting to convey innocence and a happy demeanor.
I shrug my shoulders, my hands clasped in my lap, and my body relaxed and still.
I will not let the truth show. I’ve practiced this so much now that it has gotten easy, fooling everyone into believing I’m fine.
I will not cry. I will not let my hands shake or my mind spiral in front of him.
I. Am. Healed. They will not lock me up again.
I take a deep breath before speaking, hoping to let the calm demeanor shine bright in the tone of my voice as well.
“Truly, I feel great,” I giggle, shrugging my shoulders.
“I’ve had a rough year. Like… really rough, I know.
But I’ve learned a lot about myself and about life and the world around me.
I know now how to handle challenging situations when they come my way.
I’m so thankful for you. Thankful to be alive.
” I let my smile reach my eyes, and this time it is real.
I appreciate everything Bradley has done to help me.
He doesn’t need to know that it was all for nothing.
He leans forward, placing his arms on his legs, and letting his hands hang freely. His facial hair is neat but scruffy, and his brown locks are messy yet stylish, making him look much younger than the forty-five-year-old man he is.
He sighs quietly and smiles in a way that immediately makes me feel awful for all the lies I’ve fed him these past few months. “Great. Hearing that makes me so happy.”
He believes me. Every lie and every half-truth and every forced, fake-ass smile.
I started coming in with my hair curled and golden eye shadow to brighten up my blue eyes, and the prettiest, brightest sundresses I could find, to fool him into seeing me as someone I’m not, and it fucking worked. How did it work so easily?
As I breathe in deep, the scent of leather and deception burns its way into my lungs and beats through my heart.
“I’m happy, too. For the first time in a long time, I am. I’m moving on. This is what my parents would want for me, and I know that now.” I don’t blink or move, keeping my eyes locked on his to show no signs that I’m attempting to deceive him.
“I’m so proud of you, Nor. You should be proud, too.
Your mind tried to break you, you fought hard, and you won.
You’re a warrior.” His leather chair creaks as he stands and makes his way over to his desk.
“I’m writing you a one-month prescription for the medications I have you on.
Increasing the dosage is no longer necessary with how well you’re doing now.
” He leans on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his broad chest, smiling as if he feels so accomplished for healing me. For saving my life.
I’m an asshole. That’s all there is to it. I’m a liar and a fraud and if God is looking down at me right now, he is surely shaking his head in disgust and disappointment. I don’t care, though. I just want to be free.
I smooth the wrinkles out of my dress as I stand, tossing my curls over my shoulders and smiling over at him. “Does this mean our visits are over? Now that I’m… better?”
His smile vanishes, and he places his hands in front of him, palms facing toward me in a gesture to slow down. He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying. Not yet, at least. Let’s see how you do with monthly visits instead of weekly. How does that sound?”
Horrible. Like a waste of time.
“Sounds great!” I beam, knowing it’s what I should say and do. “I’ll see you in a month, then?”
“See you in a month. Of course, if you need me at any time before then, please don’t hesitate to call, okay?
” He straightens up and walks to the door, then opens it and turns toward me.
“Your prescriptions will be ready for pickup on your way home. Don’t…
forget it.” He says sternly, probably remembering back to all the times I ‘forgot’ to pick them up after our visits before.
It doesn’t matter. They’ll end up down the drain where the rest of them have gone to die.
“I won’t forget. Thank you, Dr. Cooper. For everything, really. I don’t care what people say about you, you’re not such a bad guy.” I smile playfully and his deep, carefree laugh follows me out the door even as he shuts it behind me.
On my first day seeing him I told him the truth about what I’d heard from the others at the mental health facility.
They’d all agreed he was an emotionless, abrasive jerk.
I’ve never seen that side of him. He’s not a bad guy at all, he is just slightly bad at reading people and picking up on emotions.
Or maybe I’m just a really good actor. Too good, even.
Standing in the waiting room, the receptionist scribbles my next appointment date on a business card, then slides it across the counter.
“September ninth at 10 o’clock, sweetie. See you then.” Her smile doesn’t meet her eyes. It’s barely even a smile at all.
Her hazel eyes hold a sadness within them that she isn’t very good at hiding.
She isn’t rude or unkind or bitter, she’s just sad.
Probably from a life full of pain and loss and heartbreak that never healed like she hoped it would.
Looking at her feels like a glimpse into my future.
She is me and I am her, and we both deserve much better.