Chapter 5 Maya
Maya
Mama and I are sitting at the dining room table putting together a puzzle. It’s one of those nice quiet nights where Daddy is spending the night in jail for fighting at the bar and I get to spend time with Mama without being in fear of him coming home in an alcohol and cocaine fueled rampage.
Puzzling is one of our favorite things to do together. Sometimes I get bored and put them in the wrong place and wait for her to find them.
She thinks it’s pretty funny. I love it when she laughs. Her smile reaches her eyes and they seem to sparkle. I wish every night could be like this. Just the two of us.
If only the jail would keep Daddy for more than a night. When he came home drunk a couple nights ago, I pretended to be asleep when he came in my room. I would be in trouble if I was up late.
He just pulled my covers off me and after a few minutes of strange noises and heavy breathing he spit on me then walked out. I always think he is going to hit me when he does that but as long as I keep my eyes closed, he doesn’t…
Mama lets out a laugh. “Look!!! Look, look, look, LOOK!!!” she cries out while pointing to the piece now in its rightful place. To others it might seem silly, but that’s what we say to each other when we get a hard part done.
Mama’s face begins to fade, as does the wonderful dream I was having about her. My mind, while groggy, becomes acutely aware of the shift in my focus…
Who are those people talking in the distance and what’s that beeping noise?
There’s something lodged in my throat—I can’t breathe. My hand reaches for my mouth, but I also can’t move. I’m tethered to something. My eyes open and my body fills with panic.
I thrash in the bed, my legs tied down too. I try to scream for help but the thing in my throat makes it impossible. My brain scrambles to comprehend what’s going on.
The last thing I remember was eating breakfast with the men who took me. Oh god, please no! Let me go!
Tears fall from my eyes as I fight to get free. They lied; they are going to torture me. Silently, I beg for God to take me now, I am so tired of suffering. Tired of being punished for things I didn’t do.
“Hey there, it’s ok. You’re ok. Try to relax.” A warm hand gently touches my shoulder, doing very little to comfort me.
My eyes drift towards the voice. I’m looking into a set of vaguely familiar green eyes. My mind fights against grogginess to remember where I’ve seen this woman.
I look at her, silently pleading for her to help me. Please help me! I pull against my restraints. Panicking again. Daddy used to restrain me while he was hitting me.
I can’t take this anymore.
I arch my back and pull, turning my head from side to side, desperately trying to break free and get this thing out of my throat.
I hear a sequence of beeps, and a few seconds later, I’m drifting back off to sleep.
“Don’t panic, honey. The nurse is trying to wake you up so they can take the tube out of your throat. I promise it’s going to be alright.” A female’s voice resonates in my head.
A warm hand is rubbing my shoulder again. That soft voice continuously reassuring me that I am ok and telling me not to panic. I try to take deep breaths but I still can’t breathe right.
“Shhhhh, it’s ok, honey. I promise you.” It’s hard to stay calm like this. Another warm hand slides in mine, helping me be more at ease.
I dare to open my eyes; her face is looking at me.
“It’s Emma, honey. I’m here to help you stay calm. If you start panicking, they’re going to have to sedate you again for your own safety. Blink if you can hear me.”
I blink. It’s taking me everything I have to remain calm.
One of my biggest fears is being restrained, being trapped, unable to escape. So much of my life has been spent that way. Almost never being in control of my own circumstances.
I hate it.
Deep breath, Maya. Just breathe. You CAN breathe. You can get through this. My feeble reassurance to myself does little to ease the raging sea of anxiety flowing through my veins, but I try to stay still, holding in the panic.
Stay still. Relax. You can do this, Maya. Another deep breath in and out and my racing heart slows just a little. I have years of practice holding back on my fight or flight responses.
I don’t want to be put under again.
I relax, turning my fingers to grip the hand that’s holding mine. My body relaxes, the beeping of the machine monitoring my heart rate slowing.
“There you go, just relax. It’s going to be ok,” the nurse reassures me as she disconnects one of the tubes and puts something on the end of it. She explains to me if I can stay breathing on my own for a little while, they can take the tube out.
Once again, I am waking up and wishing the world would just swallow me whole. I’m just a constant burden on society, lying here in a hospital bed when I should be lying on the bottom of the river.
Tears streak down my face with the pain and anger of being forced to survive against my will. There’s no winning hands in the cards life dealt me. I’m the worthless joke that everyone discards in favor of holding the more valuable rank.
I fight back a sob as Emma strokes her fingers through my hair. She shouldn’t have to be here with me. She should be somewhere doing what she enjoys.
We sit in silence for what seems like a long time. I can’t bear to look at her, so I stare at the clock. 12:21 p.m. I wonder what day it is. Not that it matters, I just want to know how long I’ve been here.
It was Sunday evening when everything went down. I wonder if anyone even bothered to look for me after the explosion. Maybe they’ll assume I was blown to smithereens. I hope so anyway.
The hospital eventually pulled the tube out of my throat. I developed severe inflammation and an infection from bacteria in the water. The nurse said I was out for three days to help my body recover.
Ethan stopped by to talk to the doctor. He told them they had a doctor who would manage my care at home, so they discharged me. I didn’t have the energy to argue.
I let them put me in a wheelchair and take me outside where there was a black SUV with tinted windows waiting. It reminded me of one of those vehicles you see on TV—the ones that people who don’t want to be seen by the public ride in.
As if my humiliation couldn’t get any worse, Ethan insisted carrying me to the room I was previously staying in. It’s been transformed into a makeshift hospital room, but with a much cozier bed.
Emma brought me some pills and a bowl of warm, homemade chicken noodle soup. It’s the most delicious soup I think I’ve ever had. It was so soothing on my aching throat.
“Here are the meds Dr. Bennett ordered for you to take. You’ll need to take them for a few more days. Sip slowly on the soup, dear. I don’t want it to upset your stomach. Hit this buzzer if you need anything,” she said before heading back to the kitchen.
I wanted to call her back in right away to thank her for everything she has done for me so far, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I haven’t said a word to anyone yet. My mind and body are so mentally and physically drained. All I can do is lie here and stare out the window.
I had so many dreams of my mom while I was under sedation. It’s too bad I couldn’t stay in the dreamlike state. I miss Mama so much it physically
hurts my heart.
I would give anything in this world to hear her laugh or to say my name. Mama was my best friend.
I get so jealous and angry with people who still have their moms, especially when they get to grow old with them. It’s not right that I have to live the rest of my life without mine.
Tears roll down my cheeks, each droplet staining the pillow under my head with liquified pieces of my shattered heart. My hands cling tightly, holding it firmly to my face as violent, uncontrollable sobs wrack my body.
I scream as loud as I can, trying my best to muffle it. I don’t care how bad my throat hurts. I can’t hold my frustration back any longer. I’m tired of being prisoner to my sorrow. I’m tired of being held captive by my circumstances.
I’m. Just. Fucking. Tired!
Again and again, I cry, scream, and beg for the help that will never come. I need my Mama. I need her so bad right now. I have to find a way to join her, but killing myself is obviously out of the question right now with these psychos intervening at every turn.
I’m trapped. Always. Fucking. Trapped.
I fight through my covers and pillows as if they are my internal demons.
Thrashing and punching with what little strength I can muster.
They’re probably watching me right now and getting a good laugh at how the psychotic drowned rat is now their prisoner to do what they want with.
This could be some kind of sick game or experiment.
Maybe the God of War, Ares—Nick, whatever his name is—is trying to polish me up so he can sell me off in the human meat market. It’s probably how he can afford a big, fancy beach house like this.
I slow my breathing in attempt to slow my racing heart. Pull yourself together Maya—you’ve survived worse.
I got myself into this mess, and come hell or high water, I’m getting out of it.