Chapter Forty-One
Quinn - Present Day
“Tell me about Eric,” I hear Bones say as I adjust to the IV running through my veins. It’s day two, and I’m already looking forward to the dreamlike state it puts me in. The last thing I need is another addiction in my life.
“No foreplay this time, Bones?”
He laughs. “Foreplay every time it counts, baby. But where your brother is concerned, it doesn’t fucking count. You and me, alone, is the only time it counts. Unless you’re into a bit of voyeurism, of course.”
I open my eyes to wink at him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re fucking perfect?”
“Not in the last hour, no. Now, stop deflecting. You told me the other day you remembered something. Tell me about it.”
It feels like bile is splashing in my stomach. Roiling around like it’s muddying the waters between itself and my stomach acid, determined to make me relive my purging days.
I close my eyes again. “I did remember something. The night we met, I told you about my memory blanks and my need to recover memories to make certain things make sense. Since the night of my accident, I have been unable to remember anything for the entire year before I woke up. Until the other night. It’s like the ECT triggered my brain into working correctly, not that I’d ever admit that to my parents. ”
I fidget with my hands, and I feel him place something in them. “What’s this?”
“It’s called a fidget tool.”
I open my eyes to take a peek and laugh. “It’s a reaper holding onto a penis. How is this a fidget tool?”
“Listen, Lulu made it just for you, so pretend you love it no matter what. The penis is the fidget part of the tool. She said that she made it that way so that the more you feel the shape of the fidget peen—as she called it—the more you desensitise yourself from whatever trauma you may uncover during these sessions that links to anything to do with sexual assault or rape. Pressing it up and down—in her words—is to ‘mimic the action of a hand job’ to ready yourself for the monster cock you deserve’.
” He pulls a face as he finishes his sentence.
“Does that make you a little jealous, Bones?”
“No.” His reply is a little too quick, indicating I am correct in my assumption.
“It’s okay. A green-eyed monster sounds right up my street.
I love it. No pretending needed.” To some, Lulu's gift may be crude, but I see it for what it is.
The ability for me to move forward in my life with her cousin.
To not recoil at a sexual touch when it comes to it.
To process my thoughts and emotions as I go through the intensive therapy, giving me the ability to ground myself.
I click the penis four times. Not three, and not five. “Why four clicks?” he asks.
“Can’t get anything past you, can I?”
“Never. So stop trying.”
“I think I may have a slight case of OCD, not diagnosed, because of course I was always told it was all in my head. But numbers are a big thing for me. If someone has the volume on an odd number on the TV, my heart feels like it’s going to implode.
Like the entire world will disintegrate at any second.
If I buy something for decorative purposes, they all must match, and there must be an even number.
If one breaks or gets damaged, then both must get thrown away so that the pairs aren’t lonely.
Even blankets, to a certain extent, must match in some way. It sounds stu—”
“No, it doesn’t. Keep talking.”
“It’s rude to interrupt when someone is talking, you know?”
“Not when they’re talking absolute fucking shit and degrading themselves into something that feels very real to them being stupid.” He laughs.
“You’re a terrible therapist,” I tell him.
“Only to the ones who encourage me to break my boundaries before their therapy is finished. You only have yourself to blame.”
The beeping from the machine that assesses my vitals increases, and he chuckles again.
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes before continuing.
“When I leave the house, I have to practise routines. Touching light switches, checking plug sockets, making sure furniture is evenly spaced so as not to cause a tripping hazard, even though no one is going to be home. Anything that could potentially be a danger, my brain catastrophises into the worst possible scenario.”
“That’s understandable considering your history. Do you know when it began?”
“If I had to put my finger on it, it started the day Eric came home after he was born. Something my mum said took my ability to feel in control away, and my life spiralled. Up until that point I had been so excited for a baby brother or sister. I thought we would be best friends, but those moments were few and far between even before he could walk. He was like my mother’s possession.
There were no touching-without-permission rules.
People couldn’t comfort him because they couldn’t do it as well as she would.
But I think I would say that day is where it started, and after my accident it increased; the inability to remember something that had damaged me irrevocably was paralysing. ”
“Well. I’m listening. Tell me everything you remember.”
The first time that I can remember hearing voices in my mind, I must have been about four.
My mum hadn’t long given birth to Eric, and I remember them bringing him home like it was yesterday.
I’d been over the moon when I found out I was going to have a baby brother or sister—I’d begged for one for my birthday, after all—but the excitement when I found out it was a boy was beyond anything I had ever known.
Until they brought him home. If I had known the regret that would consume my mind and the way my life would be altered forever, I’d have hunted down a time machine faster than you could say, “It’s a boy!”
Age 4 - 24 years ago
“Quinn, come here! It’s time to go home and meet your little baby brother!” Millie’s mum, Manda, shouts up the stairs. I’ve been sitting on my airbed in Millie’s bedroom, bags packed for hours, itching to meet him.
“Coming!” I thunder down the stairs just as the front door opens.
I round the corner and in walks my dad. He’s tired, but his face is happy.
The wrinkles in his face from all of the smiling are more prevalent, the darkness under his eyes less so.
His eyes sparkle as I leap into his arms like it had been longer than yesterday since I last saw him.
My mum has been angrier, more emotional since they announced her pregnancy, and I don’t understand it.
It doesn’t seem to matter what I do; all she’s ever doing lately is shouting at me.
It makes me sad. I miss my happy mum. The mum who would snuggle me when I was sad or sneak snacks with me when Daddy was sleeping, and I’d had a bad dream.
He lifts me up so my legs wrap around his waist, my backpack dropping to the floor.
“Quinny! I missed you!” He kisses me on the cheek, drops me to the floor and thanks Manda as he turns to walk back through the open front door.
I pick my bag back up and swing it over my shoulder. “Are you ready to meet the baby?”
“Yes, Daddy, I’m so excited!” We live next door, so I happily skip alongside him, my small hand clasped in his. I’m oblivious to the change in dynamics that comes with a new baby. Millie is an only child, so there haven’t been any other babies until this one.
“Does he have a name yet, Daddy?”
“Yes, Pumpkin. His name is Eric. He was born at 02.35 am and was eighteen inches long. He’s a few weeks early, so we have to be extra careful with him because he’s so tiny.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“That’s my girl.” His praise makes me happy inside. All I want is to make my mummy and daddy happy and be the happiest family.
We walk up our path, and Daddy puts his key in and unlocks the door.
“Ssshhhh, Pumpkin, Eric might be sleeping.” I tiptoe in next to my dad, following him into the front room.
My mum is lying on the sofa with a bundle of blankets on her chest. As I creep closer, I realise that snuggled inside is baby Eric.
For a moment, my heart hurts in case she won’t snuggle me like that anymore, but as soon as his little face moves and he makes these little sounds, my heart melts.
“Wow.” I clap, bouncing up and down, unable to help the excitement that comes out when I talk.
“Quinn! Be quiet!” My mum scolds me. Maybe I was louder than I thought, but I promise I tried to be quiet.
“Sorry, Mummy. He’s just so cute. Can I hold him? Can I? Can I?” I bounce up and down on my tiptoes, with my best pleading look on my face.
“No, Quinn. You can’t. He’s too small.” She wraps him up in his blanket tighter as if to keep me away from him.
“But I promise I’ll be gentle.”
“Quinn, I said no.” Her voice is firm, the usual signal that she’s about to turn on me, so I back away. It’s crazy how aware of your surroundings you can be at the age of four, but you learn fast with a mother like mine that things can change on a whim.
“Andy, I’m sure a little hold—”
“Kirk, did I stutter?”
“No, love. She’s just excited to meet her baby brother, is all.”
“I don’t care what she is. I’m his mother, and I decide what’s allowed.”
“And I’m his father.” He places his hands on his hips and straightens his back.
“That’s debatable,” she mutters under her breath, but not low enough for my father not to hear.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My father’s face looks surprised. Like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
She sighs. “Nothing, Kirk.” She sighs again. “It simply means that I’ll be the one feeding and changing him, while you swan off to work, leaving me to deal with the workload of a baby and her.”
“Her? She’s your daughter, too. It takes two to make a baby, Andrea. It’s hardly swanning off to work when our homes rely on my wage.”
“Please. Don’t remind me. You wanted that one, don’t forget. Shame I couldn’t have done it on my own. It would probably have been more fun.”
Her words sting. I don’t totally understand them, but her tone tells me that it’s not nice.
“I love you, Mummy.”
“Good for you, Quinn.” Eric starts to cry, and she huffs, standing up and walking to the kitchen. “See what you’ve done? Go to your room. I need to feed Eric, and you being under my feet, making a mess, will just add to my stress.”
“Andrea, that’s not—”
“If you don’t like it, Kirk, feel free to go with her.
We don’t need either of you.” Tears burn my eyes, threatening to spill over as my lips wobble.
I was so excited to meet baby Eric, but my mum seems mad at me, and I don’t know what I did wrong.
Dad takes me by the hand and leads me up the stairs.
“Doesn’t Mummy want me now she has Eric?”
“No, Pumpkin. It’s not like that. She’s just feeling a bit all over the place after having the baby.
She’s in a bubble and focused on Eric, that’s all.
You know how you can get when you’re tired and how you feel happy, sad and mad all at one time?
” I nod. “Once they settle in, things will go back to normal. You’ll see.
Go and get your pyjamas on and get ready for bed.
I’ll go and make you something to eat, and we can watch a movie as a celebration.
I’ll even let you stay up past your bedtime. ”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“Good girl. I promise, things will be okay once everyone is a bit more settled.”
A sob escapes me, and he bends down, scoops me in his arms and gives me a big squeeze.
“You’ll always have me, Pumpkin. Don’t you worry.” He leaves the room, and I go to my drawers to pick out my pyjamas.
Mummy hates you. Daddy hates you. You’re not the baby anymore.
I spin around my room to see where the voice is coming from. I thought it was my mother. It sounded just like her.
That’s right. No one wants you anymore. You won’t be his pumpkin for much longer, Quinny.
My heart feels loud. I can hear it in my ears. The voice gets deeper, louder, more monotone, and I realise it isn’t her. “Who is that?”
We’ll show you what it truly feels like to feel loved. Don’t worry, Quinny. You don’t need your mummy and daddy anymore. We’ll look after you.
I snap from the memory. My mouth is dry from the excess talking to recall my memories. I reach for my glass of electrolytes next to me. Ice cold as always.
“I wish I had known then what I know now. My heart would have shattered, but it would have saved me so much hurt and heartache in the long run, because as I got older, the only thing I was sure of was that my dad was a very good liar and my mother was evil.”