Chapter 32
Depression is a funny thing isn’t it? How can I be smiling and laughing with someone, yet no more than a few hours ago I attempted to take my own life. To rid myself of this earth.
Dean brings a lightness to my life that I’ve never felt before, like I can freely be myself around him even if I am a bit battered and broken.
He chooses to hold all the shattered pieces together and I’m more than willing to let him.
He never once left my bedside at the hospital even when I told him to go home and rest, to check on Lyla, to have something to eat.
He just told me that he would be fine and I was what mattered the most, and that made my broken heart beat a little louder than usual.
I never even bothered to correct him when he introduced himself as my boyfriend to the nurse, maybe I was starting to like the sound of it but I know deep down that it would be too soon for things of that nature.
My wounds, physically and mentally are still very much broken wide open and raw and Dean doesn’t deserve that version of me.
After a few hours of genuine conversation between me and Dean a doctor finally arrived to assess my wounds, along with a mental health professional.
I hear footsteps tapping along the shiny hard floor of the hospital, coming closer to where I’m sitting in the bed, the blue curtain swinging open, the sound of the metal rail makes me lift my head to look up from my hands that are twisted together to keep me from fidgeting.
A tall doctor enters the space, wavy salt and pepper hair swoops back off of his face to reveal his strong features and a blonde haired woman with heavy black framed glasses stands behind him.
Her skin is beautiful, a warm olive tone that compliments her vibrant green eyes.
Her hair is pulled back into a perfect bun.
Quickly, I look away and down at my own appearance.
My hair is a mess and tangled, the black waves falling haphazardly.
My jeans are stained with patches of dark, dried blood, and the Metallica t-shirt is crumbled, the sleeves rolled up, the white bandages wrapped around my arm on show.
A stab of shame hits me right in the centre of my chest and I begin to pick at the sensitive skin around my fingernails until they become sore and red.
I feel the moment Dean’s warm hand wraps around mine again, instantly putting an end to the torture I’m bringing onto my skin.
Tears began to well in my eyes again, and I grip my bottom lip into my mouth to stop it from trembling.
“Hey.” Dean’s gentle tone washes over me, wrapping around me like a soft blanket. “You’re okay.” He reassures me like always and I nod my head face the doctor again.
“Hi, Ana. My name is Doctor Morgan and this is Doctor Phillips.” He turns to gesture towards the blonde woman before speaking to me again.
“And I assume that I’m okay to speak in front of your boyfriend?
” Doctor Morgan leaves the question hanging in the air and I take a quick look at Dean to make sure he’s comfortable with this.
He simply nods and gives me a warm smile.
“Yes, sorry, this is Dean. My.. boyfriend.” I stutter out and both doctors outstretch their hands towards Dean. He gives them both a firm handshake before retrieving my hands in his again.
“Perfect. So, I’m simply here to check over your wounds again just to make sure everything is okay, that there’s no infections beginning to start and possibly close the larger wound on your forearm.
Once I’ve done that I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Doctor Phillips.
Does that sound alright with you?” He pulls a pair of white latex gloves from his white coat, slipping his hands inside. I shift uncomfortably in bed.
“Yes. That’s.. That’s fine, thank you.” I murmur.
Doctor Morgan closes the distance between us and stands at the opposite side of the bed.
He places his hand, palm up, in front of him and I place my arm into his open hand, and gently begins to unwrap the white gauze that the nurse wrapped around it before and I immediately snap my head away, refusing to look at my mistakes.
Dean squeezes my hand in between his firm grip, his deep green eyes connecting with mine.
I use him as my life raft, gripping onto him to keep me from drowning.
I feel the bandage fall away and a cold sensation dances over my skin as Doctor Morgan begins to clean my arm, the strong smell of antiseptic wafts into my nose.
“Alright, I’ve given the wounds a good clean and there doesn’t seem to be any signs of infection which is a positive.
” His firm but gentle voice carries around the small room and I simply nod, keeping my focus on Dean.
“I understand that you’re not wanting to look so I’ll happily explain everything that I’m doing.
” Dean thanks the doctor on my behalf and I simply listen, taking in every piece of information he’s telling me, from the antiseptic cream he uses on the older wounds to the steri-strips he places over the larger gash to close the broken skin together.
He then rewraps my arm in a fresh gauze before pulling the sleeve of my top back over my arm, giving it a small tap to signal that he’s done.
“All done mama.” Dean whispers to me.
I break the connection and turn to face Doctor Morgan who’s pulling his gloves off and throwing them into the yellow waste bin.
“You did really well there, Ana. I can only imagine how difficult that was for you.” The fine lines crease near his eyes as he smiles at me, feeling a sense of reassurance from him.
“I’m going to hand you over to Doctor Phillips now and she’s going to run through some questions with you, alright?
If there’s anything you need, please let me know.
” He begins to walk past Doctor Phillips as she takes his previous place at the side of the bed.
“Thank you, Doctor Morgan.” I say appreciatively, he gives me a bright smile and ducks behind the curtain.
Doctor Phillips pulls up another chair at the side of the bed and crosses her skirt-clad leg over the other, placing a black clipboard on her knee.
Nerves begin to build in my stomach, like a swarm of bees frantically trying to find a way to escape.
A sour taste coats my throat as I imagine the sort of questions she’s going to ask me.
What if she tries to put me away somewhere, away from here, away from Dean.
I’m not crazy, I’m a victim. A victim of domestic violence, a victim of sexual assault and a victim of rape.
I’m not crazy.
Dean senses my internal panic and squeezes my hand again.
“Everything’s okay Ana, I promise. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.
” He says firmly and I nod my head shakily, believing his every word.
From what I’ve seen so far from Dean I know full well he’s not going to let me out of his sight from now on.
Doctor Phillips clicks her pen and I turn to face her. Her warm green eyes show no sign of malice.
“As Doctor Morgan said I’m Doctor Phillips, it’s lovely to meet you.
I’m part of the mental health department and my job is to basically get you the help you need, now that doesn’t mean pumping you full of drugs or sending you off to sit in a padded room.
It means that I’m here to listen and guide you down the right paths.
” She begins to jot a few things down that I can’t see on the clipboard, the pen scraping across the paper.
“So, if you can and only if you can. I’d like you to take your time and explain how we got to this stage.
If that’s okay with you?” She looks between me and Dean, panic rising up inside my body.
Just the thought of reliving everything that I’ve been through is enough to send me running for the hills, away from everyone but I know I need to do this.
I can’t carry this heavy weight on my shoulders any more, the pain is too much and I can feel myself being pushed further and further down until there’s nothing left of me.
I try to swallow the thick lump that’s stuck in my throat and spill my guts in front of Doctor Phillips and. . Dean.
I empty myself right there and relive the pain and torture that Ricky brought onto me.
My mind sends me reeling, right back into the past of when I first met Ricky, right up to the day I finally left him and everything in between.
The first time I started to have doubts about his behaviour, to the very first time he put his vile hands on me.
It all comes spilling out like black poison, sticky and thick, coating everything in its wake and I can’t stop.
It’s like a word vomit that’s never ending.
Doctor Phillips’ pen flies across the paper as she writes at rapid speed, everything that I’m saying.
My face is wet with hot tears that fall like a never ending waterfall, dampening my shirt.
The more I speak the more I feel Dean’s inner rage building.
His breathing is thick and heavy as I pull him through this never ending nightmare.
Practically dragging him through the war zone, and I dread to think of the image he now has of me.
The horrors I’ve endured and how tainted my skin is.
That I’m no longer worthy.
Damaged goods.
I cut myself open and bleed myself dry in front of these people until there is nothing left. Until the room falls into a heavy silence. My cries are the only sound. Dean’s broken voice cuts through the thick silence, the sound cutting me open all over again.