CHAPTER 4
Maricopia County Mental Health Institute - 2006
One thousand twenty-four, one thousand twenty-five, one thousand twenty-six...
“Swan!”
Lunch was here. I took my tray and sat on my bed. On the menu today was a tuna sandwich, broccoli, and jello pudding. Tuna was always on Mondays...so today was Monday. That’s about all I knew. I couldn’t remember anything today. They must have increased the dosage of my medication. Today I had to look at my wrist band to even remember my own name, and even then it didn’t seem familiar. The “Swan” part seemed familiar, but that’s because that is what they call me here. Isabella meant nothing to me.
Today, all I know, is that I like to count because it helps me keep time. I took a bite of my tuna sandwich and wondered why I was here. I didn’t know any other place I should be, though. I did know that I got some crayons and paper and that was something new. I was going to explore with them after I ate.
The broccoli still seemed frozen today. It was really hard and cold. The jello was good though. It tasted like it actually had sugar in it instead of that artificial crap. It was watermelon flavor, my favorite!
I ate all my food and slid my tray through the little hole in the door and then I grabbed my crayons and paper. It was so exciting to feel like I actually owned something. The only physical thing in this room that I could move was my toothbrush, and it was made of rubber.
I quickly discovered that I liked to color. My hand moved of its own accord. I didn’t really have any conscious knowledge of the picture I was drawing, it just seemed like it drew itself. It wasn’t pretty. I don’t know why I drew it.
I drew a stick figure, a woman, with a big knife in her heart. There was blood everywhere. Her heart was bleeding. The woman seemed familiar, but today I couldn’t remember who she was. But, whoever it was, deserved the knife in her heart. That much I knew for sure. Maybe the woman was me. It certainly felt like I had a knife in my heart most days. I can’t remember why today, but it seems like I remember my heart hurting a lot. I felt like I was always on the brink of remembering something huge, something life changing, but I can never quite grasp it.
After I drew about ten disturbing pictures, all including the same stick woman, I took a nap. There wasn’t much else to do around here except for sleep. I have strange dreams when I take my medication. I had a dream about that pretty guy again. I know that I am supposed to know him, but I cannot remember him today. In my dream he was laughing and happy, and so was I. I cannot describe the feelings that erupt in me when I see that guy smiling in my dreams. He’s so beautiful. I feel safe and warm around him. If it wasn’t for wanting to know who he was and if those were really dreams or if they were actually memories, I’d probably never stop taking my medication. I didn’t want to remember the hurt I felt with respect to my father, but I desperately wanted to remember the happiness I felt with the copper haired man of my dreams.
I didn’t take my medication for the following two nights. I wanted to remember him. Edward. I remembered his name. Unfortunately, that was about all I remembered. That night I dreamt something terrible. I mean, I’ve dreamt of things much worse, but for some reason this dream stuck with me and it made my heart ache. It made my heart feel like it weighed a hundred pounds on its own. It was so heavy, so difficult to carry the weight around with me. It was hard to breath. What if the dream was true? The look on his face. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he gave up, when he concluded that I was never coming back.
I’m there, in the room with him, but he doesn’t see me. He doesn’t know I’m there. I’m hovering. Watching. Invisible. He looks lost and desperate and horribly depressed. He’s in my flat. He came through the door and sighed. He looked around aimlessly before closing the door behind him. He watered my little potted plant near the window. He swept the hardwood floors. He opened the curtains to let the morning sun in. He laid down on my unmade bed. He caressed the sheets and closed his eyes as he inhaled a deep breath. “Bella,” he whispered my name, “I miss you.” He tossed and turned on my bed, eyes closing and opening, memories flooding his mind, the pain evident on his face.
Day turned to night. He stayed. Night turned day. More watering, sweeping, cleaning, caring, smelling, tossing and turning. Day turned night. Nightmares. He had nightmares. Night turned to day. More watering, sweeping, cleaning, caring, smelling, tossing and turning. Day turned to night. Night turned to day. Day turned to night. Night turned to day.
Emmett arrived. “Edward, you have to quit to this. You have to get out of here. She’s not coming back.”
Edward didn’t want to believe him. He continued with his routine.
Emmett pulled the broom from Edward’s hands. “Dude! Quit! You can’t continue on like this. We’re leaving. She’s not here. She’s not coming back.” Emmett put his hand on Edward’s shoulder apologetically. “You only knew her six months man, maybe she wasn’t who you thought she was...”
I screamed from my invisible silent location. Nothing audible left my lips. I couldn’t hear myself. They couldn’t hear me. I wanted to scream that I was there, that I wanted to come back, that I was who he thought I was. They couldn’t hear me.
Edward’s shoulders fell. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” His eyes looked down, and then around the room. He looked deflated. Hurt. Done. They both turned and left. The door slammed.
It slammed so loud it woke me from my sleep. I replayed the dream in my mind over and over that day. I hated it. I think Edward was real. I think he loved me. I think I left London and never returned, without a word. I think I broke his heart. He’s never going to come find me.
I cried the remainder of the day. I felt helpless and trapped. I tried to only focus on Edward so I wouldn’t think about my dad. I decided then that I needed to do something to help myself. I couldn’t wait for someone to rescue me. That night, I started writing things down that I remembered, whether I thought they were real or not. I just needed something to look back to when I was confused. I needed to start putting pieces together.
I used my crayons and paper to keep up with my memories or imagination, however you wanted to look at it. I kept the log inside my pillow case. At least I’d have something to refer to, something concrete when I knew my mind was in the right place.
***Author’s Note:
Sorry for the delay in getting this posted...I have a new fur baby and he’s keeping me awfully busy! Thanks for reading and reviewing....the next several chapters take place in London, this is the last we see of Bella for a little while.
Twitter: @ AllOrNothingKR
Facebook: AllOrNothingKR @ gmail(dot) com
***CHAPTER 5 - CLICK HERE***
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