Pushing. “I … can’t.” I tasted a tear on my lip. Something I hadn’t been sure would ever drip again because I didn’t think I could possibly have any left. I tasted another, remembering that, for a long time, they had been the only things I had to drink. “I c-can’t.” I crawled onto my side, tucking my legs to my chest and reaching for her.
My doll.
But she wasn’t there.
Another pillow was instead.
But I had known the doll. I had known what to expect from her. What I needed from her in that prison and what she was able to give me.
The pillow was a stranger.
I still pulled it against my chest, burying my face in what would have been the doll’s hair.
Silence passed through the room as I tried to breathe, pushing thoughts of Gran far out of my head to a place where I would visit them again—maybe tomorrow or in a week or when I could process time in increments that were longer than a second.
“We don’t have to talk about this now,” Ashe said, and my eyes opened to the sound of his voice. “But you do have lots of options. We can find a small place for you to rent or an inpatient program or you can stay with me.” He paused. “My place isn’t huge, but you can have the bed, and I’ll crash on the couch.”
The pillow was turning wetter. “I don’t know …” It smelled clean. Sterile. Not like any of the prison’s scents. “I don’t know anything.”
There was pressure on my shoulder. It took me a moment to realize it was his hand.
“You’re not supposed to. It’s going to take time, but you’ll get there.”
“Where?” I said softly. “To a place that’s … normal?”
Normal.
My eyes closed again as I swallowed that word, feeling it swirl around my chest like water going down a drain. I couldn’t remember what that felt like. I hadn’t even seen glimpses. The girl I’d been in college, the one heading to New York to act, the one who wrapped her arms around Gran for comfort and love—she was long gone.
This was who I was now, jumping at loud noises, choking over my own voice, not being able to take in more than a few sips of water.
It was as though I were made of glass that was so thin that even a tiny breeze could chip me.
Normal wasn’t just far.
It was impossible.
“No, Pearl,” he said, pulling me from my thoughts, “to a place that’s perfect for you.”
“My name is Marlene,” a woman said as she stepped into my room.
Ashe had already told me she was coming, so her presence wasn’t a surprise. Her frizzy, curly hair was like a halo around her head, and she took a seat on the other side of my bed, her chair a good distance away.
“I’m a therapist, specializing in sexual assault.” A category she was telling me I now fit under, causing me to process this new characteristic of mine. “I’ll be working with you today as well as outside the hospital when you continue outpatient therapy.”
Ashe’s fingers squeezed to get my attention. “I’m going to leave for an hour while the two of you talk. Are you okay with that?”
Every time I woke, no matter what time it was, he was there. Sometimes on his phone, sometimes looking at me. Sometimes asleep. He hadn’t left, not even once.
“Yes,” I answered.
He gave my fingers a little pulse. “I’m just going to the cafeteria to make some calls and grab something to eat. I’ll be back once you’re done.”
I nodded, watching him rise from his chair and move through the door.
“Pearl …” the therapist said.
My stare eventually found hers, the brown a color that was oddly soothing.
“You seem comfortable with having him here.”
The light from the window made me squint. I rested my arm across my forehead to shield some of it, immediately feeling guilty for denying myself the rays.
When my arm went back to the bed, I scrunched my lids again.
I didn’t want that.
But I didn’t want to be blinded by the sun either.
I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted.
“I …”
She slowly rose from her chair and went over to the blinds. “I’m just going to close them a tad—I can tell you’re struggling with the glare.” Once they were turned enough, my eyes getting a break from the beating, she returned to her seat. “The light is going to take some getting used to.”
I cleared my throat. “Everything