Bury Me - Tara Sivec Page 0,34
to believe the memories that completely differed from everything I’ve been told about myself. I came out of the water a fighter, letting go of the girl they want me to be because she’s dead. She doesn’t exist and I’m not sure if she ever did. That cool lake water cleansed me of all my doubt and insecurities. It baptized me anew, and I am never going back.
“You are bad. Bad, bad, bad.”
Dr. Beall’s footsteps pound up the stairs, and my mother leaves the room without a word.
“My name is Ravenna Duskin. I’m eighteen years old, I live in a prison, and I’m a very bad girl.”
Chapter 11
“The cut on your head seems to be healing very nicely. How are you sleeping at night? How are the headaches?” Dr. Beall asks as he presses his thumbs gently under my eye and pulls the skin down to look deeper into them.
“I’m sleeping just fine and the headaches are long gone,” I tell him with a cheerful smile as he drops his hands from my face and leans back from me.
“Good, very good, Ravenna. Your father tells me you’ve been acting a little strangely the last few days. Would you like to talk about it?”
The smile drops from my face and I narrow my eyes at the older man seated on the bed next to me. My father won’t speak to me about my behavior, but he’ll run his mouth to a virtual stranger.
“I’m missing large chunks of my memory—of course I’m acting strange,” I tell him in annoyance. “My father seems to think lying to me about everything is the solution to the problem, and I think otherwise.”
“If you’re still missing pieces of your memories, how do you know your father is lying to you?” he asks calmly, crossing his legs and clasping his hands around his knee.
“I might have forgotten a few things, but that doesn’t make me an idiot. The things I have remembered are the exact opposite of everything my parents are telling me.”
He cocks his head as he studies me, a lock of his white hair falling down over his forehead. “What are they telling you that you don’t believe is true?”
I should lie, tell him I’m imagining things so he’ll leave and stop studying me like I’m a bug under a microscope. I know as soon as he walks out of my room, he’ll tell my father everything we discussed. A few days ago that knowledge would have filled me with dread, but now I no longer care. Let them talk; let my father have another reason to look at me in fear. I’m finished hiding who I am.
“Did you know me before the accident, Dr. Beall?” I ask, pulling my legs under me on the bed and sitting up tall.
“Yes, I’ve seen you on a few occasions over the years. Little things here and there like the flu, a twisted ankle and other minor problems.”
I nod my head and continue. “How would you describe me when you saw me those times?”
His face scrunches up in confusion, but he doesn’t say anything about how strange my question is.
“I guess I would say you were a normal, happy young lady. As I said, I didn’t have to come out to the prison very often. You were a normal, healthy girl so there was no need for regular check-ups.”
There’s that word again, normal. It’s pathetic that it seems to be the common word used to describe me.
“And that seems to be the problem, Doctor. The things I’ve remembered, the memories that flash through my mind and wake me up in the middle of the night, tell me I was anything but normal. They show me that I probably wasn’t the good, perfect little daughter my parents like to keep reminding me of.”
Dr. Beall sighs and uncrosses his legs, pushing himself up from my bed to pace around my room.
“The mind is a tricky thing, Ravenna. It gets even more complicated when someone has suffered a head injury as you did. I know it’s frustrating, but you can’t always believe everything you see when your mind is still in the process of healing,” he explains. “Our minds can play tricks on us. Make us see things that aren’t really there or feel things we wouldn’t normally feel. It doesn’t mean your parents are lying to you about anything or that you suddenly woke up a completely different person.”
I bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming at him. I