Page 54 of One
My brain is scrambled. In a short period of time, I’ve gone from disbelief to horror to relief to heartbreak to fear. I'm struggling to wrap my head around things that don’t make sense. Or make too much sense.
“You were supposed to come with us, to the group home, since you had no living family. But after a thorough examination, I found out that therapy alone would help you. And you looked like you felt safe with Sheriff Caldwell. You trusted him, probably because he found you on that road. Not with me or Linda. Only with him. Moreover, you didn’t seem to have the same trauma as the others.”
“Trauma? Was Raph okay?” Of all the stupid questions I could ask.
She sighs. “You really care about him.”
“My head is in mayhem right now, but the only sure thing is that… Fuck! It’s… I-I love him.” My voice trembles at the end, but it’s the first time I’ve acknowledged the feeling.
“You know that he cannot love you back. Not the way people usually do,” Meg tells me, using a very gentle tone.
“I know that.” Tears well in my eyes, but I stop them. “He gives me what I need.”
“He does?” She sounds curious.
I think about the passionate, claiming sex. All the time he spent taking care of me. His possessiveness. The jealousy, the attentiveness. The over-the-top protectiveness. And I find myself nodding. He trusted me with his dark past. Although now I know it’s because I’ve been part of it.
Then her words from before suddenly hit me again. “Therapy? I never went to therapy. Did I? Why can’t I remember anything?” I force my mind to go back, but the first memory I have of my childhood is the day we moved to California when I was eleven.
“It’s called dissociation. Sometimes your brain chooses to put up a wall to protect yourself from reliving painful experiences. It’s a defense mechanism.”
I stare at the picture of me again.
“Will I ever remember?” A part of me hates not knowing what happened. While another part is thankful for the elusive memories; I don’t know how I’d react to them.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have an answer to that.”
My brain is in panic mode at the moment. Too much information. Shock. Doubts. Blood pumping.
Covered in blood.
“Why was I covered in blood when I was found?” I ask her, flicking through the file pages.
“You killed the man that was supposed to get rid of you in that forest.” My heart stops. “It was self-defense and, thanks to you, Linda’s team found the other kids and saved them,” she adds quickly but calmly.
What the fuck! I killed someone? My heart is beating again, but at this rate it’s going to fucking explode out of my chest.
Images of the weird dream I had a couple of nights ago come back. A poorly lit road. Me, lying alone on the dirty backseat of a car. My head and chest hurting. There’s a partition between the front seats and the back. The radio is playing an old melancholic song. A man is driving me away. He’s a bad man and I’m afraid. I can see the creepy, black forest from the car window.
“I’m having weird dreams lately,” I tell her. I killed a man.
She leans toward me. “What kind of dreams?”
“I-I think they’re flashes from my past. I’m always a kid in them. But they don’t make sense. They’re a jumble of broken images.” I killed a man… who wanted to kill me. Holy shit.
“When did they start?”
“A couple of months ago. But they’ve been happening more often.” I set the empty glass on the small table. I killed a man in self-defense.
“They might be memories triggered by seeing me or Raphael again,” Meg explains.
“Again?” I ask uneasily.
“You were kept together in the same room for a while, before they took you away,” she tells me.
The shiny green eyes I often see in my dreams, the ones that comfort me, give me strength, and make me smile. They… they are Raph’s. Holy, holy shit!
“Michael, I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot to take in, but it was time.”
