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The Story of Kerri (P2)
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Until that point I'd been quite lost in my train of thought, then suddenly Elle's voice interrupted and surprised me. "Don't worry Kerri, it doesn't matter. Come on, we'll go watch TV 'til our ten o'clock session. Ok?"
My gaze flicked to hers for a split second; it then swept down the corridor, disguising the fact that I was unable to meet and keep eye contact with her. "Sure, what's on?"
When I said this Elle took my arm, hooked it through her own, and led me down the corridor. She headed off in the opposite direction to that which I was looking. In doing so I was forced to turn my head to the way we were walking, not that I minded this as I was only looking thus to keep from having to look her in the eye. She still hadn't noticed the way I shied from her kind glances, for this I was glad. She seemed happy with my earlier reply and grinned at my agreement to do something as 'normal' as watching TV.
That was how we spent our time up until our morning session; sitting on the faded, sage green cushions of the settee in the TV room. We watched the insipid children's' programmes that, more often than not, frequented Saturday morning viewing.
Such programmes hold no interest for me; I find them meaningless after all has happened in my world. I have very strong opinions of many important matters, I believe that I have the right to. I have the emotional maturity to decide that I don't what to live in this wretched world, it is only the morals of others that say that people who are suicidal should be committed, calling them crazy. But we are perhaps thinking the most clearly of all the people in the world, we see the flaws in general existence and we try to escape. Not that escape is the right word, as some believe we are reborn into the same world. We have to believe that there is nothing after death, maybe that's the way to survive life: the knowledge that there won't be another.
I have a lot of triggers, most of my trains of thought lead me to some kind of cognitive twitch. And as that has just demonstrated, even kids' TV can set me off.
Lost in these thoughts, I hadn’t been paying as much attention to the shows as you might think; when I manage to shake off the feelings that they inadvertently had given seed to, they had just about ended.
As the credits began to roll across the screen, Elle got up and went to stand in front of me. The shadow that she cast over me worked as if she had clicked her fingers right before my eyes; I snapped out of my cationic state to look up at her. She wore a rather puzzled countenance, it took me a while to think why: I must have been staring straight in front of me for the past half an hour or so, it must have looked as if I were gazing right past the TV- or even over it completely.
Her brow was creased as she spoke to me, "Kerri, come on we're going to be late if we don't get a move on."
Sitting in that damn circle seemed like an eternity to me, I barely heard what Dr. Beach, Elle, or any of the other girls were saying. It should have been my turn at the start, after Dr. Beach's piece about what she wanted us to talk about. I can’t remember what it was, but knowing the sorts of things that she had us talking about in the past, I’m sure it was very stoic and deep. I made some kind of half-hearted excuse and spent the rest of the session staring out of one of their ridiculously big windows.
None of the windows open of course, now that would be stupid. I've heard stories from years ago, about how there used to be a balcony. I guess they thought it would be nice for the residents to sit out there, to get plenty of sun (the same purpose as the windows). But there isn't one now; I've heard that someone jumped from there.
I know it didn't, but it seemed to take ages, I watched the leaves fall off the oak tree outside the window, then I watched the window cleaner working on the conservatory.
There must be a reason why 45 minutes seems like ten hours when you're waiting, I just needed to get through the session. The second hand of the clock, whose sound mocked me with its slowness, moved so slowly in its circulation of the face of the wall clock; never before did time move at that sort of snail's pace.
I had started to sink into my own mind; I couldn't even hear what the other participants were saying, one of them might have been crying for all I knew. My mind is a terrifying thing, one of the doctors told me that after my first session with them. That was also my last session with them, then I was moved here to be a resident.
My mind was in complete disarray at that moment; had been since my earlier encounter with Ashlyn. I'm finding it hard to keep my thoughts on any particular path, they all seem to come back to the same thing: that, on one hand, I couldn’t wait to see Ash; while on the other I was dreading it.
What would I say to her? What had it all meant? Was our tryst no more than an ill-fated accident? If the answer to the latter was yes I'm not sure what I would do; if no I'm not sure how I would cope with that magnitude of happiness. To keep it contained inside me, I think, I'd find impossible.
I had suddenly had enough of that room, and being with the people inside of it. My head was heavy with the muddle of thoughts, swimming around inside of it. I bolted out of my chair, heading straight out of the door; I'm sure that if I had look back I would have found Elle, always aware of my state of being, standing; having got up within the split second that I had. I'm afraid to say that this meant nothing to me in my current disposition, it would have not slowed my pace even if she had dropped to her knees and screamed after me; I'm almost sure that she didn't, almost. As I was at that moment, I really wouldn't have noticed.
After what seemed like the longest period of time in my life, sitting in Ashlyn's room waiting for her return, I was really starting to wonder where she was. She should have gone from her first session straight to another, then come back to her room to change her clothes before lunch: She has an OCD, one of her 'tics'- as she tends to call them- is that she is constantly having to completely change what she's wearing.
Every piece of clothing that she owns has to be worn with certain others; outfits cannot be mixed; her outfits must be changed three times a day that includes underwear. When she's having a good day she jokes that her mum sent her here because the fees where less than what she was spending on washing powder. In truth, she was committed when her mum found that she was cutting.
They think she cuts because of her OCD, which is a plausible theory, but it's incorrect: her cutting is part of her OCD, part of her routine. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? She told me that she cut long before the symptoms of her OCD were diagnosed.
Thirty minutes after the time I was expecting her to turn up, I decided to go and see if anyone had seen her. The first place I looked was in the TV room, where I knew some of the people from her last session would be waiting to go for lunch.
As I've said before, I haven't been here long; only a month or so, I haven't kept count. Some of the girls here have been residents for over a year, they know each other and what they're like.
I'm afraid to say that I didn't know any of the ones sitting 'round the TV at that point; there were, of course, some that I did recognise from the various sessions that I've been doing. I went up to one of the girls, who happened to be sitting in the place that I had been occupying before my earlier session, I think she was called Rose; I asked her if she had seen Ash.
If hindsight was available to me I would have found this to be my downfall and I should have known not to trust what she told me when she said that there had been an accident. If I had been thinking clearly I would have seen how flawed her words were: there would have been no time for something to have happened, plus there would have been staff running about everywhere if her words had been true.
I didn't see this. My emotions blinded me to any logic, which I later found .
While she was talking I really couldn't concentrate on what she was saying; my knees gave out, and I'm sure that my face drained of all colour. I couldn't believe what I was hearing: I couldn't lose Ash, she was my reason for being (my raison d'etre as I have heard said).
The contemplation that I have had, in the past, enter my mind; that had to be pondered on, became a very sudden truth: What would I do if I could never see her again?
Whenever I had thought of it before, only one answer had ever been the outcome. Love conquers all.
I would have to die too.
The intricacies of my plan had never been worked out, my first reaction had to be my only one.
This plan brought me out onto the roof of the main building, the door to which I had discovered was nearly always unlocked; the caretaker was one of the most incompetent man that it was possible for them to employ. I’m sure he was fired later.
My route onto the roof had taken me into my room, where I had left a note saying that I couldn’t go onto living without Ash; explaining what Rose had told me. I also said sorry to Elle in the letter; about the way I had sometimes seemed to ignore her when she was only trying to help me.
I know things haven’t been easy for her, being an MBP survivor, and I do understand why she has such a need to mother people; after what her own mum did to her, she takes it upon herself to show that she won't become like that.
Once this note had been written, I found myself, more or less hysterical at this point, walking over to the edge of the roof. The main building is about four stories at its highest summit, this was the one I now approached. Having reached the edge of the drop, I crouched with my hands on the roof.
One of the worst things to do at this point would have been to stand up, this would have caused unnecessary exposure; if I was seen at that point it would compromise the plan that my grief stricken mind had concocted.
For how long I crouched there I don’t know, tears chilled my sodden cheeks as the wind whipped around me. The thoughts which swirled around my mind were solely of Ash: The sound of her voice; her visage; the way her hair had smelt earlier when her face was buried in my neck, her lips almost touching my skin, the intimate feel of her hand on mine; the clandestine glances I had seen her send my way; and the unconditional love I felt for her. I still do feel for her, now and forever.
The sorrow of losing the one person for whom you care most about in the world, is to feel like your heart has been ripped from you.
That’s how I felt when something inside me snapped, I threw myself from the building into the arms of the surrounding air, which offered no soft grace to break my fall but rather encased me in my descent to the hard, tarmac ground sixty feet below. The encasement of the air then subsided to become the encasement of darkness.
The first thing to break through the darkness was sound; I could hear the very slow beep of a heart monitor, and also the sound of someone crying; the next thing was partial feeling, only in one hand and above my neck, but it was there. I could feel a hand holding mine, being careful not to disturb the needle which had been inserted into the back of my own. I gave this hand a very small squeeze, just enough for the recipient to have felt it. This person, who had been crying up to this point- great wracking sobs taking over their body, gave a cry; from this I was able to tell who it was.
With the feeling in my head and also come the ability to open my eyes, in doing so I confirmed my suspicion- which had only been hopeful and could have just been wishful thinking, the person sitting by my bed side, holding my hand so carefully: was Ash.
She was there and she was all right.
As I regarded her, I saw her eyes become very wide though tears still streamed from them. She reached for the button by the bed, pressing it to call the nurse.
I remember her saying my name before I passed out again.
The next time I woke up, which must have been later the same day, Ash was still there; she was still crying, her eyes were red and puffy and her voice was more horse; she was still there, still holding my hand.
There was also a doctor present, he stood at the foot of the bed looking at my notes. There is always a sort of condescending air that doctors apply when talking to someone like me, like we’re stupid. They belittle us to the most definitive degree. They see us as a waste of their time. Although they should be used to it at the local hospital, it’s where they always bring the girls from the institute when the infirmary isn’t equipped.
Most of the doctors I’ve seen have put on pleasantries when actually in my vacinity; but when they go behind the glass, when you can see them through the vertical blinds, then they talk about you in terms of time management; bed space; and the electricity it takes to run their crappy monitors.
They don’t take into consideration whether or not you want them to help you, to save you. They do their job, they don’t want to get involve with your views on human rights.
It is as if we are passing along a conveyor belt through a hospital machine, of which the doctors are the cogs.
Turning to Ash, who sat on my right, I tried to smile; seeing this she chokingly returned my expression, though hers was far more layered in emotional pain than my own.
“Ash?” It came out in the most quiet of whispers, hurting my throat where there must have been some kind of tube, placed there earlier either by the paramedics or by doctors on my arrival at the hospital.
“I’m here Kerri.” Her voice began to crack while she said this short phrase.
“I thought you were. Dead.” I paused, while thinking back to the horrific conversation I had held with Rose. “She told me you were gone. I’d kill her if I had the chance.”
The irony isn’t lost: She has killed me. Any thought of revenge must be dismissed, there is no chance of exacting it myself.
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Continued in P3
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