Chapter 24: Twenty Two - Empty

Empty

Parish:

Parish silently hoped that Darren wouldn’t notice how he kept periodically shooting glances at the foot of his bed.

He was aware of how much trouble they could both get into if anyone found out that they could communicate with each other, but he couldn’t help it. He knew without utmost certainty that October could hear everything that he and Darren were discussing. It unnerved him.

He and October had never really been that close – he got on her nerves, she got on his. The only times they hadn’t just stared at each other and walked away were when he’d caught her self-harming and now, in solitary confinement; and even then they’d been snappy with each other. Basically, the only times they could be even remotely civil towards each other were when one – or both- of them was in trouble.

Their current tolerance for each other notwithstanding, Parish still didn’t want October to hear any part of his session with Darren. These were personal thoughts and feelings that he hadn’t even discovered until the good doctor had begun to purge them out of some deep dark corner of his soul. How was he supposed to feel comfortable about her being able to hear them all now?

“Parish?” The boy was pulled out of his own muddled thought when the doctor waved his hands in front of his face. “Did you hear me?”

“Err, no.” Parish shook his head. “What did you say?”

“I asked you to continue your story from where we left off.” He explained, and Parish noticed the curious way the doctor was looking at him.

“Oh.” Parish nodded, mentally cringing. This was definitely a story he didn’t want the girl to hear. “Where was I?”

“The morning after your father’s outburst.” He answered, nodding his head for Parish to continue.

“Right. Well, I woke up late the next day and—”

“Had you taken the pills?” Darren interrupted. “You didn’t mention.”

“No.” Parish shook his head. “For some reason, I decided against taking them. I listened to music to fall asleep that night.”

“Good. Continue.”

“It took a long time for me to fall asleep that night. Even two floors above them, I could still hear my parents fighting. A large part of me wanted to go down and stop them somehow; to yell or try to reason with them – but I didn’t. I just locked myself in my room, plugged me ear buds in and closed my eyes, praying that I’d fall asleep soon. When I woke up the next morning, I didn’t even remember what had happened until after I’d showered and dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

“I could tell something was wrong the instant I stepped into the kitchen. On a normal day, the windows would be open and there would be a pitcher of juice sitting on the table, and the smell of cinnamon or vanilla would be wafting in the air. That day, he only thing I could smell was whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” Darren repeated with a confused look.

Parish merely nodded. “I found my father sitting on the kitchen floor, propped up against the island, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes were red and swollen, and the floor was covered in glass and liquid. I never learned the story, but from what I could tell, he’d polished off most of the liquor and had gotten so drunk that he’d accidentally knocked over the bottle.”

Parish could feel his hands start to shake as he recalled the memory. It was something he’d forced himself to forget; a memory he’d locked up in a little box in his head and thrown away the key to. Opening that box now, was bringing out pain and anger that he’d convinced himself he didn’t feel anymore. It was clenching his gut, twisting his heart and clouding his mind – it was hurting him and he wanted it to stop.

Forcing himself to get a grip, he continued. “When I tried to get him to talk, he didn’t respond. So I hauled him up onto one of the kitchen chairs and yelled for my mother. When she didn’t come down or call back, I figured that she was still sleeping; so I decided to clean the glass and stuff up before going upstairs to wake her. After I finished I was about to run upstairs when I saw a piece of wet, crumpled up paper clenched in my father’s fist. I pried it out of his hands and opened it up and...”

He trailed off, unable to continue. The words had died on his lips.

It was as if he had travelled back in time and was reliving the moment. He could practically feel the soggy paper in his hands as his eyes took in the five words that had single-handedly sent him spiralling.

“Parish...” Darren’s gentle voice pulled him out of his thoughts again. “What did the paper say?”

Parish swallowed thickly. “It said, ‘Tell Parish I love him.’”

Upon saying the words out loud, Parish suddenly felt as if someone had reached inside him and pulled an anvil out of his chest. It felt like those words, the ones he’d never repeated to anyone before, had carried with him – weighing him down and suffocating him.

A single tear slipped down Parish’s cheek and he wiped it away hastily. Saying the words out loud hadn’t made him feel better. In fact, he felt the exact opposite. Instead of feeling suffocated like he had been earlier, he suddenly felt... empty. As if telling someone about his mother’s goodbye had ripped his soul in half; taken a chunk out of his being and tossed it into the air.

He felt hollow. And that was infinitely worse than being suffocated.

He was suddenly bombarded with images of his mother. The way she’d laughed; the way she’d held him when he was just a little boy suffering from nightmares; the way she’d held him close and promised him that they’d get through the DID together.

She’d lied.

She didn’t stick around to help him get better.

She’d taken off the moment things had taken a turn for the worst.

Just when he needed her the most, she’d deserted him. She’d left him with an abusive father who wanted nothing to do with him. And the worst part was that Parish didn’t blame his father for hating him. What had the man known, after all, about raising a mentally unstable fourteen year-old boy?

Nothing.

What had he known about dealing with a boy who was not only suffering from DID, but clinical depression as a result of his mother’s abandonment?

Nothing.

The only thing Lionel Feltman had known was how to drown his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey and try to forget the fact that his wife had left him and his troubled son to fend for themselves. She hadn’t cared that they needed her.

At first, Parish had been confused as to why Darren wanted to talk about his mother again. They had already spoken about her in their first session together and Parish had assumed that Darren had learned all he needed to know about her. Now, however, he understood. This wasn’t just about his mother and his feelings towards her. It was about his father too.

For the first time since his mother’s abandonment, Parish was able to feel something for his father besides anger and resent. He finally understood why his father had been so bitter and angry. Parish wasn’t the only one his mother had left distraught and confused – she’d left her husband too.

He felt empathy.

“My father didn’t hate me, did he?” He looked up to see Darren smiling sadly at him.

“I don’t know, Parish. Do you think he did?”

Parish shook his head. “I used to. But now... I think that he was just sad. My mother had hurt him, too. I just never realized that he was hurting until now.”

“How do you feel about your father now that you do realize?”

“I don’t know...” Parish shrugged, his head was suddenly starting to feel heavy. “I guess it’ll be easier to stop hating him. It’ll take time, but I guess I can stop. I just wish he’d been a little more open; maybe we could have dealt with this whole thing somehow, then? At least co-existed in the same house?”

“Maybe...” Darren agreed, glancing at his wrist watch. “We’ve made some good progress today, Parish. Think about what you’ve learned today, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

“Are we allowed to have sessions while we’re in here?” Parish asked, and eyebrow raised.

“I’ll have to run it by Dr. Larkson, but I don’t see why not.” He rose from the chair he’d brought into the room with him. In two quick steps, he crossed the short distance between where he’d been seated and the door, and gave it three sharp raps. “If she agrees, I’ll come meet you here tomorrow. Same time.”

There was a sharp clack as someone slid the bolt on the other side of the door open. Darren pushed the door open and handed the chair to one of the nurses on the other side with a grateful smile. “Good night, Parish. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night.” Seeing that the doctor was about to shut the door behind him, Parish spoke up. “Oh, and Darren?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Parish couldn’t miss the unmistakable look of humble happiness that flitted across Darren’s face before he answered. “You’re welcome.”

And with that, the door shut behind him, leaving Parish to straighten things out with a girl that, while he’d been tangling with his memories, he’d forgotten was listening to every single word he said.