Resurrection

VERONICA

~“Here I am at the end, I’m in need of resurrection,”~

~Only You can take this empty shell and raise it from the dead,”~

~What I’ve lost to the world, what seems far beyond redemption,”~

~You can take the pieces in Your hand and make me whole again…”~

~– Nicol Sponberg~

***

You know that overused scene in movies where the character wakes up in a hospital? Well, that’s exactly what happened to me.

I opened my eyes to a stark white room, an IV needle stuck in my arm, and a hospital gown on my body. It didn’t take a genius to figure out I was in a hospital.

But I was alone. No crying mom or worried stepdad by my bedside, no judgmental stepbrother or potential boyfriend.

No friends, whether they were gay, pregnant, or otherwise. No concerned coworkers, no medical staff checking on me.

The room didn’t even have windows.

It looked like a room meant for mental patients, which, I guess, made sense. They saw a girl with a slit wrist and a sharp object in her hand, and they put two and two together.

They probably pegged me as some post-high school “emo” kid who listened to sad songs and wore all black, hair covering my face.

It wasn’t exactly professional, but I couldn’t blame them for being cautious.

That’s what I knew logically.

Emotionally, I was pissed.

Who did they think they were? I wasn’t crazy! I was just a girl with a few issues, but that didn’t make me a lunatic!

I let out a sarcastic laugh.

I had just referred to myself as having issues. If that’s not a sign of being crazy, I don’t know what is.

Maybe the doctors were right to put me in this room for the mentally unstable.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, the door opened and in walked a stern-looking woman in her forties.

She was dressed in a business suit, wore glasses, and looked very prim and proper. She took the chair next to my bed without asking. She didn’t seem surprised to see me awake.

I bet they had surveillance cameras to monitor my stay and make sure I wasn’t doing anything crazy, like, I don’t know, trying to cut another vein with the IV needle.

“Hello, Veronica,” the woman said, her smile as mechanical as a robot’s. “How are you doing?”

I stared at her in disbelief. I was in a hospital, after slitting my wrist, my mind a jumbled mess, and she was asking me how I was doing?

Wasn’t it obvious?

Seeing my expression, her smile faltered. “Do you remember what happened three nights ago?”

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I was out for three days?” My voice was hoarse from disuse.

She said, “It’s Sunday now.”

Great.

“I see.” Then I remembered I didn’t know this woman. “Who are you? You aren’t a doctor.”

“I’m a different kind of doctor,” she replied, her robotic smile back in place. “I’m Dr. Luanne Miller, and I’m a therapist.”

Of course. The first person they’d let me see after my episode would be a woman who dealt with crazy people for a living.

“Let me guess,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “you’re here to make sure I’m not planning another wrist-slitting party.”

“You’re not far off,” she said, leaning in closer and replacing her smile with a serious look.

“Everyone here is worried about you—both physically and mentally. The doctors will take care of your physical health. I’m here to make sure you’re mentally stable.”

I grimaced. “So, you’re saying I have to go to therapy sessions with you?”

“I can’t force you to do anything,” she said, “but your family and friends, and I think it’s the best thing for you.”

“You need a professional to talk to about whatever pushed you to this extreme. You need my help.”

“You can’t handle your problems alone, especially if they lead you to life-threatening actions.”

I knew she was right. Of course, she was right.

I’d just risked my life again, just like I did five years ago.

I couldn’t be okay. What Dr. Miller was offering was my best option if I didn’t want to end up dead.

But the question was, if I tried to end my life, why would I fight to keep it?

Before I gave Dr. Miller an answer, I had a few questions.

“Where are my family and friends?”

“They’re all waiting outside with Dr. Jacobs,” Dr. Miller said. “I was sent in first to see if you’re ready to see them.”

That seemed reasonable, so I let it slide.

“What happens now if I decide I don’t want your help?”

Dr. Miller gave me a look I couldn’t read.

“Everyone is counting on you to make the right decision, Veronica,” she said, her honesty refreshing. “They’re worried about you. They don’t want to see you in the hospital again.”

I knew the right thing to do was to tell her I’d take her up on her offer. That’s what everyone wanted me to do. That’s what I ~should~ want to do.

But the thought of talking to someone about all my problems—professional or not—scared the hell out of me.

Discussing my high school torment? My dad’s passing? My quirks?

I wasn’t sure I was up for it.

“Can I mull it over?” I asked her, my eyes pleading.

“I get it, Veronica. You’re not keen on airing your issues, and that’s okay. But consider the bigger picture.”

“You’re only twenty; you’re still so young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Do you really want to spend it bottling everything up?”

“I just need a bit of time to think,” I said, my voice desperate. “You can’t expect me to just let go of all my fears because you say so. You must understand, given that you work with people who are all over the place.”

She gave a small smile.

“I’m okay with giving you a few days to figure this out.” She then shot me a stern look. “But how about we do a session now, so you know what to expect if you decide you want my help?”

I saw what she was doing but thought, what the hell. If I did decide to take her help, which was unlikely, what harm could come from trying a session now?

Maybe she’d be different from the high school counselor I’d been forced to see. I’d give her a shot.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Where do I begin?”

Dr. Miller’s eyes softened now that I was playing ball. “Why don’t you start with the party that led to your recent actions?”

That seemed like a reasonable starting point. So, after studying her for a few more seconds, I began to talk.

I don’t know how long I was speaking for, because once I started, I couldn’t stop.

I told her about how I fell apart after Jax touched me, how I felt after Vadim and I had sex in the bathroom stall.

I told her how Erin started hurling accusations and harsh words at me and how it brought back painful memories of my high school days.

When I was talking about Erin though, my numbness vanished, and instead the emotions I’d been suppressing came flooding out. I was crying and sobbing as I remembered everything she’d said to me.

I remembered that just about two hours before she turned all mean-girl on me, we’d gotten ready together and laughed in a limo as if we were on our way to the prom I’d never been to.

By the time I was done, Dr. Miller had already handed me a box of tissues. I thanked her shakily and blew my nose.

She let us sit in silence for several minutes until I finally calmed down.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Surprised, I shook my head no. She nodded in understanding.

“Alright, then. Are you ready to hear my professional take on everything you’ve just told me?”

She said “professional” as if it would make me feel better about the fact I’d just spilled my guts to a total stranger, therapist or not. News flash: It didn’t make me feel any better.

Regardless, I steeled myself and nodded. Dr. Miller put on a serious face.

“From what you’ve told me, your life has been spiraling out of control for some time now. You think that by sleeping with different men, you’re showing yourself that you still have control over your body and actions.”

So far, she wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t already figured out.

“The meltdown you had after Jax did what he did was because he makes you lose control over both your body and mind regularly,” she continued.

“And this loss of control reached its peak at that moment, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. You were vulnerable, and he unknowingly took advantage of it, and that was the last straw. Am I on the right track so far?”

It sounded likely. I knew it was likely. But why did her words send a shiver down my spine?

“Veronica, you look a bit pale,” Dr. Miller remarked, sounding slightly concerned. “Do you want me to stop?”

I clenched my hands and winced at the pain from the wound on my wrist.

“No, don’t,” I said, taking a deep, brave breath. “I need to hear it.”

Dr. Miller brushed off her concern and nodded solemnly.

“At the party, when Vadim suggested that you have sex with him, you were initially hesitant, because, in my opinion, your subconscious knew you weren’t ready for another casual fling.”

“But then you remembered what Jax had done to you and that he managed to get under your skin more than any other man has ever done.”

“So, you took Vadim up on his offer, because you wanted to prove to yourself that you could still have sex with other men, that you could still control what your body does.”

It made so much sense that it hurt to hear. But there was something else I still didn’t get.

“When I was with Vadim, for the first time since I met Jax, I didn’t”—I swallowed—“I didn’t think about him.”

The good doctor raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Every time I was with a man, I always thought of Jax,” I confessed, my cheeks flushing with slight embarrassment. “But with Vadim, after that meltdown… I didn’t.”

Dr. Miller sighed. “If you want me to understand better, you’ll have to tell me more about it.”

“I can’t,” I whispered, “you’ll have to make do with what I’ve already told you.”

“I understand,” she said sincerely, “but even I don’t have all the answers, especially in such a short session and with so little information.”

“Maybe with a few more sessions, when we delve deeper into these topics, I can tell you more, but right now, what I know is that you’re in desperate need of control, and you should cut off contact with Jax Cole for a while…”

My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“Jax might mean well, and he might be a good guy who really cares about you. But I don’t think you’re in a place where you can handle him and all the attention he gives you. Look at where it’s landed you.”

“Okay,” she said, cutting me off before I could argue, “I’m sure he didn’t see this coming.”

“But whether he meant to or not, he played a big part in why you felt the need to take control by hurting yourself. He’s also part of why you’re feeling the way you do now.”

“If you want my advice, Veronica, it’s to keep your distance from him, at least for a little while. Then, if you feel like he’s not the reason for your emotional turmoil, you can try to get close to him again.”

“But I work with him,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I was trying to wrap my head around what she was suggesting.

“I know,” she replied, “but you can still limit how much you interact with him.”

My heart pounded in my chest.

Avoiding Jax? Putting space between us? Did Dr. Miller really think that would make a difference? But what if it did? What if Jax was the reason I was feeling like this?

I’d considered avoiding him after my breakdown, so why not give it a try? I mean, why not? It’s not like I was looking for a relationship with him.

I didn’t want anything to do with him.

He was the one who came on too strong and forced his way into my life. I never asked for it, never really wanted it. Sure, we had chemistry, but that was just physical.

I wasn’t even sure if we connected on a mental level. I barely knew him, and what little I did know was from Oliver’s stories over the years.

So, avoiding him shouldn’t be a problem. I could do it.

“Okay,” I said, feeling determined.

“Good,” Dr. Miller stood up. “And before I leave, I suggest you find an activity.”

“Activity?” I asked, puzzled. “What kind of activity?”

“Something that makes you feel in control again, but in a healthy way,” she explained, “something that requires your full attention.”

“It could be a physical activity, like martial arts or dancing, or it could be something artistic, like learning to play an instrument or taking art lessons. It would be good for you, I promise.”

Seeing my hesitation, she gave me a warm smile.

“Just think about it, along with everything else we discussed,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ll let Dr. Jacobs know you’re ready for visitors.”

“And just between us,” she added, her voice softening, “I don’t think you’re as lost as you believe you are.”

Then she was gone, leaving me with more questions than answers.