Tranquil Falls

Pathetic

I sat on a plastic chair across the desk from Rouche. We were in a small room that had been turned into a makeshift office for visiting psychiatrists. The table was one from the cafeteria, along with the chairs. There were a couple of other chairs along the wall, but that was it.

I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my hands, staring down at my lap. She had asked me about Taylor, about what he had done to me, and why I had finally thought it was time to tell someone. I didn't have an answer for her.

As I thought about the past few months, I realized that I had been working towards my second attempt without even realizing it. No. I think I had realized it, but I hadn't been willing to truly acknowledge it. Something in me had broken and everything had just fallen apart all at once. I didn't want to tell her that if I had really been thinking about it, I would have picked a more successful and less conspicuous way to do it.

They were pumping enough drugs into me now. I didn't want anymore.

I sighed and shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't have an answer."

She gave me a small smile, coming around the desk. She pulled a chair from the wall over and sat in front of me, leaning forward. She reached out and put one hand lightly on my arm. My body involuntarily flinched away from her touch as my eyes darted towards the door.

"Let's take a step back," she said, sitting back in the chair. "When did the abuse begin?"

I played with one of the strings that were coming loose on the sleeve. Maybe I had picked at it too much when my parents had started asking me those same questions earlier in the day. I'd gotten so worked up—so defensive—that the nurses had pumped more sedatives into me and I'd spent the morning asleep. My brain was still groggy, which was probably why Rouche was asking me about these things now.

"It..." I frowned. When did it start? I wasn't sure. It'd developed so slowly that I hadn't really thought about it until it was too late. "I don't know." I ran a hand over my face. I just wanted to go back to bed.

"When did the relationship start? Can you tell me that?"

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I tried to think. "Um...Sophomore year? Like, mid-year? I think. I...My brain isn't working right because of the shit they're giving me."

"That's okay," she said, giving me an encouraging smile. "Let's talk about something different. When did you meet Finley?"

"Finley?"

She nodded; the smile was gone now. I frowned at her, trying to think about why it was important that she knew when I met Finley.

"I met him a few months after Taylor and I were a...thing," I said. "Why does that matter?"
"Everything that happened while you were with Taylor matters, Gatlin. Every interaction with your parents, your friends, your peers, your teachers, your sister, even the person checking you out at the store." I shook my head slowly. I wasn't following her. "The way you protected him and yourself from those you care about. The way you tried to protect him."

"No, no," I said, sitting up straight. "I never...I never tried to protect him." Her face remained the same. "I didn't. I didn't want to protect him. My parents, Gabby, everyone else. That's who I was trying to protect. They loved him. I...I...I was protecting them."

"You loved him, Gatlin," she said softly. "Even with everything he did to you, you loved him."

I shook my head, standing up. "No! I fucking hated him. I couldn't stand to see him. He used me. I wanted him to fucking die because every time I looked at him, I got so fucking pissed. He was a monster and we're all better off without him."