Never Truly Living

Chapter 3

The first week at number 14, Henry Court passed in a haze for Vesper Lynd, still not quite used to her new legal identity of Vanessa Lewis. She was still recovering from the events from Venice, including her 3 week long coma.
She barely left her flat, only leaving to buy essential supplies from the corner store, bread, milk, and eggs. She didn't go outside much, she preferred the solitude of her flat to the stares she earned on the street.
She thought little of James Bond, or her past. She created a dam in her mind, a wall against her emotions. She occupied herself by doing mindless activities, such as watching TV, or she would reading books, something she had a vast supply of in her flat.
She spent her days in a numb daze. She tended to her needs, she slept, she ate, she bathed, she used the restroom, and she slept again. A numb routine of survival. It wasn't happy or interesting, it just was.
M didn't call her again, but a week after their phone call, a man named Dr. Wilson arrived at her door. She didn't want to let him in, but she felt indebted to M. He worked with MI6, and had handled trauma before. M was right, he was very good, and he tried very hard to get Vesper to talk about Venice, or anything really. But, the dam in her mind stayed strong. She knew it would break someday, but not that day. And she told that to Dr. Wilson, no sense in hiding the fact from him. He nodded sincerely at her, knowing she was telling the truth, and handed her his card, leaving her to retreat back into her quiet solitude.

M called her the next day, curious to why she rebuffed Dr. Wilson. Vesper told her the exact same thing that she told the doctor, she wasn't ready. Her dam wasn't ready to break yet, it was too soon. M seemed to accept this reasoning, and let the matter go. She did the cursory, asking how Vesper was doing, and then she let her go.
Vesper fell right back into her numb routine, sleep, eat, occasionally go to the corner store, read, eat, and sleep again, then repeat it all over again. She was startled to realize that she had been released from the hospital roughly a month and a half prior, which meant it had been roughly two months since Venice, when she escaped the watery jaws of the canal. She didn't dwell on that fact though, it threatened to break down her carefully constructed dam.
On occasion, she would dream. She would have nightmares of that day in Venice, remember that painful sensation of longing for air, the way her lungs had burned in protest. When she awoke from those nightmares, she gasped for air, her dam would crack, letting out the guilt, grief, and fear. So much crippling fear, never ending, to the point where she thought that she might die from it. But, the agony would fade, and she went back to her numb survival.

Soon, it had been two months since she had been discharged from the hospital, and M called to check in on her. Vesper gave her vague answers, since there wasn't much for her to say. She told her about how she still ready to speak with Dr. Wilson. M sounded concerned for her saying, "If you continue going on like this, Miss Lynd. It will come back, and most likely all at once. It will only be harder to cope with." The older women's voice was as quiet as Vesper had ever heard it.
"I can't, not yet. I'm sorry, but it's too soon." Vesper said numbly, surprising herself with the lack of emotion in the tone.
"Very well then, Miss Lynd. I'll be in touch with you." M said, and hung up the phone. Vesper could almost hear the sigh in her voice, even through the phone.

Vesper hung up the phone, and settled down on the couch for a mid-afternoon nap. She was often tired during the day, even with her getting more than ten hours every night. She had attributed the lack of energy to her recovery, her boredom, and as she admitted to herself, her very likely depression. She couldn't bring herself to be concerned about it now.
Vesper continued her numb state of existence. Just surviving, drifting through each day, feeling barely anything, thinking about very little.
To be honest, she had been feeling better the past few weeks. Physically, that is. She had been having more energy, sleeping less during the day. But emotionally, she was the same, numb. But she supposed that it was progress.

She attributed her new increase of energy to her body having finally recovered from the ordeal in Venice. It had been three months since that day, her lungs had finally healed. She had been taking daily walks to help recover her muscle tone, although her upper body was still weaker than before. There were times were she felt almost happy, on one of the walks she would take, or when she curled up with a good book. She felt almost hopeful, like she was somewhat back to her previous self, her old life. That she could continue on that path, and eventually live again, instead of survive.