Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Fifteen

If not for the fact that Phil was still using my body and making the entire thing seem like an incestuous affair between a son and a mother, I swear I could have broken down right there and then. I know I might have been through many way-too-soapy operas, but real life is always different from TV screens. And it's much, much touching.

The reaction on Tanya's face when she stepped over the threshold was priceless. She froze―and by 'froze', I mean it, literally―her muscles tensed, and her face whitened. Even her breathing hitched. It was as if Medusa herself had turned her deadly, horrifying face on Tanya.

For a long time, Tanya stayed frozen to the threshold, her eyes glancing around frantically, drinking in the vision that befell her. She trembled, her arms making uncontrollable spasms that I knew was the aftereffects of this sudden recognition.

Yeah, I know. If returning home after a ten-year sabbatical is heart-warming, add in the 'admittance to mental hospital' part and it becomes overwhelmingly ambivalent.

"Tanny," Phil whispered playfully. "If you were planning on standing here all day, you should at least inform me beforehand so that I could prepare a stool."

Tanya snapped out of her trance and shook her head. "I just..." She blubbered, taking an almost involuntary step into the house.

Phil lay a gentle hand on Tanya's back as he ushered her in. "...need to get some hot chocolate with marshmallows in it. Don't worry, I've got that covered. So why don't you go sit on the couch while I get the stove running?" He suggested.

Making sure that Tanya was sitting safe and sound in the couch, Phil sauntered over to the kitchen and started the stove. There was a dull click, but no fire came alive.

"Of course," Phil grumbled. "When ten years become like hours to someone, it's hard to blame that someone for forgetting that stoves do indeed abide by the fundamental laws of physics."

Once he'd called for gas, Phil rifled through the cupboards. Besides the heavy lint of dust and cobwebs, there was basically not much stuff in them, only some old porcelain dishware and cutleries. Nothing edible.

Phil sighed. "Guess it's takeaway then, huh. Man, I should seriously consider resetting my biological calendar now."

Phil returned to the living room to find Tanya staring into the same picture that caught Phil's eye just now. Her eyes seemed faraway and distant, but there was the faintest hint of longing in it. I realized it was the same gaze Tanya had when she first saw us back in Chambers'.

Phil smiled and walked over to her side. "Tanny, hey," he cooed, placing the back of his hand against Tanya's forehead. It felt warm, but not overly hot that might suggest that she's burning up. "I'm here, and you're gonna be absolutely fine. Food's on its way, so just tell your little tummy to hang in right there, alright?"

I was expecting Tanya to keep her silence, losing herself in the trance-like state that she was now in, but Tanya swivelled her eyes to meet Phil's. She stared at him, a deep, unfathomable frown stretched across her brows.

"It's not my tummy." She said suddenly.

Now it was Phil's turn to frown. "What?"

"My tummy's fine." Tanya pointed a finger at her temple. "It's my brain that's...having problems."

Taking that from a person who'd just been (illegally) discharged from an asylum, that piece of information surely didn't seem very significant to me at all, but Phil grabbed at it. I couldn't blame him. After all, this man was desperate to cure his wife's condition.

"What problems?" Phil tried to keep the urgency out of his voice.

Tanya seemed agitated. "Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy or anything―"