It Needs a Name

Chapter 13

Song: "Schrei nach Liebe"  - die Ärzte 

I stare at the ugly table top, the doc's works ripped through me, burrowing into my lungs, stomach and rib cage, holding on tight with their little teeth. I wish, beyond wishing that he handed just said those words. It was the worst fucking thing that could ever happen. I couldn't leave my mother. Not now, not when she needed me so badly. I was determinded to be there for her; be better for her, so I could take care of her.

Removing me from the house would kill her, it really would. She'd go off the deep end into a bottle of Jack and never come back up. I couldn't let this happen. There had to be something I could do.

"Jamie? Did you hear what I said", the doctor's voice of low, quiet and caution. He was waiting for me to start yelling, for me to lash out and get what I wanted using force. Or threaten to do something stupid so he'd change his mind. But, in here, yelling would only get me a shot and a stay in solitary, and then I'd have to work my way from the last rung. Threatening had the same basic result, either way I was stuck here longer. Not what I wanted, needed. I was ready to go home. I need to handle this is just the right way that I could stay with Mother, and still come home in a few days.

 "Why-why do you think so?" I had to fight to keep my voice from breaking, or getting too loud. I had to be calm. it didn't matter that on the inside I was being blown to a million fucking pieces.

"Your mother, she isn't in the right frame of mind. She needs some help of her own. I don't think that either of you would be able to stay the course of your treatment if you continue to live together." The Doc was fiddling with his fingers, picking at his pale yellow thumbnail. He was looking at me, sure. But the gestures that he was making with his hand implied that he didn't want to be here. Telling me what he was telling me. I hoped it was because he knew that he was ruining my life. Not just because he was bored.

 "I can't leave her. I-I just can't. She needs me. She needs me there with her. I can't leave her, not like..not like he did." these words have points, little metal teeth. But they don't cut The Doc. They cut me. Thousands of tiny papercuts all over my skin. Enougt to drive me insane, but not enough to kill me. I can feel my eyes starting to burn, tears forming, threatening to give me away.

I will not cry. Men don't cry. Men of the house don't cry. My father never cried. He always got so mad when I'd cry. He would yell, call me all sorts of ugly names, look at me like I was dog shit stuck on the bottom of his shoe. Something he couldn't wait to get rid of.

He left because I couldn't, wouldn't be the man he wanted me to be. I had to be a man now. I had to tough. For mom. She needed me to stand my ground now, more than ever.

As much as my mind wanted to fight. As much as I wanted to raise hell, do anything until I got my way, something inside me broke. I slumped against the chair, dead weight. I had nothing left to fuel a war. I had nothing left to give, no strength to survive the battles. I had lost before I even knew I needed to fight.

 The Doc yammers on and on about how this is for the best. That he already has a place for me to go when I get released. That it's with a close friend of the family, I won't be far from home, la, la, la.

I close my eyes to his words. Everything that floats from his lips is salt in my wounds. I just want him to stop talking. He's won, he doesn't have to convince me. Play some twisted mind game to get me agree. He won.

I nod my head up and down as fast as I can, my hair flops around like mad. From somewhere in my head, my brain tells my mouth to speak. To tell him that I understand, I agree and will comply. He smiles at me, pats my hand, then leaves me there. In the room. To 'collect my thoughts'. He knows I'm about to lose it. 

At least he has the decency to let me go to pieces in private.