Fundamental Flaws

5. Psychobabble Bubble

Dylan T. Cross.

I had never asked what the 'T' stood for. It felt like a question meant for friends, and we were never quite that.

Dylan had been new at Lakefield High last year. You wouldn't know it though. Not by the way he walked the halls now – confident, comfortable, flanked by teammates that hung to his every word.

Everyone liked Dylan.

When he'd showed up at my kickboxing gym, a week after starting school, I had suddenly paid attention. He was curious - eyes jade and intense when he sparred with our instructor Rick.

Against my better judgement, I'd eagerly volunteered to show him all the moves we usually go over in class.

Long story short, I got too ambitious with the roundhouse kick.

I'd wobbled and lost my footing, yelping as I landed flat on my ass. Somehow, I'd managed to lose a shoe on my way down.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

How absolutely mortifying.

My cheeks had burned, only comforted by the fact that Dylan had managed to dodge my attack in the nick of time.

I'll never forget the way he fell about laughing. Like I'd just showed him the best Kevin Hart set on the planet. I'd ignored his offer to help me up, immediately excusing myself to go bang my head on the bathroom mirror a few hundred times.

Turns out he didn't really need my help anyway. Dylan was a natural at the sport and as soon as that had been established, we had been kept far away from each other.

More out of concern for his safety than anything else.

I thought about all of this as I was poked and prodded by the bustling hive of nurses at the hospital. I was distracting myself. Somewhere along the line, I'd tried to tell the police officer I had come in with, the nurses, anyone who would listen really, that they had made a mistake.

They had arrested the wrong person.

They refused to listen, labeling my incessant babbling as "shock" and handing me a nasty watery liquid to gulp down. I had rambled off my mother's number in between the busy confusion and the receptionist had called to tell her where I was.

When she had finally arrived, she burst in like the world had ended. With the words 'attempted rape' floating around, hurricane Katrina couldn't have held a flame to the whirlwind of questions she let loose on the officers.

"You're good to go, hun." A nurse cooed, interrupting my thoughts.

"What?" Even simple sentences seemed to be taking longer than usual to digest.

"You're all clear love. No concussion. Just a few bruises that will heal up soon - no real damage. You're very lucky those officers got there when they did. Something awful could have happened."

I watched silently as she put away the remnants of the rape kit. Just to make sure the doctor had told her. They didn't say it, but I could tell they weren't really confident in my recollection of what had happened. A ball of anger flared up inside me. She was wrong. Something awful did happen. The damage was done.

Why had I been so reckless?

Why didn't I take Al's offer for the ride?

The nurse went off to tell my mom the news and I was left alone for a few seconds.

"Hello love I'm Patricia-" A short, plump lady started as she walked in and plonked herself into the plastic chair by my bed. I was tired and unresponsive, my leg bobbed up and down in anxious frustration.

I guessed she was the hospital counselor the nurse had mentioned. She launched into her well-rehearsed psychobabble about my feelings, how it was okay to be angry and scared, and- blah...blah...blah.

I zoned out almost as soon as she started.

I don't know how long she spoke for but realizing she wasn't going to get through to me today, she handed me a card with her name and number on it. She referred me to the nearest crisis center - explaining that I would be able to talk to a professional - and left.

Eventually, my mother walked in with two cops in tow. I fidgeted, swallowing the lump in my throat as my muscles contracted uncomfortably.

"Hey baby," she murmured softly, planting a kiss on my head and hugging me close, "It's okay now, I've got you."

The stone that had formed in my throat instantly sank to the pit of my stomach. My breath caught; my mom was here now. My sobs were thick and ugly as they echoed off the walls. They came in floods - floods of shame, or guilt, or anger, or maybe all three. Somewhere in there was relief, just the tiniest bit of relief. Relief that they could have done much worse; relief that they hadn't, relief I was still alive.

"I'm sorry mom." I choked out through tearful eyes, but she shushed me, telling me how sorry she was that she wasn't there to protect me, whispering how much she loved me.

After a while, I focused on my breathing, temporarily burying my poisonous thoughts as I regained some of my composure. I looked to the two officers who were now standing awkwardly in a corner, fidgeting, wringing their hands. One of them made a half-gesture to move towards me, but thought better of it and shrunk back to his posture.

"Hey," I managed, letting them know it was okay for them to interrupt now.

The taller one cleared his throat and spoke up.

"I know this must be difficult for you miss but we need to take a statement. We'll try to be as quick as possible, so you can go home."

Dylan.

Suddenly, he was back at the forefront of my mind and without thinking it through, I jumped up too quickly.

"Calm down Lea." My mom cautioned as I swayed, a little off balance on my jelly legs. My head was light as she tried to push me back down. I pushed her hand off me in refusal.

"We have to go to the station." I stated calmly.

My voice was flat. Devoid of emotion, dry and crackly from the crying. I started gathering all my stuff.

"I don't think that's a good ide-"

"Now mom please..." I interrupted her sentence, "I have to fix something."

"What?" she pushed, but I ignored her and purposefully made my way to the door. I need to get Dylan out.

"You can take my statements at the station, right?" I threw back over my shoulder at the stunned officers.

"Yes Miss bu-"

"Great, let's go."

I took quick-paced steps, hoping my mom would match my stride. She kept giving me these looks, her face in a permanent crease of worry as she contemplated whether I had finally reached my psychotic break. I wasn't entirely sure that I hadn't.

We got into the car and she sat still for a few moments, wondering whether she should just take me home.

"Please mom." I pleaded softly. "I'll explain on the way."

With a sigh, she started the car and we drove off into the night.

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