Flashback

Chapter Eight: Emmy

My eyes opened and the first thing I saw as I looked up was an unfamiliar ceiling. It wasn't the plain white as in my room. It was painted like a galaxy. My first thought – my first fear – was that I was outside in the open and got anxious. Soon enough, though, I realized that Earth had only one moon and came to think that maybe I was in a children's room with such a beautifully painted ceiling.

My eyes drifted to the rest of the room, expecting more murals and artworks. I was slightly disappointed when I found no such other paintings there. Instead, I noticed that I was laying on a queen sized bed with plain sheets and a bedspread that followed the theme of the ceiling. To my left, a carved walnut door stood in the middle of the wall with bookshelves standing on both sides of it.

On the left side of the bed stood a plain desk accompanied by a lone chair, and to the right a side table with an Ikea lamp and personalized stationery. To my right, a cupboard with four glass doors presented neatly piled stacks and men's clothing on hangers. To its right, an open door to a blue tiled bathroom.

With a jolt, I realized that the bathroom wasn't empty. Someone was messing around inside, causing more noise than my anxiety ridden head could manage. But mostly, at first I panicked, expecting Ryan to be there, or worse. Anxiety kicked my brain into overdrive, schemes started brewing for how I would tackle the person; whether I should punch them first, or ditch it all and run for my life out the bedroom door.

Then my eyes shifted to the last remaining wall of the room which was yet to be inspected — the one in front of me. At first, I only noticed a lifetime's worth of framed certificates and newspaper cuttings. Then, among them, I noticed picture frames, hanging amidst the wall of accomplishments. The most repeated person in the frames was a blond boy with his parents, slowly growing up, throughout the pictures. The one in the middle of the room, which seemed to be the latest one, looked uncannily familiar. I realized with a rush of relief that I was staring back into the eyes of the Jerry in the picture. Jerry, as in, my doctor.

I also then became conscious of the fact that I must be in his bedroom, lying on his bed, looking at his certificates. They were his clothes that lay arranged in the glass cupboard and his books that lined the shelves to my left. It was his scattered stationery on the desk and the side table, and that must be him who was creating the commotion in the bathroom, not Ryan or anyone equally or more harmful, fortunately. My thoughts calmed at the realization. But it started beating faster yet again as a different stream of thoughts invaded:

I did not want to have any contact, no matter his intentions, with a man. I was still broken, inside and out. It still was too early for me to get comfortable, even at a politely friendly level, with a man, with a person who cannot fully sympathize with me and my situation.

I heard someone swear in French, a very familiar-voiced someone: Jerry. Immediately, I fell back into the white sheets around me, pretending to still be asleep. I let my eyes close for a second till I heard another round of obscenities being muttered from inside the bathroom. My eyelids flew open and I jolted upright with a start. I noticed that I was still in my blue dress and tights but my shoes were lying on the floor.

Immediately, I started inspecting the rest of myself. My dress was a bit crumpled from sleep or unconsciousness, which it was, I did not know. My hair was up in a ruffled bun that I had put my hair into after returning to my room post-session. Somehow, it seemed so long ago, yet as if it had only happened a few hours ago. I realized that I had no idea of the time and that I couldn't see a window in there at all. I turned around and noticed drawn back curtains over a large grill and net window, the glass windows open to let in the light, letting in an almost non-existent breeze. It was completely dark out, and considering that it was early May, it must have been pretty late since it got dark a lot later now in this part of the world.

"Emma."

I whirled back around with my heart in my throat and fists clenched in fear, merely to see that Jerry was standing with a few pill bottles and a glass of water in the doorway of the bathroom. Based on his appearance, either it had been less than a day since I was last conscious, or Jerry really needed to learn about hygiene.

"You're awake. Thank God. Finally." He sighed as if worried that I would not have woken up.

I hummed at this observation.

"How're you feeling?" His voice was heavy with caution.

I hummed again, evidently unable to form a worded response quite yet.

"Got you some pills here, Emmy." He says, walking out of the doorway, holding up the tiny white bottles.

It's funny really. You'd think nicknames would invoke positive vibes and happy memories. At the nickname, I may sure have been brought out of my numbness, but only to be replaced by a body shaken with sobs and eyes flooding with panicked tears.

"Please, don't call me that. Please, please, please!"

"Oh. Oh, that was stupid. Emma, I'm sorry." He put both hands up in a mode of surrender and apology, but words were not a thing that would work at the moment.

"Don't...ever...call...me...that...again... Please!" I attempted to choke out between sobs.

"I won't. But please – it just slipped!" He sighed woefully, then continued. "They'll take away this case from me too. This never happened before at school!" He muttered, as if to himself, which was probably what he was in fact doing. He tried easing me back onto the pillows, but my body, remembering the nickname and everything that followed its inception caused an adverse reaction like no other. The attempt to ease me down was perceived as an attempt to force me down, and the pillows were perceived as the leather of the van.

Hands pushed, others backed out in surrender, and the owner of the latter backed out of the room with eyes red with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry... You should sleep. I'll leave the room."

I couldn't be bothered to realize or remind him that it was in fact his room, and not mine, because at that moment, all I wanted was for him to leave me. All I wanted was to not be in the vicinity of a man.