Page 23 of A Sorrow of Truths

My eyes inch open again at the thought, spittle leaking out of my mouth, as I keep convulsing.

Gray.

White walls. White furniture. White everything.

No dark.

Panic grips me, my hazy vision frantically scanning, as I take in the room. Clinical. Sterile. Disinfectant. Hospital? No. I didn’t hurt myself. I don’t think I did, anyway. What looks like a small bunch of white flowers sits on a unit in the corner, a picture of blue above it. So bright. All of it. Sun streaming in from somewhere, flickers of it on the white linoleum floor beneath me. I squint and try moving again, try to get my stomach to stop its waves of sickness and pain, but nothing stops it.

I hear movement before I see it. It comes from behind me somewhere. Feet squeak against the floor, a scratching sound. Where am I? Doesn’t make any sense. I watch my hand shaking in front of me, my fingers shuddering violently in their haze, and follow the shake along my arm. Everything’s shaking. Shaking and trembling and shuddering. Sick. I want to be sick.

Another heave makes me groan and roll, perhaps trying to get away from the brightness in the room. It hurts me, makes this feeling worse.

“Good morning, Mrs Tanner.” A woman’s voice. I search for it in the room, eyes still squinting under the bright light. “Let me give you something for that.” Something pricks my arm, making another groan fall out of my lips. “There we go. You’ll feel a little better soon.”

Finally seeing some semblance of a human in the room, I try speaking. “Where …” The words won’t come out of me. They’re lost in my head. Won’t transfer to my mouth.

“It’s alright, Mrs Tanner. Take your time,” she says, as the shape moves closer. Something touches my head, a beep coming after it. “Your temperature is high, Mrs Tanner. That’s why you feel cold.” Is it? Why?

Another prick into my arm, another rally of beeps and sounds. Something pulls from my arm, and another thing feels odd, painful in between my thighs. Panic begins again, making the convulsing and tremors increase. “Keep calm, Mrs Tanner. I’ll be finished in a minute. It’s good to have you back with us.” A sharp pain forms in my stomach, fingers travelling over my legs, as the sound of a trolley on the floor moves, wheels squealing. “There we go. Relax now. I’ll be back soon and-“

The last of the words seem to trail off, as a door shuts. Thankfully, some semblance of clarity starts coming back soon after. Shapes and images begin to come clearer. Sharper. Still shivering, though. Still feel sick and weak. So cold. I huddle in the covers, gently pulling them closer to my chin, and keep my legs tucked in tight, as I stare into the room. Where was I last, before here? A car journey. I remember it. Don’t know where from, though. Don’t know why.

Or who with.

The door opens again, different feet coming into the room. They stop before they’ve carried on, nothing but silence echoing around the large, bright space, but I recognise the deep spice of the aftershave. All of it comes crashing into my mind, making me close my eyes and remember all his words to me. The elevator, the way he threw me out, the feel of him on my skin. So cold.

Like him.

The feet start moving again. Hard soles. Heavy. I recognise them, too, can remember them as they twirled me and turned me through a waltz. I shiver again, trying to dismiss the nicer memories, the connection and reactions to him. His hands on my skin. His lips on mine. The need buried and now beginning to erupt again.

“You’re in the Mount Cliff Therapy Centre, Mrs Tanner,” he says, quietly. “Do you recognise my voice?”

As if I could forget it.

It’s embedded. Imprinted. Part of me. I recognise everything about him. I can even feel him inside me, taste him on my lips. Still, I don’t move or talk, other than this shivering that continues. Nothing to say yet. No thoughts to articulate other than confusion and a fear I can’t process.

I grab the sheet tighter, scrunching it up to my chin further so I can find some skin to gain rhythm against. Thuds might come then. Real ones. Ones that make sense and match my own.

Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

“Not feeling talkative anymore?” He walks around until he’s in front of me. “I thought you’d evolved passed dutiful and found a new you. The Mrs Tanner I know is never short of words.”

I stare at the cut of a vest over an open collar, ignoring my fascination with his hands as they go into his pockets. A chair gets pulled from the side of the room, turned backwards so he can sit across it and bring his face into my eye line. A breath pulls into me at the vision, the sickness I was feeling overwhelmed by some inherent harmony I can’t process either.

“You kept taking my pills out here. Rebellious.”

I stare, annoyed at the continued pull that makes me want to fall from this bed in the hope that he’ll catch me. I shouldn’t feel like that. He hurt me. Made me feel irrelevant and not worthy of him. “Why didn’t you listen to Malachi?” I did. But then Faith said things. Interesting things.

“You were …” I cough, barely able to speak. “Nasty to me.”

He nods, the side of his lip lifting slightly. “Yes. I can be more nasty if you’d like, especially when people won’t take no for an answer like you wouldn’t.” I keep shaking at that, unsure of no’s or not. What do they mean? Denial, regret, guilt? I don’t know. I’m not stopping my search, though. Not now, not ever. Not until I’ve got my truths.

My eyes narrow a little, legs relaxing under his gaze, as the trembling begins quieting.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Cold.”