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My tears were flowing freely and I wasn’t even bothered by it. Chad’s frightening story made me angry at his parents for not protecting him—for not accepting him.
“I am saddened to learn you think that ending your life was the answer to your problem. How did it feel when you woke up and realized that your attempt at suicide didn’t succeed?”
“I was angry at first. But when I saw all of my friends looking sad and bereft, it dawned on me that I didn’t want to see them like that because of me. I didn’t even stop for a second to think about how they would feel or how they would take it. I was so bitter and full of my own emotional battle that it was hard to see past it.”
“So, you’re saying your friends are the reason why you want to live again?”
“Yes and no. I mean I love them all. The past few weeks showed how much they love and support me. I’ve never had that, ever. The feeling of being loved for who I am overcame everything else. I thought if they believed in me, why couldn’t I put that much faith in getting better? If my parents didn’t accept me then there wasn’t much I could do about it. But my friends—my own small family—did and I couldn’t let them down again. I mean I survived the bullying in high school, why can’t I survive this one? I had to dig deep and pulled out my ‘grown-up man suit’ and simply face life again….even if I will be screaming ‘fuck you’ to life….but at least I have to start somewhere.”
“That’s a great optimistic outlook, Chad. I’m happy that you see how much your friends love you. You’re a very lucky man to have great friends. Others aren’t quite as lucky.”
“I know and I’m very grateful for that.”
17
Sienna
“How does it make you feel listening to Chad speak about his past, Sienna?” Her shrewd eyes landed on me.
“I feel awful and have no words to describe how much I feel—I feel so much at this moment. I mean, when I met him the first time, he was so vibrant and so full of life. Hearing how he was being bullied in school and still survived the way he did…he’s remarkably brave. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it happened to me.”
“What drew you together? I’m assuming you are close friends, best of friends perhaps?”
“Best of friends, we have our love for dancing in common and that’s where we met. My parents died at an early age—so we connected somehow with his lack of parental support. I have insurmountable guilt from the moment I learned of his suicide. I was so caught up with my own turmoil that I didn’t see how bad it was for him.”
“I understand that feeling, my dear but it wasn’t your fault. You must realize that.” I nodded not knowing what to say.
“Tell me more about your background if you don’t mind, Sienna? I want to understand the depth of your connection with Chad and why he chose you to be here for him and not anyone else. From what I gathered earlier, there are five of you in this group of friends but Chad chose you.”
I cleared my throat and spoke. “My mother died giving birth to me and my dad raised me as a single parent. He died when I was seven and I had to move in to live with my father’s sister in Los Angeles. She has a family of her own and they weren’t too pleased to take on an orphan but they didn’t have a choice but to take me in. I moved out the minute I got my high school diploma and left to study in London. My dad made wise investments with his money and made a small fortune. He even set aside a college fund, so studying abroad was an easy escape route, very much like Chad’s.”
“Living with your father’s sister was pleasant and had a loving atmosphere?” Dr. Murray went on.
“No—she and her husband were quite abusive, physically and mentally. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of Kyle, my childhood best friend, who was there after each brutal lashing.”
“Lashing…with what precisely?”
“Whichever came in handy then—a belt or a sturdy malleable stick but their favorite was a shotgun cleaner. It’s a long spiral metal rod with fine bristled metal husks to clean the inside nozzle of the gun. The metal husks pierce the skin with each hit. It can be extremely painful if the beating lasts awhile. The lashings only came when they felt like I needed to be punished like let’s say I didn’t finish my dinner or didn’t finish my homework. On the other lighter days, the punishment would be me kneeling on pebbles, grains, or beer bottle caps nailed upside down on a large, thick piece of wood—sometimes with only my underclothes or sometimes with clothing for up to eight hours at times—it really depends.”
“My word and you said you were only seven years old when these started?” She looked startled and horror-struck. Even Chad gasped loudly. I spoke about it to all of them but just gave the abbreviated version and not much detail. There was no point in hiding my dark past when Chad spewed bravely about his own demons.
“Yes…though in the beginning, it started out small. It started out with spanking with their hands or locking me inside a tiny linen closet for six hours or so. But as I grew older, the punishment became more intense and traumatizing.”
“Did anyone help you at all? Did you speak to a counselor at school? Or anyone for that matter?”
“No, not one adult helped. Even my teachers saw how badly I was beaten. A few occasions during school days, my legs would have a lot of dried, crusty blood in them or at times my socks would be soaked in blood. Once, they voiced some concern but they were being paid off by my Aunt and Uncle. After that, no one voiced any concern again. The only thing I had constantly in my life was Kyle. He tried to help me too but I told him not to. We were young and I was scared that no one would believe me and I would end up getting more punished once the Brown’s found out that I told on them. During the years, I accepted my fate and didn’t even try to question it anymore.”
“You have quite a past too, Sienna. I see now why you and Chad are drawn to each other. The type of abuse you two went through is different. But at the end of the day, scars are scars.”
“Oh my God, Sienna—the story you told us was a little different,” Chad said. “I mean sure—you mentioned about the beating and being an abused child but never to this extent. I can’t imagine a seven year old girl scared out of her wits being locked in a tiny linen closet for six hours.” He held me tight through our tears.
