Instant pain radiated throughout my face, and I began screaming and flailing my body. Moments of my mom hitting me in the face passed before my daddy ripped her off of me. There was yelling. So much yelling. I was screaming in pain. Mommy was screaming. Daddy was screaming. What was happening? Why did she do that? Mommy never hurt me.
“What have you done, Heather?!” my father shouted. She was wild-eyed and her brown hair was tossed across her face, covering her eyes and mouth. The only sound in the room was everyone’s breathing for a brief moment. Then she looked at me, anger filling the void in her dark eyes. “I wish it was you instead,” she whispered before she got up and charged back to her bedroom, slamming the door just as I had moments before.
“Lennon, let’s get you cleaned up,” my dad said with pity laced in his voice. I sniffed my nose, sensing the sharp scent of metal. I winced and my dad wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Daddy, my face hurts,” I whimpered before bursting into tears.
“I know, pumpkin, I’m sorry that happened. Your mom isn’t feeling good.”
Crying, we walked into the bathroom where I caught a glimpse in the mirror of my face. I opened my mouth and screamed.
Jolted awake, I tried to catch my breath. My bed was soaked in sweat. Exhaling, I began to realize the nightmares were becoming more and more frequent. I couldn’t take it anymore. I slunk out of my bed, crawling across the floor toward the hallway and heading for my purse where I knew I could find the pills that would rid the dreams away.
Grabbing my purse, my breath began to steady, knowing help was close—within reach. Rummaging through, I caught sight of the bottle straight away. I didn’t carry a lot of things with me, just what was important to getting me through each day.
I decided to just take one today to try and stretch them out. Yesterday was hard. The group alone was enough to make me homicidal, but that fucking asshole had chased me out and tried to take me out for lunch, or dinner, or whatever the fuck he was trying to do. Whatever it was, I wasn’t having it.
Taking the pill and bringing it to my lips, I decided to just swallow it today. I didn’t want to feel like I was addicted to it—I wasn’t. I just needed a little support. A gentle hand, leading me through the darkness. And I made the rules in this life. I didn’t have control of much, but this much I did.
What had he seen in me that made him follow me out like that? I felt his stare throughout the duration of that hell they called group sessions. I was also still feeling unwell from my stupid choking episode, where Asher had felt the strong desire to have the entire group watch me, making me look idiotic. Did people enjoy this shit? Making others feel small? It seemed like he did; as if he always wanted to exude the image as the rescuer amongst his friends.
Fuck that.
Wearing only an oversized t-shirt, I had scrolled through my phone, seeing if I could find him on socials. I wanted to know his story so I could feel like I had somewhat of an upper hand. He hadn’t divulged why he was in group, like the select few of ushad. Some had mentioned their therapist encouraging them to take this group; others, like me, mentioned having to attend as a mandatory portion of other programs.
He hadn’t mentioned anything like that. He had just said he loved hockey. Wow—like we all couldn’t guess that by the looks of him. He looked like every hockey player, outside of the short hair. Asher had a chiselled jawline, rigid cheekbones, and a soft smile that, although appeared mean, also reflected some sort of kindness. He was every jock’s leader of the pack. The alpha of the group. It was annoying, and I didn’t know why.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I didn’t want to think about having to go to group in two more days. My anxiety would once again be at an all-time high. I would have to speak out loud more. I would have to dig open these wounds for everyone to watch me bleed. And I’d have to facehimagain.
The good thing was that I left an impression that saidback the fuck off,and I couldn’t fathom him crossing that boundary. If he tried to, he would feel the wrath of this angry bitch.
Asher
“How are the people in the group selected?” I asked while jogging down the stairs toward the kitchen. My mother was standing by the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup.
“Good morning to you, too,” she said, smirking.
“Good morning,” I returned.
She hadn’t been home when I got in after the group yesterday, so I hadn’t had the chance to ask. Curiosity had eaten me alive all night. The group was nowhere to be found online, other than a note about it being new inside Western Hospital and that you needed a doctor’s referral to become a client.
“So?” I pressed, prying again when she didn’t immediately answer.
She smiled at my impatience. “Why do you want to know?”
Subtle annoyance built up after finally asking, “Why are you dodging the question?”
She sighed, went back to her coffee mug, and walked toward the kitchen island. Setting the mug down, she leaned across it for support. “Candidates come from a range of backgrounds, mental health disorders, with most having suicidal tendencies within the last year. It really does depend. But it’s not up to me to discuss each client—you know that, right?”
I nodded, understanding how important confidentiality was to her. “I know,” I said, “I’m just curious because the group members all seem so…different.”
Nodding, she confirmed exactly that. “Right—that’s the point. Each person is there because their therapist or physician has deemed they need something like this—something to release the underlying issues, something to really tug at that drive, thatdesireto live.”
She spoke with such passion it made me admire her even more.
“So…is there anyone in this program whohasto be there? Like, is it mandatory for them to attend?” I tried to ask the questions withouttrulyasking the questions.
My mother knew there was something more I wanted, but also knew she couldn’t divulge the information.
“I’m not certain about this specific group, but sure—there are programs out there where attendance to a group such as this might be mandatory.”
