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Authors: Carmen Taxer
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my eyes because my eyeliner may be smudging. Oh God! I forgot mascara!
Staring at the door I slowly drop my hand as tears threaten to unburden themselves. Dammit! I will not cry about this. I do not cry about men. I do not cry over make-up. And I most certainly do not cry about closed doors!
Gingerly I wipe at my lower lids, removing the traitorous tears before they have time to leak into my liner and I hurriedly wipe my hands together, hiding the evidence of my shame. I take a deep shaky breath, quietly to avoid distracting the voices, and I lean closer to the door. As a journalist one swiftly learns that a blocked off entrance can either be seen as an obstacle (to be stormed through, not sobbed at) or a means to gather further resources for your story.
As of now, I still want the piece on Dimitri. Even more so than when last I saw him.
“Eva,” I stop my recitation and glance up at Dr Shane with some confusion. I’d become so engrossed in the story I’d almost forgotten where I was. Pity that lovely delusion had to be shattered by his utter douche-baggery. Even if he is giving me the opportunity, finally, to give it to someone else. Get it off my chest, as it were.
For a moment there it was all okay again.
“Yes?” I enquire somewhat petulantly. The gleam of distaste in his eyes is clear to me. It’s been a given since I woke up in this place that Shane is not fond of me as a patient. Which is totally perfect for me because I can’t stand his pompous face either.
“I just thought I might bring this to your attention.” He stops as if there is nothing further to say and I raise an impatient eyebrow. He sighs and continues, “You’ve been talking about this,” A pause, “experience – as if it’s all happening as we speak.”
I clench my hands in my lap and close my eyes for a moment.
“Dr Shane,” My tone is level despite the turmoil clawing at my heart, “Every time I close my eyes, every time I start to dream, every time I find myself alone, it feels as though I’m back there.”
“And you wish you weren’t?”
“God no.” I look him in the eye and hiss the following words through my teeth, “It’s the times when it isn’t happening that I wish I were dead.”
I swipe impatiently at one of the marks on my inner forearm, aggravated by the vague healing itch. I keep trying to tell them it isn’t me. They don’t listen. They never do. It’s a surprise he’s even listening to me now.
“When the cycle of events ends in my head, it’s like I’ve lost him forever.”
Dr Shane sits back and rests the tip of his pen against his lower lip. He studies me for a moment and then he commands calmly, “Do continue.”
The door itself, a heavy, ridiculous thing that only someone wealthy and unconcerned with the trivialities of responsible spending would have in their home, spectacularly muffles the speech of the voices. But I can make out the slithering tones of the man I met earlier and – my pulse thuds up a beat – Dimitri.
“It would be unseemly for her to be marked by your hand, Levi. If she is, in any way, blemished, I will be displeased,” Dimitri’s tones ring through my head and I stay my hand as it betrays me by reaching for the door in order to lead my body to him.
Levi speaks in response, “I only wished to prove a point to her, Dimitri. It was only a slight expression of intimacy, just enough to make her stay of her own volition.”
“I was referring to the events of earlier this afternoon. Delilah informed me that you were perhaps a bit rough with her as you took her to her room while she slept.”
The voices go quiet.
“Is there a further transgression that I should be made aware of?”
“Dimitri-” The other man stutters and fumbles over his next words and a triumphant smile slinks over my lips.
“It is unwise to disobey my instructions, Levi. As I am sure you remember. The girls are mine and thus flourish under my protection. You are not to make use
Staring at the door I slowly drop my hand as tears threaten to unburden themselves. Dammit! I will not cry about this. I do not cry about men. I do not cry over make-up. And I most certainly do not cry about closed doors!
Gingerly I wipe at my lower lids, removing the traitorous tears before they have time to leak into my liner and I hurriedly wipe my hands together, hiding the evidence of my shame. I take a deep shaky breath, quietly to avoid distracting the voices, and I lean closer to the door. As a journalist one swiftly learns that a blocked off entrance can either be seen as an obstacle (to be stormed through, not sobbed at) or a means to gather further resources for your story.
As of now, I still want the piece on Dimitri. Even more so than when last I saw him.
“Eva,” I stop my recitation and glance up at Dr Shane with some confusion. I’d become so engrossed in the story I’d almost forgotten where I was. Pity that lovely delusion had to be shattered by his utter douche-baggery. Even if he is giving me the opportunity, finally, to give it to someone else. Get it off my chest, as it were.
For a moment there it was all okay again.
“Yes?” I enquire somewhat petulantly. The gleam of distaste in his eyes is clear to me. It’s been a given since I woke up in this place that Shane is not fond of me as a patient. Which is totally perfect for me because I can’t stand his pompous face either.
“I just thought I might bring this to your attention.” He stops as if there is nothing further to say and I raise an impatient eyebrow. He sighs and continues, “You’ve been talking about this,” A pause, “experience – as if it’s all happening as we speak.”
I clench my hands in my lap and close my eyes for a moment.
“Dr Shane,” My tone is level despite the turmoil clawing at my heart, “Every time I close my eyes, every time I start to dream, every time I find myself alone, it feels as though I’m back there.”
“And you wish you weren’t?”
“God no.” I look him in the eye and hiss the following words through my teeth, “It’s the times when it isn’t happening that I wish I were dead.”
I swipe impatiently at one of the marks on my inner forearm, aggravated by the vague healing itch. I keep trying to tell them it isn’t me. They don’t listen. They never do. It’s a surprise he’s even listening to me now.
“When the cycle of events ends in my head, it’s like I’ve lost him forever.”
Dr Shane sits back and rests the tip of his pen against his lower lip. He studies me for a moment and then he commands calmly, “Do continue.”
The door itself, a heavy, ridiculous thing that only someone wealthy and unconcerned with the trivialities of responsible spending would have in their home, spectacularly muffles the speech of the voices. But I can make out the slithering tones of the man I met earlier and – my pulse thuds up a beat – Dimitri.
“It would be unseemly for her to be marked by your hand, Levi. If she is, in any way, blemished, I will be displeased,” Dimitri’s tones ring through my head and I stay my hand as it betrays me by reaching for the door in order to lead my body to him.
Levi speaks in response, “I only wished to prove a point to her, Dimitri. It was only a slight expression of intimacy, just enough to make her stay of her own volition.”
“I was referring to the events of earlier this afternoon. Delilah informed me that you were perhaps a bit rough with her as you took her to her room while she slept.”
The voices go quiet.
“Is there a further transgression that I should be made aware of?”
“Dimitri-” The other man stutters and fumbles over his next words and a triumphant smile slinks over my lips.
“It is unwise to disobey my instructions, Levi. As I am sure you remember. The girls are mine and thus flourish under my protection. You are not to make use
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