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Chapter Thirty

Khaos

“ W here did you just go?”

“Hmm?” I ask, not quite hearing the question.

Dr. Gillispie pinches his lips, tapping his pen against the open page of his notebook. He adjusts his glasses that have slid a bit on his long, slender nose.

“When you dissociate, where does your mind go?” He repeats with a patience he’s practiced for a lifetime.

I don’t want to talk about it, I hate talking about it, and it’s ALL I’ve talked about the last few months here in rehab.

After I was found, it was strongly encouraged by the court that I undergo an extensive rehabilitation program to work through the years of trauma from the cult.

Only, I didn’t get the opportunity to make the decision myself because of the psychotic break in the hospital, but regardless, the choice was never really mine.

With all the sins I’ve committed in the years with the family , it was either this or prison and this seemed a little more productive .

I clear my throat, taking my time, thinking about how to say what’s been reeling through my mind on a daily basis.

“I just see red.” I tell him honestly.

“The color red? That’s it?” He coaxes, his voice soft and smooth as if he’s swaying a deer to feed from his hand.

I rub my chin, now coated in scruff from months of not shaving.

“Blood. Mine, the girl from ten years ago, Bordeaux’s, Ash’s.

There’s just so much blood on my hands and I can’t stop thinking about the suffering Ash has endured.

What if I had done it? What If I had killed her like I did the girl all those years ago?

I could have. I did it before and I could have done it again. ”

“Oliver,” I flinch, the name still triggering even after months of hearing it, “You need to remind yourself that you didn’t do it. You didn’t kill Ash. Her suffering wasn’t your fault. You held strong and made a decision that ultimately saved her life.”

I scoff, “No, I didn’t kill Ash, but I did kill two others. Regardless, my hands will always be bloody. Always stained red.”

He sighs, the slow progress becoming even slower. At least it’s honest.

“Let’s practice an exercise. I want you to hold your palms up toward the ceiling and rest the back of your hands on your knees.”

Begrudgingly, I follow his instructions.

It’s not that I don’t believe in these mild coping skills therapists try to teach in lieu of executing something a little more drastic, something to appease the suffocating feeling of drowning in your own misery.

It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to pull yourself out from under the surface to even give it a try.

“Now, I want you to look at your hands. Tell me what you see. ”

“Red, they’re covered in blood.” Every. Damn. Day.

“Okay. Now close your eyes and count to ten. When you open them, I want you to look around the room and point out five items – any items – and say them out loud.”

My eyes shut, I breathe deeply for ten seconds and when I open them again, I give him those five items.

“Great. Now, look down, what do you see?”

I find my palms and flip them over. Although shaking, they’re not coated in crimson.

Smirking, I shake my head. “Nothing. Just my hands.”

It feels stupid, childish, too good to be true, but it also feels.

.. relieving. Not only these last months, but for years, I’ve always hated the sight of my own hands, the sound of my own name.

I hated who I was. Now? After a simple coping technique that took a total of fifteen seconds, I can look at myself without dread.

I don’t have to live with a constant reminder of the sins I’ve committed, the lives I’ve taken.

A proud smile finds me when I finally look up.

Dr. Gillispie nods, “Very well! Now, I want you to continue practicing that until eventually, you don’t find your guilt painted all over your hands.”

My excitement fades as another feeling swallows it whole. As if happiness and contentment are merely food for the more depraved feelings inside of me that have infested my being.

“Nothing should be kept bottled up, Oliver. Let it out. What are you thinking?”

“I feel guilty. I don’t feel like I deserve reprieve for what I’ve done.”

“That is something we’ll have to continue to work on then because you do not deserve to feel guilty at overcoming trauma.

” He pinches his lips and I begin to wonder if I’m too far gone to be saved.

“Think of it this way, do you think if it were your mother or your father, or even Ash in your position, would you feel the same way about them that you do yourself? Do you think they should be set free of the guilt they would feel if they took a life to save themselves or someone else?”

“That’s easy, Doc.” I groan. “Of course, I wouldn’t want that to weigh on them.

I would hate that, but it’s so much easier to want peace for someone else because it’s not you.

I can easily get over someone else’s choices to take a life to save themselves, I wouldn’t have been in that position to make that decision, I wouldn’t have to live with it.

Except, it wasn’t anyone else’s choice, it was mine.

I took what I had no right taking. For what?

So I can save myself? I’m miserable. I’m broken, wrecked, filthy, and sinful.

I don’t deserve to live with a happiness that my victims will never know again. ”

“Victims.” He stops my rant “What a strong word, Oliver. Isn’t that what you are in all of this, too?

You were thirteen, you didn’t go looking for any of this, you didn’t ask to be in that position to take a life.

You were given two options, and you chose self-preservation because that’s what humans do. ”

“Fuck off!”

Shock colors Dr. Gillispie’s face for a brief second before he schools it, “I’m sorry, did I say something that upset you?”

“You sound just like him.”

“Who?”

“ Father .” I growl through clenched teeth, the name like pure acid burning my mouth.

“Ah, and what did I say that reminded you of him?”

I drag those now glistening red palms down the center of my face.

“Self-preservation is a human instinct. That it’s natural, that there’s no shame in choosing ourselves over others.”

He rubs his chin in thought, “I want to be very clear that in no way am I saying that Damien Hixby was right.” The use of Father’s real name momentarily confuses me.

Only until the headlines printed it in big bold letters over the last three months did I actually know it.

“However, self-preservation and survival are indeed human instincts. Nothing is ever black and white; everything exists on a spectrum like the care for yourself and the care for others. That needle never stops moving, but on average, Oliver, your needle hovers heavily towards others. That’s what sets you apart from the people in the cult. ”

“How do you know?”

“Just my time spent getting to know you, your thought process. You feel deeply for others, even those that might not deserve it, such as Bordeaux. You are capable of sympathy, of empathy, of understanding, even love. If you were that far gone, you wouldn’t feel any of those things.

So, as hard as this process is, trudging through your trauma, consider it a good thing that you feel what you do.

It proves that you have a conscience and a soul that’s desperate to be good despite the few times you were forced to choose yourself. ”

I consider his words even if my instinct is to dismiss them and throw them away. There’s no question about who I aspire to be, but my past actions and my perception of who I am now contradict one another.

I cherish life, yet I’ve stolen it from others.

I strive to find the bright side, yet I'm so blinded by the darkness.

I love, yet I’m unlovable.

“Who I want to be and who I am are on two different ends of that spectrum. How do I balance the two when I feel like they’re worlds apart?”

“That’s what we’re here to try and figure out.

You’ve already taken the first step by being here and wanting more for yourself, wanting to do better.

They say you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, but Oliver, you being here and taking your treatment seriously proves that you are willing to do what it takes to be that person you want to be. In time, we will get you there.”

“Is it selfish that I just want to live a normal life? That I want to go home for Christmas with Ash and spend time with my parents while the people I’ve killed will never get to do that?

Is it fair? What if Ash doesn’t forgive me for the things I’ve done, for the harm I’ve caused her?

What if, despite saving her, she doesn’t ever want to see me again?

I... I don’t know if I can live with that.

” I swallow the lump in my throat, the thought choking me.

“Take a deep breath. It’s important that you take notice of when your thoughts start to spiral like this.

Don’t allow these thoughts to overtake you.

Continue living in the moment, focus on how you feel.

If it’s good, lean into it. Allow it to happen because you’ve spent years missing out on those feelings.

If it’s bad, then ask yourself why you feel that way and think about how you can overcome those negative feelings.

” Dr. Gillispie shuts his notepad and crosses his legs.

“That is all the time we have together today. Homework for our next session, think of three things you want out of this life. Write them down and we can discuss next week.”

I nod, “Thanks.”

Pushing myself to my feet, I let out a deep sigh, my heart sagging inside my chest. It’s been three whole months that I’ve been stuck here in light blue scrubs and socks with rubber grips on the soles.

I didn’t realize how much I was holding onto from my time with the cult, how much their depravity has affected the way I’ve lived my life.

Years... years I’ve suppressed myself, hid from potential happiness, ran from a much-wanted future. All because I didn’t want to risk the family finding me again. I’ve missed out on years of having my real family back, of loving and growing up with Ash .

I pretended like my demons didn’t haunt me, as if they were just figments of my imagination to be brushed off and pushed aside. Only, they plagued me. They possessed me. They ruled me. I just refused to accept it.

It’s time that I exercise them, put them to rest for good. Instead of burying Oliver, I need to bury the monsters that lurked beneath the surface. Dig their grave and carve their stone. Forever gone, but never forgotten. And then... move on.

Dr. Gillispie has asked me to take the week and think about three things I want out of life, but I already know.

1. I want to be okay

2. I want to love and be loved

3. I want to help heal those that are desperate to heal