Page 30

Painful Healing

Twenty-four painful hours passed until Peter drove Derek back home from hospital. He’d suffered a minor heart attack, along with some superficial injuries, so they’d kept him in for the night. Mary and Peter stayed with us at the house. Me and Susan lay in her bed together most of the night, unable to sleep. Sam was dead, Ben was in police custody, Marcus was in and out of consciousness, Gareth was on the waitlist for a minor surgery, but I was somehow fine. Burnt, sore, and coughing, but not hospitalised.

My injuries were nothing compared to how I felt inside.

I was changed, fundamentally changed.

I’d realised it as I stood in Derek’s hospital room the day before. A seed of hope had taken root deep inside of me. Marcus had gone too far; they’d all gone too far. This could actually stick. The third man had escaped, for now, but the police even seemed hopeful they’d catch him thanks to a host of local CCTV. Clearly, they hadn’t thought anyone would survive to give statements. Clearly, we shouldn’t have.

Watching Derek recover added damage to the new scar that seeing him suffer had scorched, but the feeling of it was bittersweet. The scar was there because he was not just alive, but part of my life now, like all of them were.

I stood staring at the lounge wall, trying to understand this new, unnerving feeling of a future, of a choice, of a life. I missed Ben, I knew that much. I missed living with him; I missed laughing with him; I missed him making everything feel better. I’d pleaded and cried to the police, Lucy had yelled, but we’d got nowhere. He would be out today, he had to be, but first I had to survive this emotional dissection.

“It’s important to identify the emotions underneath the anger. Anger is usually a reaction to something else,”

Linda informed me.

I stared at the clock on Susan’s mantlepiece as minute twenty-six passed since Linda’s arrival that morning. I ran my hands over my jeans, rippling the material. The lounge door was shut, but I could hear Susan on the phone outside, so I couldn’t concentrate. I knew Linda meant well; I understood that if I wanted to heal, I needed to do this. Her sessions always helped, eventually; usually the ones that were most uncomfortable.

But today… today I was a shell. I could still smell the smoke, my hands stung from the burns, and every time I swallowed, I was forced to remember Marcus’s grip.

“Ivy, what do you think might be the triggers for your anger?”

Linda pressed, tilting her worn notebook.

I sighed. “They were all in danger, because of me. I’m angry at Sam, I’m furious that it ended like that with him, and then I’m frustrated at myself for not hating him. I’m angry at the police for arresting Ben; I know you said they’re just holding him for a statement, but it’s wrong. I feel guilty we’re sat here talking. I want to do something. He did something, he did the biggest something he could have done.”

She nodded slowly. “Why do you feel they were in danger because of you?”

I ground my teeth, I hated when she did that, picked on the least significant detail. What did it matter? “If I hadn’t reported it, if I’d kept them out of it, none of this would have happened.”

“How could you have kept them out of it?”

I realised this was a circle we’d been around before: the one where I admitted that it would have been better if I’d stayed at Henworth; where she would sympathetically sigh and tell me otherwise.

“I know. We’ve been over this, but this proves it, doesn’t it? Derek almost died; Ben ran into a fire, which is literally what killed his father; Susan was worried sick.”

“Why?”

she asked, staring at me.

“Why what?”

“Why did they all do those things?”

I replayed her words, slowly, confused. “Because of Marcus, because of the police, because they had no choice.”

Ironically this was just making me angrier as pressure built in my chest. Her bright yellow maxi-dress was adding to my rage – the cheerful colour seemed totally wrong.

“I think they did it because they care about you,”

she stated calmly. “I understand you’re angry about the investigation; I expect you to feel angry about Marcus and his actions. You probably feel angry they survived; it would be perfectly reasonable. I’m just picking up on your wording around other people and their choices.” She put her notebook next to her on the sofa and I swallowed, sensing she was about to say something heavy. “Since we have worked together, I’ve watched you grow, Ivy. I have watched you bravely face your trauma and talk about the abuse you have suffered.”

I flinched.

“I know you don’t like me putting it that plainly, but it’s important. You escaped, you started healing, you faced it. But when Marcus came to the apartment, you told me you didn’t fight. When Ben struggled to process his own feelings regarding the television appearance, you defaulted to blaming yourself. Now, you talk about anger that everyone else was there, not that this happened.”

My lungs tightened as I pulled at my fingers, feeling emotions being dragged out of me like a serrated blade.

Linda went on. “Talk to me about what drove you to go back in after Sam?”

“He was trapped,”

I defended instantly.

“Yes, but earlier you told me you believed he had already passed; this has unofficially been confirmed by the police. I’m wondering what you were feeling, I’m wondering what value you placed on your own life when you weighed it up.”

I blinked, my eyes dry. “He was trapped, he didn’t deserve that, not because of me.”

My voice cracked as I fought to form the words.

“Did you put him in that building?”

I didn’t answer, so she raised her eyebrows. I shook my head.

“Did you start the fire?”

I shook my head again.

“Did you choose to live at Henworth?”

I swallowed. “I chose to stay.”

“Why?”

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“We have. I’m wondering if you have allowed yourself to let go of any of that guilt. Guilt is a reaction we experience to prevent us doing something again. You chose to go to the police to protect people – you couldn’t have known this would happen. You are the victim, they are not your responsibility; their actions are exactly that, their own. By telling the police, you handed them that responsibility, it was their role to keep others safe. I’m wondering, if you had accepted that, if you would have chosen not to go back in.”

I said nothing, only the pounding of my heart sounding through my body.

“You also said you were angry that Sam passed. I want you to understand that it’s okay to grieve for him, let yourself experience those feelings when you feel safe to do so. I would encourage you to write them down, then we can talk through them at our next session. I understand you are exhausted and I’m not intending to push you today, I’m trying to help you process this incredibly traumatic event. I want you to try and see yourself as Ivy White. The brave, strong young woman who stood up for what was right. Who is loved and cared for by her parents, Susan and Derek. Ivy who has a future, who has choices. Who will recover from this. I want you to try and see that woman – because if you can see her, it might help you to understand why Ben ran into that building; why Derek is so astounded by your fearlessness.”

I bit down into my tongue.

“It’s not your fault, Ivy. It’s the choice of those around you to love you and care about you, not yours.”

I had nothing to say, unable to process her words.

She finished by explaining that Barnes and Dores, the police officers who had been working with Henworth, had been struck off with criminal charges pending. I felt a surprising and sudden sadness.

Susan joined us then, to my instant relief. Lucy was due to bring the kids round soon, so she could head to the police station for Ben, so I mimicked Susan’s more sensible emotions of relief and solace. I needed Linda to feel I was stable enough for her to leave. There was something about hearing the officers were being prosecuted for ‘abuse of power’; for ‘coercion’ and ‘fraud’; for ‘rape’. The label made it real; I couldn’t help wondering if it would have been easier not to live with that label. I had collected so many badges – abducted, brainwashed, neglected – giving me ample reasons to never recover. Rape victim was a bold and terrifying label to add.

Compounding all of this, as I fought the tears, was the desperate longing for Ben’s comfort, the deep desire for him to reach for my hand; to hold me. I couldn’t talk to Susan about how I was really feeling, I’d hurt her enough and I needed Linda to leave.

The one person I felt I could truly open up to, who didn’t drown me with pity or see me as a disaster, was the one person who wasn’t available.