Forgiving Eve: A Novel Read online

  “Yeah that would just make your day, wouldn’t it? I’m talking about that guy, Jack.” I resumed to brushing my teeth after reverting to my tone that was so flat it would have made a tortilla jealous. Apparently not flat enough, though, because Leila resumed her hysterical laughter. Maybe that was how we got along, yin and yang. Manic and…well there’d have to be something there in order to counter mania so I guess that metaphor didn’t really work.

  “Jack?” she gasped. I knew a normal person might get annoyed but I was actually used to this kind of behavior from her. “Jack?! Jack is SO not my boyfriend.” Like that was what I cared about. I refrained from acknowledging the statement. It was pretty easy.

  Done with the bathroom, I just turned and marched off to our room. Only as I’d cracked the door did Leila lean in and whisper into my ear, “Jack’s a lifer.” I had a split second to contemplate the fact that Leila could whisper when I realized that in addition to the usual two in our quad, and the boys in the ‘bunk’ next to ours, there as now a fourth occupant in ours. An occupant who was sleeping in the pallet that was on the bottom left of the quad and at the foot of the one I slept in.

  I walked over to my pallet and got it, barely bothering to pull the thin blanket up over my sweats and t-shirt before I slipped into the sleep of the dead.

  Morning came and we were once again just 7. The pallet at my feet was empty.

  FOUR

  Leila and I were cruising along the cafeteria, sliding our trays along the metal counter as the workers inquired as to what she wanted. They’d quickly determined I wouldn’t answer if they asked, since I had no preference in what they fed me, so like usual, items were just placed on my tray, some chosen at random, some the exact same as every day. I never took note of which of the Caf workers did which. All I knew was that I’d have a semi-full tray by the time we were done, and that I always said thank you. It wasn’t their fault I was royally effed in the head, why should they suffer. My therapist would have been proud; to suddenly care that my actions might have an affect on someone else was a ground breaking change. A break through, he would have called it.

  I kept my ‘break throughs’ limited to that.

  Walking away from the line, I found an area that had a few open spots at a table and sat down, noticing that today I had orange juice instead of milk. Having just brushed my teeth was going to make this a very interesting experience.

  As I was opening it, another tray bumped mine and it spilled into what looked like scrambled eggs. Another interesting experience…this day was already becoming too eventful for my tastes. I took a big bite of egg-juice. Yes, definitely too eventful.

  “I made a big stink after you’d been here a week,” Leila said in her too fast way of talking. Shockingly, I didn’t answer. “You know Eric, who sleeps on the other side of the room?” Still no answer. Undeterred, and probably spurred on by this, Leila continued. “Well you see, apparently the guy next to him on the quad, umm….” She tapped her pointer finger on her chin and stared off contemplatively. I knew this was bullshit because Leila had been here for two years and she certainly knew the names of everyone in our general age group, but I let her execute her little charade. “Matt!” She snapped her finger in a practiced Aha! “Yes, Matt is apparently a kicker, or so Eric says. He was trying to get moved to our quad, to take that extra pallet, arguing that since he was gay anyway we didn’t need to worry about him turning into a creeper in the middle of the night.” She looked at me expectantly. She was probably waiting to see if any expression I made implied I would have been thrilled to have an allegedly gay creeper who was escaping a battered relationship with his sleep partner, snuggled up at my feet. Knowing Leila, she would have.

  “So I just went to Admin and insisted that he could not sleep with us, do to my delicate fear of…” I expected her to say ‘men’, or even ‘gays’. “…red heads.” I almost laughed. Almost. She released a signature hysterical laugh before charging on. “But I’ll tell you a secret.”

  “You love red heads?” She smirked.

  “I knew Jack would be back.” Oh god, she’d orchestrated this whole thing? Leila was going to be sorely disappointed. As in, her ass was going to be pretty damn sore once she got my foot dislodged from it. But I wouldn’t give her what she wanted, I still hadn’t reacted and I still hadn’t looked up from my eggs, which had slowly bled an orange river into…some kind of meat patty. I found myself wishing one of my food benefactors had given me toast so I could use it as an absorptive barrier.

  “Jack always comes back.” Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw her glance knowingly at me. Boy, she was on a roll today…egging me on. I briefly wondered if, regardless of what it was, I could think of a pun or an adage based on whatever I was eating. Don’t cry over spilt milk? No, too basic. Besides, that would be cheating because I wasn’t drinking milk. Plus, I wasn’t eating a roll either so it was a pointless train of thought.

  “Anyway, don’t you want to know the real reason I wanted Jack in our quad?” The fly in my ear was droning on. “Well, obviously because of you.” I still hadn’t looked at her and I forced my eyes not to narrow.

  “Why, because you wanted a buddy with whom to watch me while I sleep, placing bets on if, and when, a muscle might twitch?” Leila’s laughter bubbled up.

  “I am So glad you got stuck here, Eve. Life is So much better now.” Sure was. “Anyway, no, although thanks for the idea! No, it’s because of the times you start shrieking in your sleep.” Hmm. This was a new one. “I knew Jack would want a front row seat to unexpected blood curdling screams in a pitch dark room. That kind of thing totally gets him off.”

  I could kill Leila right now.

  She was totally making me like this Jack guy.

  “Well, you know I try my best to keep you entertained, Lei. I guess I’ll have to start including your little buddy Jack in my target audience.”

  “Excellent,” a deep voice said from behind me. Suddenly Jack was sitting on my other side, dropping down his tray which I noticed, only had cereal on it. “Nice…eggs.”

  With that, I picked up my tray and left, a distinct chuckle following me.

  FIVE

  The first night I crawled into bed with Jack, I hadn’t even realized I’d done it until I was already there, curled up next to him. I don’t even think he realized I was there, and he never woke up, even after I had crawled back into my own pallet when the sun woke me.

  I realized I should find it strange that I was joining someone in bed, uninvited, and that the someone was a boy about my age who for all intents and purposes was a stranger, but I didn’t. I figured that was just another indication of how broken I was. Jack was clearly as broken as I was, since he never woke up or sensed my presence. He also rarely talked to me during the day, unless Leila was forcing him to hang out with us. Then again, he seemed to disappear most of the time, reappearing at dinner, or more often, asleep in bed before Lei and I made it back to the cabin.

  I would have thought that Leila would be on a mission to discover his whereabouts. Any “mystery” was of utmost intrigue for her, the process of unraveling it far outweighing the point at which she discovered the truth. Usually, she grew bored just before she’d figured out the final piece of the puzzle. Like with me, the reward seemed to be just the opposite.

  But to my surprise, she seemed especially indifferent to Jack’s frequent ghosting, barely acknowledging it. I certainly wasn’t going to point it out. Maybe she found him boring, or, more likely, too interesting. She tended to be far more fascinated with discovering who was clogging the sink with their hair, or who spilled honey on the bench of the table in the far left corner of the dining hall. You know, the really important stuff.

  It was still technically “summer break,” so we weren’t required to attend many organized events. We all had our personal therapy session every day, as well as Group, both seeming to be of equal success…as in none. You’d think that we’d want to tell each other about how screwed up we were,
since we all seemed to be pretty proud of the fact, but instead it seemed like their was a flyer pasted outside the door that read, “If any one of you share anything once you enter this room, you will be forced to roast marshmallows and watch heartwarming family movies every night while smiling.” Yeah. So we clammed up in Group despite of, or probably because of, our kind and patient Group therapy leader, Mrs.-Walters-Call-me-Sandy.

  I had no way to judge how our one-on-one sessions went for others, but I knew that in mine, I was a wealth of a whole lot of nothing. It did disturb me though, that I was starting to get a thrill out of making my therapist get riled up. Not because I felt remorse for riling poor Greg up, but because it meant I was enjoying something. Shudder.

  “Tell me, Eve. Do you think about the things you went through to end up here?” He always asked the same thing. “That was a very serious time for you, and those who loved you.” No, it was a damn basket of wriggling puppies.

  “That’s why I enjoyed it so much,” was my most standard answer. Greg would tsk. Greg loved to tsk.

  “Need I remind you, Ms. Harris…” Oh shit, he was pulling out the big guns. I was quivering. Notttt. “…that the court has left your stay with us somewhat open ended. Most of our residents have an end date that they are working towards. You, on the other hand…” At this point, he’d always gaze off sorrowfully, templing his hands beneath his scraggly bearded chin. Then, after enough silence had passed in which he figured out that I would not be responding, although unbeknownst to him it was not out of obstinacy but instead out of lack of interest, he’d swing his gaze back to mine…if I let him. Usually I liked to stare at a spot just above his head that made eye contact seem within reach, but actually impossible.

  Today I felt like switching it up. Holding his gaze, I decided to go for the gold. I cracked a smile and actually answered him. “Well, Greg, that does seem to be quite the pickle, doesn’t it?” His unkempt eyebrows shot skyward, emphasizing the ‘kind’ wrinkles in his forehead. I never understood why men who were bald or balding insisted on wearing ponytails. Especially since they always seemed to be these whispy little things. Did he have to use those rubberbands they used for braces in order to hold it? A regular hair tye would be way too big for that tiny challenge.

  Then, as total punishment to me for even speaking and changing my routine, he smiled. Greg was excited! “Oh Eve, we’ve made such a break through! You have just taken your first step towards acknowledging that you’re in a less than ideal situation. Acknowledgment is the first step!” He looked ready to throw me a party. I wanted to tell him that I really didn’t care and I certainly had no problem with less than ideal, but the effort of such was too daunting. I needed to conserve my energy for more important things, like not thinking about Gideon.

  Then, saved by the bell, Greg dismissed me with strong words of praise and encouragement, informing me how he couldn’t wait until tomorrow’s session. I forced down the bile as I walked slowly out of the room. I never was much for rushing...not even as I languidly walked out of my burning house after setting it on fire.

  One-on-one was also where we received our meds. In the Aftermath, during the period of interrogation, incarceration, and consequent institutionalization, they ran the gamut of tests and tried a shocking range of medications. It was kind of like shooting fish in a barrel. My poor brain was the biggest victim, but overall nothing really ‘worked.’ Either I’m unfixable or I’m unidentifiable by modern medicine. In the end they finally ended up sticking with a run of the mill anti-depressant. I still have to take it, but I’m pretty sure it’s not exactly making much of a difference because I feel exactly the same. In fact, during the period after but before here, I spent about 4 months cheeking my pill and never actually taking it. I went through a period where I didn’t want to get better, didn’t want to be better. During that time, I felt exactly the same. Now, I’m too disinterested to care. Get “better”? Don’t get better. Take pills? Don’t take pills. What’s the difference?

  After two months in this place, its familiarity was upsetting. I much preferred the unknown, that which might be terrifying for most but for me was my comfort zone. I already knew where every building was, every ‘classroom’, and most of the residents. As much as it killed me to admit it, though, I had come to appreciate the comfort of Leila and her annoying yet constant unpredictable behavior. Or maybe it was her steadfast loyalty.

  I’d never much been one for friends. Having Gideon was enough, although perhaps I was already like a sick animal back then. The pack just instinctually knew to stay away. Not that I minded. Who needed parties and girl talk when I had Gideon? I felt a slight tear in my coldness when I stumbled on the word had. But why focus on things that cannot be changed? Just ask my mom.

  Despite this, every night I’d wake up and crawl over the border and sleep next to Jack. I told myself that it fit my pattern because it wasn’t like we were friends.

  Deciding that the status quo was starting to grate, I went to Admin. They all knew each of us, since the camp was fairly small and probably only cared for around 40 of us psychologically damaged and criminally deranged children. Not only did everyone who worked in Admin know us all by name, first And last, but they never needed to check our files to remember just what we’d done to end up here. I guess it was self-preservation. If I worked here, the first thing I would do would be to memorize the files. But that would be for an entirely different reason. I’d want to be entertained and possibly inspired.

  Not really. I was pretty much over inspiration and entertainment.

  But that didn’t mean I was enjoying the thing that was currently attached to my head.

  After the two months at Camp Happy Town, as Leila referred to it (alternating that with Camp Loony Tunes), my hair was definitely not my best friend. It had grown several inches and now hung midway down my back, but that wasn’t my problem. My problem was that I had to come to camp with bleached hair which had bright pink streaks. Not a bad look…well, not a good look either, but definitely a look. Said look was still bleached, although the pink had faded until it looked kind of grayish. That in itself wouldn’t even be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that I was a natural brunette. And not a middling to fair brunette, but the kind that’s the last choice on the end of the spectrum of hair dyes right before you make the leap to midnight black.

  Therefore, so now were my 4 inch roots. I wouldn’t even mind that so much except for the fact that Leila had taken to calling me Cruella Deville and it was sort of starting to drive me nuts. I had tried explaining that it was a completely different look but she’d simply waved a dismissive hand at me , instructing me to “stop being such a Debbie Downer, Cruella.” God, that girl could single handedly annoy the crap out of me while simultaneously making me thank whatever powers that be, down there, for letting me find her.

  So this was how I found myself marching into Admin. Well, marching is a bit strong…more like dragging ass. But whatever, it got me where I was going. I also opened the doors eerily slow, not in an attempt to creep people out but because they were really heavy doors. Besides, no one who worked here could get creeped out.

  “How may we help you, Ms. Harris?” The lady manning the front was middle aged and had a kind face, but I knew not to be fooled. She was also trained in mixed martial arts and alternated with this badass muscle guy named Jim, for security. I decided that since I was here for a favor, I might consider trying not to be outwardly hostile. Oh, and I really needed to stop being called Cruella. Not that ‘Eve’ was much better but at least I was used to it. When I didn’t respond to my new moniker, Leila tended to get up in my face and wave her arms like she was directing traffic.

  “Hi, Ms. Hask. I was actually just wondering if I could ask for something.”

  “Eve, you know this isn’t actually a camp. We don’t really encourage undeserved rewards.” I respected this lady. She hadn’t even bothered to humor me by asking what it was I wanted.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s j
ust that since I’ll be here a while,” I was not above pulling the sympathy card, “Well…see…” Then I sort of lost my drive to accomplish anything, giving up before I’d really even begun. It was sort of a relief to resemble myself again. All I could do was limply wave a hand at my head, vaguely pointing at the roots.

  “Yes, I see…We’ve all seen, dear. What exactly would you propose we do about this…situation?” She still wasn’t acting like I’d get anywhere, but perhaps her mentioning that they’d all seen and clearly noticed the “situation” that was once my hair, spurred me on.

  “I was just wondering if maybe someone could pick me up a box of hair dye so I could at least be mono-tonal? Nevermind, it’s fine.” I gave up and turned to leave when I heard her call after me.

  “I’m not sure we’ll be able to help you with that. Now head back, it’s almost lights out.” With that I left Admin and headed to our bunk. This place was a study in contradictions. They put girls and boys in the same cabin but god forbid we were five minutes late to ‘lights out’. They made us have two doses of therapy a day, but the rest of the time we were free to do whatever the hell we wanted. I guess they figured we couldn’t get into too much trouble since we couldn’t leave and there was nothing to do around here. I’d never before understood how staring off into space could occupy so much of your time.

  As I hustled to make it to the bathroom and change before I got my ass handed to me, I thought about my request and the likelihood of having it happen. We were leveled here; we were all assigned varying levels based on our past discretions and current mental status. The lower your level, the more stable you were and the more privileges you got. That’s why some kids had access to stuff like cigarettes and requests. I was at nearly the top of the levels. Not too many privileges for me.