Chapter 6: Artsy
"Welcome to the art room, Isabella. I've been expecting you," a tall, muscular and tan man greeted me in his deep and inviting voice. He had dark features: nearly black eyes, long and silky raven colored hair that was tied in a ponytail by the nape of his neck. If I had to venture a guess I would have surmised that he was of Native American ancestry. What was this, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?I had never seen him around the halls of New Moon -—not that I was paying close attention before. He was not dressed like an orderly and didn't seem to resemble any of the other psychologists I had seen. Certainly he wasn't a patient. Curiosity picked at the edges of my consciousness to know who this was. It was then that I saw his nametag-—Jacob Black, it read. Scanning the room, I tried to get a feel for it. Although it was an art room, it was oddly and sparingly filled with pieces of art—-perhaps maybe only a handful of paintings and drawings were hung on the very pale chartreuse walls and none of it looked like crazy people had done them.
"I'm Jacob Black, New Moon's resident art therapist. I'm so pleased you're joining us today; Dr. Soigner informs me that you'll be spending your activity periods with us for the remainder of your stay here," he said as he outstretched his hand in greeting. I shook it in return and cleared my throat. The action, like so many other normal social interactions, felt foreign to me. Eyeing him, I sized him up. He could pass as attractive… in fact; he was quite beautiful in an earthy, artistic sort of way.
"Erm, hi. Yeah, I guess I'm supposed to be in here," I lamely replied.
"You can call me Jake. Follow me; I'll give you a mini-tour." Jacob Black led me around the decently-sized art room. The middle areas of the room were filled with many work tables with other patients scattered about among them. In the very center was a table draped in white linen and nothing else. Along the length of the largest wall were many cabinets filled with varying supplies, Jacob informed me. Each art-patient (that's how he liked to distinguish us from the non-art therapy patients) was assigned a locker for them to store their personal supplies-—usually provided by the patient's family—-and works of art. To me, they seemed more like oversized cubbies. They were located on the wall opposite of the supply cabinets along with the utility sink.
"The art room is open, and subsequently art-therapy occurs, Monday through Saturday. Sunday is my day off," he smiled as if it was something I cared to know. Whatever he did when I wasn't with him in art therapy was of no consequence to me; I didn't care so he could take his playful smiles and keep them to himself. Jacob led me to an empty work table by the corner of the room near the windows to the outside. The sun lazily shown through the thick Seattle clouds and filtered through the dusty sills onto the table we occupied. While gazing through the dirty window, I was suddenly aware that it had been quite a length of time since I had felt the sun on my face-—even covered in clouds—-and the wind through my hair. I longed to be outside once again.
"So, Isabella what are you in for, if you don't mind me asking," Jacob blurted, distracting me from my daydreaming.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, it aids in me knowing how to help you if I know where you're coming from so I can get you to where you're going," he stated.
"Like, my diagnosis?" I tested. I felt my eyebrows knit in confusion. Truly, I was unsure of what he wanted me to say to him.
"Not necessarily. I mean, what happened in your life to get you here at New Moon. All Dr. Soigner said was that you've been here for a month, you possess creative qualities, and that your ultimate desire is to leave very soon. He's not much of a talker if you ask me," he joked in a deep, booming sort of laugh. His humor was unnecessary in my eyes. I just wanted to do this artsy-fartsy bullshit and go home. "I'm sorry," he amended seeing my confusion, "it's just that usually I can get a read on people when they show up at the art room without them having to go into great detail right away about what's going on in their life but with you it's all a mystery. I can't get a read on you-—you're a tricky one, Isabella."
"Uhm, OK. Well… two months ago I saw a report on CNN that said my fiancé was dead. I, uh, love him so much and it hurt so badly that I couldn't live without him… so I, uh, swallowed a bottle of valium I was supposed to take for the plane ride to go see him in Paris. A week later, with no news of his body, I tried again and ended up in a coma for a couple weeks," I recalled, staring intently out at the clouds covering the sun. "That really pissed my family off because when I awoke, I was greeted with admittance forms for New Moon Psychiatric Facility. A week later I ended up here and was drugged up with quite a cocktail of psychotropic drugs. About a week after my admittance, I tried to kill myself again and was in a haze ever since. Yesterday my fiancé showed up with all of my family and proved to me that CNN had made a mistake which really woke me up. I mean, I'm back to my old self. People grieve differently, right?… So, now I'm just trying to show everyone that I'm sane so I can get out. Any questions?" I huffed. Having to recall the past two months of my life felt quite peculiar. Even to my own ears I sounded a little insane. Perhaps I went a little overkill on the honesty thing.
"Wow…," Jacob said after a few moments of charged silence. His face was inscrutable though I tried to decipher what was going through his mind. "OK… well that sounds like a lot to deal with," he attempted. I had succeeded in momentarily stunning him from speech. Unexpectedly, embarrassment flooded my cheeks in a warm, uncomfortable blush. Of course I had to ruin my chances of Jacob thinking me sane ten minutes into him meeting me. I have got to get a grip on myself, and fast! I mentally chastised.
"Right, well uh… since it's your first day in the art room, I'll just give you a sheet of paper and you can find your own medium to work with. Just… create whatever comes to mind. It's best if you focus on your thoughts and not what your hands are doing," he recovered. Abruptly, he left my side and I was alone again with my thoughts—-slightly nutty and unclear. Walking over to the cupboards, I noticed that all of the other patients were angled so they were surrounding the center table. As I looked from their collectively different pieces I started to notice something: although they all had the white table in their piece, the things upon it were all vastly different. One had a ragdoll, another had an alien-looking thing, and a third had a spoon. Crazy people, internally I scoffed, seeing things that aren't there.
Scanning through the many cabinets full of different materials, I tried to decide what tools I wanted to use. My hand ghosted over a wooden box, grainy and sanded smooth to the touch. It was as if it was calling to me so I opened it to find what was inside: charcoal pieces and chalk. They would do. My thoughts. He said stick with my thoughts, I pondered. What thoughts! Picking up a charcoal piece gingerly, I tested its feel in my hand. Not too foreign, oddly enough. I tried to think about something to draw. The only thing my mind kept coming to was that after this art nonsense I was going to be seeing Edward again. My hand started to move of its own accord as I drifted through different daydreams of Edward and myself.
"Who's that?" Jacob interrupted. I stared down at the paper in front of me that had magically been filled with the most beautiful sight: Edward. It was as if mere seconds had passed by since I sat down to my clean sheet in front of me. The only thing I was aware of, previously, had been the image of Edward and me at a little bistro in Paris where we would have shared a romantic French meal for two.
"Oh, uhm, that's my fiancé," I replied once I had become sentient of the present happenings around me.
"Why is he shaded so darkly… and looking up to the viewer?"
"Well, I was sort of picturing him at a specific moment…" I defended as soon as I realized what I had drawn.
"Which one would that be?"
"When he proposed. We were in this meadow at night filled with ridiculous amounts of twinkling candles and he proposed in the doorway of our would-be home," I remembered aloud, "It was the happiest moment of my life." Jake was quiet for a moment, in thought no doubt.
"Hmm. Very interesting."
"How so?"
"Once again Isabella, you fail to behave like a typical patient I see here."
"Well what is that supposed to mean?" I snapped.
"Usually when a patient is given free-range over what they can create they depict something dark, depressing, and slightly confusing—-especially with such a suicidal background as yours. Instead, you draw the happiest moment of your life, and rather well might I add," he explained. Did he just compliment me? "You're very talented as it seems." Yes, he did.
"I, uh, took art in high school. But you said yourself that he was shaded darkly…"
"Yes, I did, but you just explained to me that the image is at night which makes this drawing of yours quite realistic," Jake paused and looked at me, staring deeply into my eyes. It was a little unnerving and yet familiar all the same. "You are going to be a pleasure to unravel."
"What?" I gasped. It sounded so sexual, but his composure made it seem purely professional.
"Your mind, the workings of your mind will be very interesting to unravel and understand," he offered.
His face was neutral, not giving away any emotion or an insight to his thoughts.
"Ohhkayyy…" Truly I was at a loss for words.
"I'll show you your locker where you can put that drawing and then you can clean up and go, alright?" He smiled.
"Sure, sure. Oh! Uhm, the other patients, I noticed that all of them had drawn or painted something different than what was there on that table… is that typical of crazy people?"
"Isabella, I wouldn't say that they're crazy people, otherwise you might as well call yourself crazy. Their assignment, however, was to draw an object on the table that most represented themselves at this moment in their lives. I would hope that they didn't just draw an empty table," he joked. There was that smile again, like the sun shone through his teeth—-his big pearly-whites. It comforted me in a way that nothing else had at New Moon. Who imagines themselves as a spoon! I though, remembering one of the paintings I saw earlier.
"Right, and every sane person envisions themselves as a spoon," I called to Jake as I started to put away the supplies I had used. After the spot I had occupied was clear of everything except my drawing, Jacob spoke again.
"I'll show you to your locker now. Here, put your drawing inside," Jacob instructed as he pointed to my personal cubby.
"But, I wanted to hang it in my room… I don't have any pictures of Edward or my family," I begged. Why wouldn't I be allowed to keep my own drawing in my room? This place had odd rules.
"Sorry, but it needs to stay here for at least a few days. I'd like to get to know your work better before I let you gallop off with it," he tried to smile comfortingly. It didn't work because I left feeling quite frustrated.
.::.
As I walked alone through the halls mulling over my day so far, I felt utterly exhausted. It had been the most activity in which I had participated in two months. Although I was brimming with excitement to see Edward, I really wished I could have napped first so as not to spoil the moment with drooping eyelids, the inability to pay attention, or something of the sort. Rounding the corner to the corridor of bedrooms, and feeling very pleased with myself for remembering my way around the facility, Nurse Emily stopped me.
"Isabella, your visitor is here," she called pleasantly. "He's in the visitor's room, but you're welcome to go wherever you desire in the ward."
"Oh, OK; thanks Emily," I returned her smile.
With as much energy as I could muster, I loped off to the room we had all gathered in yesterday. Apparently I was the only one with visitors as of late. As I approached the doorway that separated me from Edward, I began to feel his presence; it was a slow tingling sensation in my skin that spiraled lazily to my gut and below. The closer I went to the door the more intense it became until suddenly it was overpowering when I saw him through the open doorframe. All the air in my lungs whooshed out when I was awestruck again by his ceaseless beauty. Practically skipping forward, I wrapped my arms around him and breathed him in.
"Edward," I said as I exhaled. He smelled divine, just like sun-intensified honey and musk.
"Hello, love," he greeted and kissed the top of my hair. I had practically thrown myself on him exuberantly and he still was as calm as ever. I reverently kissed the scar that now occupied his face and lowered my head to rest against him so as to listen to his heartbeat: proof he was alive. "I have something for you," he offered. Lifting my head from his chest, I leaned back to look at him in the eyes, his breathtakingly green eyes. I couldn't help but smile.
"Oh? What would that be? You know I don't like presents…"
"I believe this belongs to you," he ignored my question while fishing in his pocket and held out a black velvet box. Opening it, he flashed the diamond ring at me. I held out my left hand and he placed it on my now-bony third finger. It sagged a little, but nothing that a few 1,500 calorie meals couldn't fix.
"My engagement ring!" I cooed, never breaking eye contact. It meant so much more to me that he brought it and placed it on my finger again instead of Alice giving it to me. I was thankful that she, most likely, had orchestrated it so. "Thank you," I said with a kiss; it was sweet and innocent. Just when I was about to deepen it, a yawn started to overpower me. Sheepishly, I looked at him again, embarrassed with my fatigue.
"Don't be embarrassed Bella," he chastised, reading me all too well. "I'm tired too. Physical therapy was daunting today. Would it be alright if we took a little nap? I haven't slept well in about five months."
"Me neither," I conceded. This time, after eating two meals previous to my wheelchair pushing attempts, I was able to manage the task much better. Edward helped out a bit by getting the wheels started, but I was pleased with my progress none-the-less. Once in my room, concern over how Edward was going to get into my bed crossed my mind. Using his strengthened arms, he pushed himself out of the wheelchair and into my bed using a technique he learned in physical therapy and my worry was proved useless. When he was settled in bed I climbed in next to him, molding my body to his and his arm snaked around my palpably thinner waist. I thought I had heard him mutter so thin, but my exhaustion could have made me imagine that. Before we drifted off to sleep, I remembered how precious our little time together was. "Just… forty-five minutes… set the alarm—-no longer," I instructed just as I lost consciousness. For the first time in a long time, I slept in a peaceful manner without nightmares of hauntingly bloody sheets.
.::.
I awoke some time later to silky-soft caresses on my cheeks. "Mmm," I croaked as I became more sentient. I could feel Edward's warm embrace still spooning me: it was delightful and I had missed it so.
"Truly I cannot convey to you how much I have missed that little voice you use when you are sleep talking," Edward greeted. Opening my eyes, I found us lying in the same position we had fallen asleep in. Our eyes met and I felt at home again. It was as if no time at all had passed, like we had just woken up in our large bed on a Sunday morning: refusing to leave it all day. We passed a few moments simply gazing at each other, both of us too aware of how much we had missed this.
"That was the best sleep I've had in god knows how long," I commented.
"You have no idea." We sat in quiet for a few minutes while Edward played with my hair and continued to stroke spirally patterns on the skin of my cheeks again.
"When do you get to go home?" I bravely asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
"I should ask you the same thing," he retorted, his face turning into a faint scowl. Damn it! Alice told him! I mentally panicked.
"I asked you first…"
He sighed before answering. "In a couple weeks, I guess. My physical therapist wants to make sure the apartment is … accessible, and that I'm ready enough to potentially live on my own." As he spoke the last sentence, his eyes drifted to elsewhere in the room. An emotion I couldn't put my finger on clouded his usually brilliant eyes. "I want us to go home."
My throat caught as I pondered my response and my face flushed crimson in anguish. "I do too," I spoke finally, just as the tears cascaded over the rims of my eyes and down my cheeks.
"Do you? You decided to stay here of your own accord… perhaps you're suffering from Stockholm syndrome?" Edward's tone was heartbreaking. It was angry and resentful yet sad and sarcastic. Maybe I try to see the best in people, but there also seemed to be a touch of understanding there as well.
"I just feel as though… I don't know; there's unfinished business here. Dr. Laurent said something that sort of clicked with me," I reasoned.
"He tried to convince you that you've lost your mind and you believed him! Well then maybe you are insane after all," he spat.
"Take that back! How dare you!" I screamed as I pushed away from him. Hearing those words come from Edward's lips just about shattered what little sanity I had been able to muster after thinking that he was dead for two months. Involuntarily, I began to shake.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Bella, I didn't mean it. Babe, you know I didn't. I'm just frustrated with… everything: I can't walk, you're in here, we've been apart for ages, and all I want to do is be home with you in our bed again but everyone seems to be against us! My mother is resolute that I stay at Alice's place while she and my father stay on and off until I can 'care' for myself. Dr. Soigner and my father along with Esme want to keep you in here. Who knows what Charlie's thinking… It's just so much. We should be planning our graduation parties and our wedding… not how to get me to walk again and you out of the loony bin!" Edward ranted as he tried to hold me tight against him. It was the first time he had truly shown his emotions about everything that had occurred. Granted it was only the second time I'd seen him, but it was still shocking and yet somewhat relieving.
"I—-I… something is wrong with me Edward and I don't know what… that's why I decided to stay. Esme was so sure that this is where I should be, and Dr. Laurent said that I would be a burden to you all, that you're not even at our home yet. I'm so unsure all the time, I feel so lost. You heard what he said about my so-called 'abandonment issues'… well they're real. I have them. Didn't you ever wonder why I was so quick to shove you off to Europe? I was afraid that if I didn't send you away, you'd eventually leave me on your own. That is just so messed up!" I sobbed into his chest, muffling my loud wails. He held me close, no matter how ridiculous I sounded. Edward stroked my hair comfortingly, kissing my forehead every so often until my sobs quieted enough for him to speak, holding me all the while.
"Bella my love, it's not your fault I got hit by the car."
"Isn't it though?" I bawled as guilt washed over me. For the first time since the news of his accident, I recognized part of the anguish I had been feeling: guilt. I had practically forced him to go to Paris. Perhaps I was blaming myself all along for his accident.
"Not at all, Love."
"I convinced you to go to Paris! If I wasn't just so completely messed up with my issues that I didn't even know I had, you would still be walking and I would be anywhere else but here as long as I was with you. We would have had Paris together or something equally as great as that… I'm so sorry, Edward," I sobbed again. My body shook with desperation. I was desperate for him to understand and almost for him to blame me for this; after all I had felt so responsible.
"That is entirely the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say! I wanted to go to Paris; I just wanted you to come too. Everyone has issues, Bella. It's not your fault, love," he comforted. Edward tried to convince me that I was blameless but I just couldn't hear it. Now that I knew why I had all but sent in his application to the Sorbonne, I couldn't help but feel responsible for our current predicament. If only Renee had sent me to see a shrink when I was younger like most parents would have when they get a divorce. No, do not blame other people for your own shortcomings! It is not mom's fault, my inner-self chastised. He held me until my sobs had quieted.
"I'm sorry," I rasped once I had contained myself. "I've been really emotional these past two days."
"It's entirely understandable. Haven't we all?"
"I guess…What time is it?"
"Five"
"Hmm… dinner is in a half-hour. Are you staying?" I wondered.
"Unfortunately not, Esme wants to take the family out to dinner. Charlie's coming after dinner, so you won't be here alone for long," he regretfully told me.
Edward and I lay in bed for the remainder of the half hour, talking and trying to enjoy our time together. Alice came and collected Edward, much to his and my disappointment. She was bouncy and energetic—-happy as ever to see me-—while he and I were sullen and depressed. Quite a pair, he and I made. Dinner came and went without much goings on. The typical shit went down: Tanya pestering another patient; Victoria and I pretending we had nothing to do with it and so on. Much to my surprise neither Victoria nor Tanya had asked about my day. Charlie's visit went better than any of his previous visits and I could tell he wasn't afraid to leave me at the end like he had previously been. Apparently my progress within the past twenty-four hours was comforting to my family. At least I had that going for me.
After Charlie's visit, while I was thinking about Victoria and Tanya and the dynamics of our friendship, it finally dawned on me why I had chosen them out of all of the crazy-ass bitches they had filtering through New Moon: they were the mental institution version of Alice and Rosalie. Victoria had Alice's sweetness, optimism, and boundless girly energy while Tanya had Rosalie's beauty, brass balls, and say-anything type attitude. Rosalie, however, was not a sociopath and little Alice couldn't even kill a fly. Nostalgia for the days when the three of us were inseparable overtook me and my thoughts. For the first time, I actually thought of Rosalie. Rosie! I should call her, I reminded myself. I did just that, taking full advantage of my new phone privileges.
As I sat in one of the booths outside the nurses' station, the phone rang twice before Emmett picked up the phone at the apartment he and Rosalie shared.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Hey Em! It's Bella."
"Holy-fucking-christ! They let you use the phone now! This is fantastic!"
"Well I wanted to take advantage of it. Is Rose there? I realized today that I've been neglecting her severely and I must remedy that!" I enthusiastically explained. A little knot of anxiety wound itself up in my gut-—the prospect of facing Rosalie one-on-one, even on the phone, made me nervous for an inexplicable reason.
"Yeah, I'll get her for you… in a minute. Can I talk to you really quickly while she's in the next room?" He spoke softly into the phone.
"Uhm, sure Emmett. I've missed you too."
"Aw thanks Belly, but that's not what I wanted to talk about. Uh… OK so this is a little bit of a sore subject around all of us-—-as I'm sure you well-know—-but Rosie is taking all of this really hard, harder than the rest of us. You know why, right?" Emmett cryptically spoke into the phone.
"It's escaping me. Maybe you should just say so because my mind has been a bit of a mess lately." My heart began pounding erratically in anticipation for what Emmett was about to say next.
"Do you remember how her mother died? She killed herself Bella, when Rose was in high school. It was after her parents split up." My stomach plummeted to my feet and I was sure my skin was positively green with nausea.
"Oh my god, I completely forgot about Mrs. Hale," I admitted. I flashed back in my mind to when Rosalie had told me, the look of pain and heartbreak on her face so raw. It was the most exposed I had seen Rosalie ever I had been moved to tears alongside her and Alice as the three of us held each other. Again, I flashed to another time when Jasper—-who had gone to high school with Rose-—told me what she was like after. He had said that it was hard to look her in the eye without wanting to cry. Jasper had also told me about how the whole school had signed a no-suicide contract after an assembly in order to support Rosalie and her younger brother. No wonderRosalie couldn't bear to be in the same room as me; I had brought her back to the worst time in her life. I had been a terrible friend. For the second time today, overwhelming guilt overtook me. "I'm so sorry Emmett," I said in a small voice. I was too embarrassed to say anything else.
"Well, you should be. I don't know if I should let you talk to her right now…" He thought aloud.
"Please Emmett? I'm better now. I just want to make things right," I pleaded. It was bullshit of course, because as much as I had thought that I was now better the more I was discovering how unwell I actually was.
"Fine, but she can't be held responsible for what she says. She's reliving hell and then some, so you better be nice." I had never had Emmett talk to me that way ever and it scared the living shit out of me. He was so protective over Rosalie; it reminded me of how Edward always was with me. In the background, I could hear the rustling of the changeover taking place with the phone.
"You're so pathetic, and a coward," Rosalie hissed to me before the phone went dead.
.::.
