Chapter Text
Kimber thrashed as rough hands grabbed her arms and strapped them down. “No!” she screamed as she kicked out, landing a kick to someone’s chest as finally, her legs were pinned down as well. She pulled against her restraints, shrieking, as she felt the needle enter her arm. “No, no, no,” she cried, unable to keep herself from losing consciousness.
When she woke, she noticed the light streaming through the windows. She scrambled back on the bed, expecting to still be tied down, and pulled her knees up to her chest.
“Kylie,” a woman’s voice said. “You’re safe. You had an incident and we had to medically restrain you, but you’re in the Los Angeles Hospital’s Psych Ward and you’re safe.”
Kimber shook, weeping into her knees.
“Do you remember what happened?” the woman asked. “Do you remember the incident?”
Kimber hugged her legs in tighter. She didn’t want to remember anything. Remembering was the fucking problem.
“The doctor will be here shortly to check in on you. You’re safe. OK? You’re safe.” Kimber heard the nurse leave.
After a few moments, she slowly lifted her head, taking in her surroundings. She was in a room with light blue walls and a white tile floor. Her hospital bed was in a semi reclined position and the no-fall railings were up. She could see the restraints hanging limply to the side. She fucking hated those things. Kimber dug her nails into her knees, but her tension continued to build until she flung her pillows and sheets off the bed in a quiet rage. She knew the howls and screams she wanted to release would just get her restrained again.
She was standing now, doubled over, hands on knees and breathing heavily. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ she repeated in her head, trying to calm herself. She knelt on the floor and began gathering her pillow and linens, letting the hardness of the floor dig into her bony knees. She got everything back on the bed and straightened it all out. Her breathing slowed and she paced around the room until the doctor came in.
“Hi, Kylie,” Dr. Stevens said brightly. “How are you feeling?”
Kimber stopped pacing and glared up at him. “Great,” she smiled sarcastically. “You know how much I fucking love being TIED DOWN.” She didn’t mean to yell, but it was hard to control her rage.
Dr. Steven’s didn’t react. “Why don’t you sit?” he asked, gesturing to the chair in the corner of the room.
“I prefer to stand, if that’s okay,” Kimber responded through gritted teeth.
“Of course it’s okay,” Dr. Stevens replied. “You get to decide what you do with your body.”
Kimber scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
The doctor gave her a moment before asking, “Can you tell me about what happened last night? About what precipitated the restraint?”
Kimber turned away from the doctor, clenching her fists. She didn’t want to think about last night. She didn’t want to think about the past at all. Her breathing began to quicken.
“I know it’s hard for you to talk,” Dr. Stevens said. “I know you think that you’re protecting yourself by not thinking about the things you’ve gone through. But it’s not working and I think you can see that.” Kimber chewed the corner of her mouth. “You have to talk about what happened to you eventually, or you’re going to keep flying into your rages and you’re going to get hurt…or hurt someone else.” Kimber blinked back tears. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You can talk to me. You’re safe here.”
Part of Kimber knew that the doctor was right; that she couldn’t keep going the way she was going. But she also didn’t feel ready to give in. She was afraid that if she let her armor slip, she would have nothing…be nothing.
Dr. Stevens interrupted her thoughts. “Okay, Kylie,” he said, using the name she’d gave them when she’d been locked up. “I’m going to finish my rounds. You have an appointment with Ms. Brennan this afternoon and then group. I hope you’ll consider opening up.”
As the doctor left, Kimber released her fists. She ran her hands up and down her arms, suddenly feeling cold. She curled up in the chair and counted the holes in the ceiling tiles until lunch.
After lunch, Kimber was walked to Ms. Brennan’s office. Her office was cheery, in a sterile, clinical way, with posters on the walls showing beautiful mountain ranges and waterfalls and a couple of beanbag chairs in the corner. There were stuffed animals and art supplies and books lining the shelves. Kimber sat in a chair facing the desk. Ms. Brennan shut the door and then sat across from her.
“Hey, Kylie,” she said warmly. “I heard you had a rough night.”
One thing Kimber liked about Ms. Brennan was that she knew how to cut to the chase. “You could say that,” Kimber said, slouching down.
“I know you hate being restrained—I’m so sorry that happened. Can you tell me how you got there?”
“No,” Kimber pouted, angry at the insinuation that it was her fault.
Ms. Brennan nodded. “The report says that you attacked another patient.”
Kimber shrugged, studying her nails.
“Can you tell me why you attacked him?”
“I didn’t ‘attack’ him. I was defending myself,” Kimber grumbled.
“You were defending yourself?” she always repeated shit. Must be therapeutic. “Why did you feel you needed to defend yourself?”
Kimber took a deep breath. “Because he fucking touched me.”
“Where did he touch you?”
“I was at the table doing a jigsaw puzzle and he grabbed my shoulder.”
“Can you show me how he grabbed your shoulder?”
Kimber looked flabbergasted. “Like this,” she said, tapping her shoulder with her fingers.
“So, he tapped you?”
“Yeah.”
“You said he grabbed you.”
Kimber rolled her eyes. “What’s the fucking difference?” she asked.
“Well, a grab is more aggressive,” Ms. Brennan stated.
“A tap can be aggressive,” Kimber argued.
“Sure, I guess it can be.” Ms. Brennan paused. “Was this tap aggressive?”
Kimber felt tears spring up in her eyes. She felt ridiculous. “I guess not,” she replied.
“So what was it that set you off?”
Kimber exhaled loudly. “I guess I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Okay, so you felt this tap and it surprised you. Then what happened.”
“I guess I grabbed his hand and bit him on the arm?”
“Are you asking me?”
“No,” Kimber admitted. “I bit him.”
“You did. And then what happened.”
“Then I got cornered by the staff and I fought back. But I lost.”
“What would winning have looked like?”
Kimber looked up. “I have no idea.”
“Okay, so you fought the staff. Do you remember what was going through your head at that point?” Kimber shook her head. “Were you thinking about Suzie, the nurse you punched in the face? Or about Justin, the orderly you kicked in the chest?” Kimber shook her head again. “Did you even see them?”
Kimber paused. “Not really,” she finally answered. When she tried to remember last night, instead she got glimpses of Deputy Griggs throwing the desk out of the way and grabbing her. Of Deputy Ramirez laughing after he punched her in the face. Of the smell of James Preston’s cologne as he thrust himself into her. When she tried to remember last night, all she could see was that she had to fight. She had to fight and she had to win.
“Kylie,” Ms. Brennan said kindly. “I don’t know what’s happened in your life to get you here. But I want to know. I want to help you deal with your trauma so that you can handle your rage and your anger. So that you can leave the hospital and live some sort of a normal life.” She paused. “Do you want that?”
Kimber tried to formulate a response, but she couldn’t articulate what she was thinking. Not yet. She couldn’t tell Ms. Brennan that she didn’t deserve a normal life. That she deserved everything she got: all the pain, fear, and anguish.
Ms. Brennan stood up. “It’s time for group. I’ll walk you down.”
Where Ms. Brennan’s room was warm, the group therapy room was bleak. It was a large space with a circle of plastic chairs in the middle. Suzanne, the trauma group leader, was already seated along with 4 other women.
“Welcome, Kylie!” Suzanne beamed. “Have a seat.”
For the next hour, Kimber listened as the women around her shared. One told of her college boyfriend holding her down and his roommate shoved his cock into her mouth. Another told about her pimp beating her after a John wouldn’t pay. A third cried as she recounted being choked by a stranger in her own bed.
During a lull, Suzanne turned to Kimber. “Kylie, would you like to share today?”
Kimber had been locked in the psych ward for two weeks, but she still hadn’t shared. She shook her head and looked at her feet. She wasn’t ready.