Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“Don’t touch me!” She was still lying flat on her back—now she kicked up with one leg and caught O’Toole on the side of the head with her foot.
“Ow!” He yanked his hand away and grabbed for his hurt head. “You little bitch!”
“Get away from me!” Torri shouted, sitting up in bed and pulling down her blouse. “Leave me alone!”
Suddenly someone snapped on the lights. Torri blinked her eyes at the abrupt, blinding brilliance.
“What’s going on in here?” the head nurse demanded. Hands on hips, she marched over to Torri’s bed. “You’re disturbing everyone and disrupting the entire floor, Ms. Morrison!”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on—he was groping me!” Torri pointed a shaking finger at O’Toole. “He had his hand under my shirt, touching my breasts!”
“She’s lying!” O’Toole said at once. “Or else confused. I was just trying to wake her up before she woke up all the rest of the patients in the unit, Nurse Kathy!”
“That’s not true!” Torri protested. “I mean, yes I was having a nightmare, but he was touching me while I was sleeping!”
“While you were sleeping?” The head nurse gave her a skeptical look. “I think you must have been dreaming, Ms. Morrison. Mike would never do anything inappropriate with a patient.”
“No, I certainly wouldn’t!” Mike gave her that wounded look again. “Frankly, it hurts my feelings that you’d think I would, darlin’. But I know you were half-asleep,” he went on magnanimously, putting a hand to his temple. “Otherwise, you would never have kicked me in the head.”
“She kicked you in the head?” Nurse Kathy looked horrified.
“It’s all right—I’m fine,” O’Toole shook his head and winced. “Man, she really got me, though!”
“Mike, I think you’d better go have a seat at the nurse’s station. Ask Emily to have a look at you,” the head nurse directed.
“Sure. Thanks.” O’Toole shambled away, still clutching at the side of his head and swaying dramatically, as though he felt woozy.
The head nurse turned back to Torri, who was sitting up in the bed, frowning defiantly.
“You need to watch yourself, Missy,” she said, shaking a finger at Torri. “The staff puts up with a lot of abuse at this facility because we know we’re working with troubled patients, but there are limits. You can’t go kicking people in the head if you want to stay in the Non-Violent ward!”
“But I wasn’t lying—he was groping me!” Torri protested fiercely. “Listen, I don’t care if you believe me or not—just keep him out of my room!”
“That would be easier if anyone else dared to come wake you up when you start having one of your screaming fits,” Nurse Kathy snapped. “Unfortunately, most of the female staff are afraid you’ll attack them and Mike is the only one big enough and strong enough to handle you when you get obstreperous.”
“Look, I’m not screaming for fun or to wake people up on purpose,” Torri said desperately. “I can’t help it that I have night terrors!”
“Oh, yes you can, Missy! If you’d take the medication Dr. Burrows prescribed for you, this unpleasantness every night could be avoided!” the nurse told her, bristling.
Torri didn’t feel like explaining again how the medicine didn’t remove the night terrors—it only made her unable to escape them. She just wanted to be left alone and not have to fear that she’d wake up from one nightmare to find another one happening.
Translation—you don’t want to wake up from the AllFather “tasting your pain” to find O’Toole raping you, whispered a little voice in her brain.
Yes, that was true enough, Torri admitted to herself feeling sick. But how could she stop either nightmare from happening when no one would believe her?
As the head nurse left her room—snapping off the lights again on her way out—Torri curled up on her side and squeezed her eyes shut.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered, feeling hopeless. “What am I going to do?”
Eight
There were no more night terrors that night—thank the Lord for small favors, as Nana would have said—and Torri woke up the next day to repeat her monotonous routine all over again. Every day at St. Elizabeth’s was like living in the movie Groundhog Day, except without the comedic element, she thought. It was all just gray and awful.
She refused her morning meds and had a shower that was no more than lukewarm—there were temperature controls on all the showers to keep patients from hurting themselves. Then she went to breakfast—lumpy oatmeal, dry toast, and a bruised banana—and sat with Emile and Gloria again. Gloria was having another “bright” day, so she refused to share the sugar or sweetener for the oatmeal or the small plastic squeeze bottle of strawberry jam for the toast.
After breakfast was Group Goals. When the Group therapist asked Torri to share her long-term goal, she just shook her head. If she said, “my goal is to get the hell out of this fucking place,” which was her real goal, she would just be labeled as antisocial and after yesterday, she didn’t need any more black marks on her record.