Without warning he gripped my hand, reaching out to me as if I were a lifeboat in a treacherous sea. My heart raced in my chest. Rapid, shallow breaths made me feel faint as he gently slid the sleeve of my shirt up to my elbow and peered at the wound. I gulped harder, wanting to scream, wanting to yank my arm away from him, but I didn’t. I kept still. I felt exposed. I felt ugly, and I deserved it. I did this to myself.
I glanced up at him as he studied my injury. His eyes were glassy. Why would Chris cry for me? Did he really care that much?
“Oh god, Mrs. Honeycutt,” he whispered, panic-stricken.
I didn’t understand his desperation. It addled me, yet it drew me in. I wanted to know why. I wanted to comprehend it.
His voice trembled with suppressed emotions as he said softly, “Please don’t. I need you.”
The lump in my throat doubled in size, and my heart ached. My head swirled with so many thoughts and feelings that I could barely decipher one from the next—fear, regret, compassion, sorrow, anger, empathy. The violent tempest that was whirling inside of me wanted out while I was using all my strength to keep it in.
I shook my head, conveying my promise with my eyes. “Never again,” I whispered, my voice barely audible through my tears. “I promise.”
Chris nodded, unable to speak, but I could see the truth in his three little words, declaring how much he needed me. It was all there, and I didn’t understand it. But I knew I needed him too.
“Please… please don’t say anything… to anyone,” I stammered. I was terrified that they’d send me out on medical leave or make me take a leave of absence.
“I won’t,” he whispered, as if he already understood what the ramifications would be if he told someone.
Chris quickly stood up, as if suddenly aware of what had just happened or how it might look. Self-consciously, he wiped his eyes on his sleeves, darting out the door and closing it softly behind him. I heard Officer Harris greet him to escort him back to his bunk.
I wondered what made him stop by my office in the first place. Sixth sense? But that thought was overshadowed by everything that had just occurred in the span of a few hours, weighing me down like a ton of bricks.
Folding my arms on my desk, I laid my head across them. I buried my face into the crook of my elbow and cried. I wept until my tears ran dry and all that was left were the quiet sounds of my heaving breaths.
The next day, I fought to keep the dizziness at bay, not daring to move too quickly or I’d feel nauseated. I chalked it up to a touch of vertigo—something I’d suffered through for six months while I was in college. I glanced at the clock. It was almost time for my session with Greg. Maybe I’ll have just enough time to rest my eyes for a minute before he gets here. I could already feel the room spinning. I sat very still, hoping the feeling would pass.
“Mrs. Honeycutt?” Greg asked as he walked through the door. “Are you okay?”
I looked up at Greg with glassy eyes, quickly wiping the stinging tears away. “I’m sorry. I’m okay. Just tired today.”
“Are you sure? You don’t look so good.” The concern on his face was alarming.
Suddenly, the room started to swim. My head felt dizzy and my hands felt like lead in my lap. I could feel my eyes rolling back into my head as I struggled to keep my balance.
“Mrs. Honeycutt… Mrs. Honey–”
It was the last thing I remember before I blacked out.
I woke up on a stretcher. There was an oxygen mask over my mouth. I saw unfamiliar faces surrounding me, checking my vital signs. The wheels of the stretcher squeaked as they wheeled me toward the awaiting ambulance. My eyes tried to focus on the rectangular tiles of the dropped ceiling as they blurred past me on the way down the hall. I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Ma’am, everything is okay. We’re just transporting you to the hospital for observation.”
I nodded. Honestly, all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. There was too much confusion in my muddled brain.
“Mrs. Honeycutt…” I heard Greg calling in the background.
“Son, she’s gonna be fine. No need to worry,” the EMT patted Greg’s shoulder assuredly.
Greg shrugged him off. “Get your hands off me, sir.” The edge in his voice managed to pull me a little out of my fog. “Mrs. Honeycutt!” His cries were frantic as he fought the guard, trying to get closer to me.
I threw my hand in the air and gave him a thumbs-up. I would be just fine, and I wanted to put him at ease. I just needed some rest… and maybe some food.
I was thinking about my rumbling stomach when a thought grabbed my heart and squeezed. Oh god, what if they see my wrist? They might fire me. Before I could think, the EMT was jerking up the sleeve of my shirt to find a vein for an IV. No! I screamed in my muffled, swimmy head.