Broken Doll.

i:

Nemii can’t remember how long she has been there on the floor at the bottom of the bed. She doesn’t know how long she’s held it in her hands. The bleeding has slowed and there are no more cries.

The room looks different in the twilight; dusk casts shadows that Nemii didn’t see before. The carpet that once lay plush, soft enough to press your face into, is now sodden with thick crimson syrup. She tries to remember. The bed spread, a heavy quilt with pale rose patterns is now shredded and the curtains have been pulled down. She is cold. She moves quietly from the ground, crawling to the corner where, before the storm, there had been a giant rocking chair. She takes care to protect the thing in her arms, the thing she doesn’t recognise, and amongst the splinters, draws it into her arms and waits.

The eyes are watery and have lost their colour. It must have been a long time. They used to look back at her, two soft green pearls. Now they are grey as the skies and endless; they reveal nothing. The hands are cold. She runs her fingers over it; red fingertips draw circle patterns on the face.

She closes her eyes. Her mind swims in black and she remembers nothing. She opens them sharply and through the spots that cloud her thoughts she notices the crib, cowering overturned in the farthest corner. She sees the happy face of Pooh Bear on the side, smeared and scratched, and the bars that were made to protect have been clawed at; prised apart. Her hands hurt. The aching nails are bloody and ragged.

The streetlight outside flickers on and the room is flooded with an orange glow. She sees now. She remembers but doesn’t understand. She looks to the thing in her arms, the broken doll. “Rose.” She whispers. This is when the screams begin.

ii:

The lights in the hospital are always on, even at night the office lamps stutter and buzz and orderlies wander the squeaky white corridors in squeaky white shoes, checking, they say.

The nighttimes are the worst, when the darkness sets in and the noises hush, Nemii is alone with her thoughts and she can never sleep. The pills make her drowsy though and often she spends the hours drifting from dream to reality.

Sometimes she sees her memories run together like an old film, crackling and mismatched. She sees her family running to catch a train to Oxford and barely making it. She is wearing a purple scarf and as she runs the wind takes it and sweeps it up. She sees her husband, Jacob hurrying ahead carrying their big brown bag. She see’s Rose. She is holding her close, trying to keep steady as they run. Rose is crying and red faced but she smells like butterscotch and Nemii breaths deep. But memories fade quickly as reality coaxes her awake; the orderlies checking, the buzzing, the squeaky floors. As her family slip away she is left empty and alone; the smell of butterscotch lingers.

Sometimes she can hear voices of the doctors and the screams of that day. She can see her own hands, animal claws scratching at the face and the body until everything is red. She sees the rage and she hears the broken cries. She sees herself being dragged through the shards of the shattered mirror and she sees this room; the room that she lies in now. She sees the face of Jacob, full of confusion and hate turning from her as they lock the door. The whispering voices grow louder now, this is when they go to work and Nemii longs to be free. She longs to forget.

Sometimes the night is filled with a different nightmare. It sneaks up on her when she’s drifting, and the first time, she didn’t see it coming. His name is Leon. He is an ordinary looking man with slender fingers and breath that smells like rotting. He whispers to her, voice quivering, “You’re a bad girl. You should be punished. You’re sick. I know what you did. I know what you are. You’re a very bad girl.” Then it begins; Always the same. He reaches one hand under the sheets to find the warm sticky bit, the other is used to cover her mouth, hold her down. He is strong and Nemii is weak. He takes his time, he savours the taste. When he is finished he likes to look into her eyes, he likes it when she cries. She tries not to cry anymore.

She doesn’t tell the doctors anything. She used to; she used to ask them to keep her safe and she told them about Leon, the first time. But they do not listen and they do not keep her safe. They give her tests and treatments and their eyes are filled with contempt. They hate her and she knows it. They lock her in rooms and they stick her with needles and sometimes they strap her down on a table and pulse lightening through her body so all she can see is a bright white light and all she feels is pain. They talk at her a lot; they say her mind is broken. “That’s why you did what you did” and they show her the pictures of the room, of the red, of Rose lying stiff and scarred. They think this will help. But it doesn’t.

iii.

On the last day nothing spectacular happens.

Nemii is bathing whilst a female orderly keeps watch. She is a good patient; she is quiet and doesn’t make a fuss. She has settled in nicely and so when she asks to shave her legs, the request is granted.

The blade is easy to dislodge under the water and as the orderly reads, Nemii dips below the surface, “I’m just washing my hair,” and ties the almost blunt blade amongst her brown tendrils.

She gets dressed and is taken back to her room. The evening medication is handed out, she sticks her fingers down her throat; she doesn’t want to be drowsy. She lies down in her bed, under the sheets and liberates the blade.

She doesn’t make any noise when she digs the silver into her skin. She doesn’t cry. She slices from her wrist to her elbow, it takes time. When it’s done her heart begins to pound, pumping blood, panicking. She breathes deeply and she can smell butterscotch. She closes her eyes and she can see the face smiling, laughing. Her heart begins to slow and she is euphoric.

Now the memories are not cracked and she cannot hear the whispers. Her thoughts are illuminated by a white light. She doesn’t see that day filled with rage, she sees what it should have been. She sees the baby crying and she comforts it. There is no red. She sees Rose growing; tall and beautiful, hazel eyes and a sharp mind. Rose smiles and laughs and is happy. Nemii weeps at the end; before the last drop drips and she sleeps.

Leon finds her first. In the darkness he slips his hand under the sheets and finds it cold and hard. He creeps out of the room and leaves her in the silence.