was more comfortable in the bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, when I’d managed to settle myself.
“Just getting more comfortable.”
“Are you in bed?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“On the couch.”
“You just turned the television on.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll turn it off.”
“No, it’s fine. What are you watching?”
I flipped to the sports channel he mentioned, and he talked some about baseball.
I’d never in my life cared about baseball, but it was better than hanging up and facing another endless night.
We chatted idly for a while, until we fell into silence. I was just lying in bed with the phone to my ear, but it felt like I could feel his presence on the other end.
When I realized what I was doing, I gave a jerk. “Sorry. Sorry. We can hang up now.”
“No, it’s fine. I thought maybe you were falling asleep.”
“No. Just lying here.”
“Well, keep doing it as long as you want. I have a beer and baseball, and I’m not planning to go anywhere.”
It sounded like he meant it, so I didn’t hang up after all. I turned off the last light in the room and left the television on to the same channel he was watching. Then I pulled the covers up to my chin and positioned the phone so I could hear it but didn’t have to hold it.
I wasn’t really expecting to fall asleep. It was just nice to feel like I wasn’t alone in the darkness with the demons.
But I must have fallen asleep at some point because the nightmare came after all.
It was the same nightmare it always was. Being pushed down against the table, a ruthless hand on my back or at my neck or pulling on my hair. Foreign voices saying horrible things to me—things I couldn’t understand but were all the worse because of it. My body violated. My entire self ripped to shreds.
It just never stopped.
I jarred awake, sweating, gasping, my blood pounding painfully all the way to my feet. I must have made some sort of noise, although I wasn’t aware of doing so, because I heard Gideon’s voice in the room.
“Diana? Diana! Are you all right?”
I managed to come down from the panic and fumbled in the dark until I found my phone. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Just a nightmare.” I processed enough to realize what happened. “What time is it? I can’t believe you’re still on the phone.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I might have dozed off myself.”
“Are you still on the couch?”
“Yeah. I guess I better get to bed.”
“Yeah. You should. Thanks for talking to me so long.”
“We don’t have to hang up.”
I was embarrassed now, though. Embarrassed that I’d been so needy. Embarrassed that he’d heard the nightmare. Embarrassed that he’d gotten a taste of my demons. So I said, “Yeah. We should. Get some sleep.”
He almost said, “You too.” I heard the automatic expression start to come out of his mouth. But he stopped himself and said instead, “Thanks. Goodnight.”
I disconnected the phone and then got out of bed to plug it into the charger, since it was almost out of battery.
Then I got back in bed, flipped the TV to an old sitcom, and waited for the night to end.
Four
“W hy do you call them demons?”
Today was my first appointment with my new therapist, who I would have sessions with after I left the Center. Dr. Jones had come out to the Center today, but after I was discharged next week, I’d see her in her office instead.
She was an attractive woman in her forties with sleek dark hair and small wire-framed glasses, and I expected her to be just like all the other therapists I’d talked to in the last few months. At first, I liked her well enough, but some of her questions were annoying. Like this one. “I don’t know. It’s just a way to describe how I feel. I don’t really think I’m demon-possessed or anything.”
“I didn’t think you did. I was just wondering why you chose the word ‘demons’.”
“I don’t know. It just feel like demons. When the thoughts are in my
“What are you doing?” he asked, when I’d managed to settle myself.
“Just getting more comfortable.”
“Are you in bed?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“On the couch.”
“You just turned the television on.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll turn it off.”
“No, it’s fine. What are you watching?”
I flipped to the sports channel he mentioned, and he talked some about baseball.
I’d never in my life cared about baseball, but it was better than hanging up and facing another endless night.
We chatted idly for a while, until we fell into silence. I was just lying in bed with the phone to my ear, but it felt like I could feel his presence on the other end.
When I realized what I was doing, I gave a jerk. “Sorry. Sorry. We can hang up now.”
“No, it’s fine. I thought maybe you were falling asleep.”
“No. Just lying here.”
“Well, keep doing it as long as you want. I have a beer and baseball, and I’m not planning to go anywhere.”
It sounded like he meant it, so I didn’t hang up after all. I turned off the last light in the room and left the television on to the same channel he was watching. Then I pulled the covers up to my chin and positioned the phone so I could hear it but didn’t have to hold it.
I wasn’t really expecting to fall asleep. It was just nice to feel like I wasn’t alone in the darkness with the demons.
But I must have fallen asleep at some point because the nightmare came after all.
It was the same nightmare it always was. Being pushed down against the table, a ruthless hand on my back or at my neck or pulling on my hair. Foreign voices saying horrible things to me—things I couldn’t understand but were all the worse because of it. My body violated. My entire self ripped to shreds.
It just never stopped.
I jarred awake, sweating, gasping, my blood pounding painfully all the way to my feet. I must have made some sort of noise, although I wasn’t aware of doing so, because I heard Gideon’s voice in the room.
“Diana? Diana! Are you all right?”
I managed to come down from the panic and fumbled in the dark until I found my phone. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Just a nightmare.” I processed enough to realize what happened. “What time is it? I can’t believe you’re still on the phone.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I might have dozed off myself.”
“Are you still on the couch?”
“Yeah. I guess I better get to bed.”
“Yeah. You should. Thanks for talking to me so long.”
“We don’t have to hang up.”
I was embarrassed now, though. Embarrassed that I’d been so needy. Embarrassed that he’d heard the nightmare. Embarrassed that he’d gotten a taste of my demons. So I said, “Yeah. We should. Get some sleep.”
He almost said, “You too.” I heard the automatic expression start to come out of his mouth. But he stopped himself and said instead, “Thanks. Goodnight.”
I disconnected the phone and then got out of bed to plug it into the charger, since it was almost out of battery.
Then I got back in bed, flipped the TV to an old sitcom, and waited for the night to end.
Four
“W hy do you call them demons?”
Today was my first appointment with my new therapist, who I would have sessions with after I left the Center. Dr. Jones had come out to the Center today, but after I was discharged next week, I’d see her in her office instead.
She was an attractive woman in her forties with sleek dark hair and small wire-framed glasses, and I expected her to be just like all the other therapists I’d talked to in the last few months. At first, I liked her well enough, but some of her questions were annoying. Like this one. “I don’t know. It’s just a way to describe how I feel. I don’t really think I’m demon-possessed or anything.”
“I didn’t think you did. I was just wondering why you chose the word ‘demons’.”
“I don’t know. It just feel like demons. When the thoughts are in my
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