Mutually Numb

A mucus-filled and wet cough erupted from Ruki for the hundredth time this morning. He wiped his now slobbery arm on a tissue and hung his head back on the couch.

I feigned a smile as I looked over towards him. I was hoping my fake approachability would help lift his mood.

It hadn’t, because only moments later another hoarse bark came from throat. I could hear the air scratch its way up his esophagus, tearing the lining apart into tiny shreds. It sent shivers up my spine imagining this. I swallowed loudly, just as a repercussion to make sure my throat was okay, too.

From our excursion in the rain a few days ago, I hadn’t gotten as sick as Ruki. I had a slight sniffle for a day, and that was the worst. I was surprised, nothing else in my body was functioning correctly. As soon as I saw Ruki get so ghastly, I was having anxiety attacks over how sick I would get.

“You really shouldn’t have gone out in the rain like that,” his mom barked back, re-arranging her bags for the millionth time. I had no idea what she was trying to accomplish, but I let her do her thing. She was pushing duffel bags into the carpeted living room and rolling a suit case behind her. They had only stayed for a few days, it seemed they had packed way too many things. What was even in all those bags? I didn’t dare speak up or ask any questions. I was just glad to finally have my room back. I hated this couch. A metal spring poked into my raw back and it sent millions of burning impulses up through my body. I made a tiny whimper as I tried my best to re-adjust myself.

The mobility in my spine was getting better, but the skin hadn’t fully healed around it, leaving red burn marks and awful scarring. When I was in physical therapy and did what they call walking (which was really them holding me up and stretching me out), I didn’t realize how distorted my bones were. My spinal cord was warped and looked like a giant parabola. Each individual bone stuck out of my back, leaving a scratchy imprint on my skin. They said once I’m in a better health condition, I’ll probably need a few more surgeries and a back brace.

I adjusted my shorts, pulling them farther down my thigh. The pink mesh material felt good between my fingertips. Ironically enough, these were the basketball shorts I always used when exercising. Now, I lived in them because they were stretchy and allowed me to be maneuvered and carried around the house. I made sure the bottom hemline covered the raised lines on my thighs. My skin was splotchy with burned patches of deep brown and a light tan. Aimie said I looked like a cow. Running your hand over them felt like you were examining a leather handbag. I always tried to tell myself to be proud of all these awful scars I’d accumulated, but I’m pretty sure once I can leave the house I will always wear pants and have my hair up to cover my bald spot and scarring. It’s so easy to see other success stories of people who survived abuse and are proud of their bodies, but it’s another thing to put that motivation into action.

Ruki replied to his mother, but his sinuses were so congested that I don’t think either of us understood what he said. I liked to imagine that he stood up to his mother for me, finally letting some truth in. I knew that would never happen, but the rendition of it in my head made me smile.

“All I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t endanger your own health for that of somebody who is already on their way out.” She momentarily glanced over to me. I was still adjusting myself on the couch. I felt like a worm wriggling around in the dirt, having no direction or real control over my body.

I bit the left side of my lip, realizing she was right. This really isn’t a way to live, is it?

~~~ ~~~ ~~~
It had already been a week and a half since Ruki’s parents left the house. Everything had seemingly gone back to normal – Aimie resumed school, Ash went out and did whatever it was she does, and Ruki meandered around and wrote down some ideas for the rest of the band members. Sometimes he liked to share his ideas with me. They were usually written down on small scraps of paper: napkins, torn off sheets from discarded flyers, coffee stained loose-leaf paper, and other leftovers. His notes were written in a messy script, I often had to ask him what they said. But nonetheless, they got the point across and were usually pretty good. I always commended him for his work. I never offered and type of constructive criticism, I was too afraid. Plus, I had no idea what to critique on. What he showed me was mostly lyrics, and sometimes he’d sing for me an idea of a beat he had for the song, or just a general idea. I always enjoyed to hear him sing.

Just as the household’s routine had gone back to normal, so did our relationship. Neither of us spoke of what happened, and sometimes, I wondered if it actually happened. It felt like I had to convince myself that it wasn’t just a crazy dream.

While I wasn’t sure if some things were actual occurrences or not, there was one thing that rang prominent in my mind. The fact that I am on my way out. My body is weak. I am constantly trembling. I can’t eat normal food. I have so much damage to my lungs from musty air, I might as well have been a smoker for years.

I was overjoyed to have my room back, and nothing made me happier than to feel the soft white comforter on my skin. I found myself frequently hugging the plush down-feather covers for relief. Something about them was relaxing; just being able to feel the material give underneath my light grasp. On other nights, reality would sink in with me and I would spend my nights sobbing myself to sleep, and waking up with a headache the size of an earthquake. I would have trouble breathing. I always watched my chest move up and down in ragged motions. It never calmed me down, but it always reassured me that I was still alive.

What I was feeling and thinking was selfish beyond belief. Ruki had almost lost me once, as well as my daughter. I didn’t want to upset them again, but once you endure the pain all the way through, it’s better the second time, right? My mind was at a constant battle with itself: half of me knew I was going to get better. The human body is amazing and so many people have healed from accidents worse than mine. The other half told me that if I was unlucky enough to get abducted, then my body probably wasn’t going to heal anyway. There was a wall dividing my brain in half and I could feel the constant pressure in my head. I was near my breaking point and about to let one half win. It’s always easier to believe the bad truth, anyways. My luck always ran out.

I was lying in my bed, half awake. My mind was wandering around all the places it wasn’t supposed to be. I felt a cold chill go up my sweaty arms. My breath was rapid, pushing violently upwards in my ribcage. I was restless and had dark black bruises under my eyes from days of insomnia. Some of my medicines stopped working and I was feeling the wrath of my body. I had become so bony and unhealthy it looked like I was suffering from the end-stages of AIDS. Looking in the mirror frightened me, I’m sure my daughter didn’t even want to see me.
I repeated these thoughts to myself until they were engraved in the lobes of my brain. Slowly rocking myself in between my covers, I began to loudly weep. Aimie was at a friend’s house tonight, I didn’t need to pretend everything was alright tonight.

Footsteps rumbled the ground outside my door. I ignored these completely, it wasn’t unusual for somebody to wake up and get a glass of water or a snack. I anticipated the sound of the fridge or cabinet doors opening, but I heard nothing. A silence lulled the air and all that was audible were my small whimpers and sniffling. I hid my face in the covers and wiped my tears. Taking shaky breaths, I attempted to get a bit of composure back. I peeled the dead skin off my chapped lips with my teeth to distract myself.

I was so focused on my cracking lips that I didn’t notice the shift in weight on the mattress. A hand caressed my back and I jumped from shock.

Hiding my nose and mouth with the covers, I peered over to see who was in here with me.
“Ruki?” I choked out, clearing my voice immediately after I heard how awful I sounded, “What are you doing in here?”

“I came out into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some paper and a pen. But I heard odd noises coming from in here, and I wasn’t sure if it was a night terror or something worse.” His face held no expression, but his voice was dense with empathy. “I know you’ve been crying, your eyes are almost all red. Have you been having more flashbacks or pain?”

I took a deep breath, now ashamed of what I was thinking. “No, it has nothing to do with that, actually.” I closed my eyes and let me eyelashes dance against the covers.

He said nothing, but waited patiently for a response. He let his hand run against the side of my back, being sure to avoid all the open sores.

“Do you think I’m ever going to heal or am I just slowly waiting to die?” My voice cracked and quivered near the end of my sentence. I opened my eyes and crooked my neck so I could see him.

His eyes opened and I saw him flinch ever so slightly out of astonishment. “Claire, you’re doing amazing. I know it seems like it’s been forever and that the healing process is taking way too long, but once we get some more major surgeries out of the way, everything will be so much easier. I promise.”

“I don’t feel any better. I feel like I’m getting worse. My insides always hurt, my medications aren’t working anymore, and I’m not gaining weight.”

Ruki hugged me and drew his hand back when part of my spinal cord jabbed him in the wrist. He tried to find a comfortable position, but his efforts were in vain. He ended up just caressing my cheek bone that jutted angularly out of my face.

I noticed him look down, deeply pensive. He inhaled sharply and held it for a few moments. He looked down to me and didn’t speak a word. I could tell that his eyes said the he was sorry, but that didn’t do anything for me now.