Scribbles of a Broken Heart

Pain seared from my heart all throughout my chest. I didn’t sob the entire time I was telling Ms. Templeton about what happened, but long gasps began to leave my throat as soon as the last word left my lips. The agony was as bad as I thought it was going to be. It felt like I was watching him die all over again.

I experienced every sensation for a second time—the chill of the convenient store against my skin, the fear from being held at gunpoint, the warmth Garrett’s blood brought to my hands. But above all, the crushing of my heart as his pulse became slower and slower, until it disappeared all together.

“This is good, this is good,” Ms. Templeton muttered as fervently scribbled in her notebook.

I was crying to the point where I felt like I was choking.

I glared at her, “How the fuck could th-this be good?!”

She looked up at me.

“L-look at me,” I commanded her. My knees were pressed against my chest, and I was hugging them so tightly that it hurt. “Look at wh-what you did,” I said hysterically.

“It’s called closure.”

“No, it’s cal-called pain.”

She didn’t get up to hug me. She didn’t tell me that everything was going to be alright.

Instead, she told me, “It is good that you’re letting out all of your anger, all of your sadness.”

“Letting g-go?” I felt as if she hadn’t listened to a word had just told her. “I don’t th-think so. I’m as angry as I was on that da-day. I still want to kill that little b-boy that knocked over that rack. And I ha-have been as sad as I was on that day and for every day af-after. I can’t let go of any of th-that.”

“Tell me more about that little boy in the store.”

“Give m-me a minute,” I demanded.

I hated thinking about that little boy. But it seemed that I was the only one who blamed him. Every accident had someone who caused it. I still blamed that little boy more than the man who pulled the trigger.

I waited until I could control the sobs before speaking again, “Justin Williams. Five-years-old at the time. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to save the day. He wanted to defeat the bad guy.”

“He was a child, Constance,” Ms. Templeton thought I needed to be reminded.

“His stupidity led to Garrett’s death. The men jacking the store had no intention of hurting people. They only wanted the money. If that boy hadn’t pushed over the rack, Garrett would have been just fine.”

“You blame Justin more than the two men holding the guns?”

I nod, my eyes full of malice. “I wanted to kill that boy. Sometimes I still do. The kid didn’t even look sorry for doing it either. Even when his mother forced him to apologize. To him, it was like saying sorry for stealing my candy, not for stealing my boyfriend away.”

She tilted her head to the side, as if to look at me from a different perspective, “Do you still love Garrett?”

I fresh batch of tears stated, “Yeah, I don’t try stopping.”

She wrote that down before asking another question. “How did you feel after that day?”

I sighed, “Miserable. I still am, only more so because I have to see you so much.” It didn’t care if the honesty slighted her. “I mostly stayed up in my room. I cried daily for weeks. I barely ate. And my parents didn’t know what to do. I mean, I guess I couldn’t have expected for them to know what to do when your daughter’s boyfriend dies. But they didn’t encourage me to get back to my regular life. They didn’t ask if I wanted to see my friends and they didn’t buy me any chocolate ice cream. I felt so lonely. At home, with nothing to do but mourn.”

“Is that why you cut your wrists?”

“Well excuse me if I thought it would make me feel better,” I spat at her. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself!” I repeated. “I was aiming for the endorphins.”

“Self-mutilation only causes a bigger problem,” she chided me.

“Well, it worked. I was a bit happier until my mom saw the cuts and sent me to you. Now my life is really in the shit. My home life and school life are terrible.”

“What happened to your friends?”

I shrugged, “I think I was too depressing to be around. I mean, I still consider Allison and Jade my friends, but it’s not them I need right now.”

She went back to my cutting, “Did you only do it the one time?”

“Yeah, my mom saw the scars a couple days later because I forgot to pull my sleeves down after washing my hands.”

“Would you do it again?”

I shook my head, “No. I don’t ever wanna end up here again.”

Ms. Templeton too a lot of time to go over all of her notes. This was the end. I had told her everything that she had wanted to hear. She had heard almost the entire tale of Constance and Garrett. But I didn’t understand why she needed to evaluate, she was going to tell my parents that I could stop therapy, as she had promised.

I was in her waiting room, giving her some time alone to think. I was confused when I saw my parents walk in.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Ms. Templeton called, she said that she finally had her diagnosis,” my mom said.

My parents sat on the same couch that I was on, but chose to keep a foot between us.

Ms. Templeton must have heard the door open because she emerged from her office.

“Mr. and Mrs. Harrington,” she acknowledged my parents without any warm greeting. My mom and dad nodded their heads as she came to stand in front of us.

"Now I know that you have been looking into the Grassy Plains Medical Institution—”

“What?” I turned to my parents, but they kept their gazes on Ms. Templeton, who didn’t stop talking despite my interruption.

My parents have mentioned their thoughts of placing me in an institution because of my cutting, but I didn’t think that they would have done some research without hearing Ms. Templeton’s verdict, or talk about it with her without my knowing.

“Constance has told me at length what her relationship with Garrett was like, as well as her condition at that time and at the present moment. I know that you wanted to uncover the reason for her sudden act of self-mutilation, and if her feelings for Garrett were legitimate enough for her to still be so affected by his death—”

“Legitimate? Is there a certain point where I’m supposed to forget about it and smile?”

I asked her, but like my parents, she ignored me.

“…after evaluating everything that she has had to say, in my professional opinion I think the best course of action for Constance would be to admit her to Grassy Plains.”

Those were definitely not the words that I had expected her lips to form. But they didn’t take a while for them to sink in.

“You bitch!”

“Constance,” my father reprimanded.

I stood up, “We had a deal!”

My parents got up, “What is she talking about?”

I continued yelling at Ms. Templeton. “I loved Garrett! Didn’t I prove that to you? All the stories and the effort that Garrett and I put into being together, everything that he and I went through. You’re suggesting I get committed because I’m not over his death yet? You’re out of your mind! That’s plain stupid.”

My parents tried to calm me down, but I continued to lash out.

“How could you do this? Who are you to say that Garrett and I didn’t love each other?”

Ms. Templeton looked frightened of me. I lunged at her, but my dad caught me in time.

“You’re a liar! You’re a bitc-“

My mom slapped me, but the pain of the sting didn’t even compare to the betrayal my
stomach was feeling.

Ms. Templeton backed herself into a wall. “It is this kind of behavior that worries me,” she said to my parents. “At Grassy Plains she’ll be well looked after by doctors, nurses, and counselors. But if you’d like, I would be willing to go up there to have therapy sessions with her daily.”

“That would probably be best,” my mom said. “I don’t know if she would open up to another therapist.”

I gasped as I continued to fight against my dad, “You want the money!” My head spun with this sick truth. “You’re committing me so that my parents will continue paying you. How could you be so selfish?”

It was like my parents couldn’t hear my yelling, even though they heard Ms. Templeton’s weak voice clearly. “Grassy Plains is expecting Constance at seven. I have suggested for her to be put on anti-depressants.”

My dad dragged me towards the door, but I fought him all the way.

“I’m not going!” I screeched as I scratched and struggled against my dad. “I don’t deserve this!”

My dad managed to get me through the threshold, and I managed to glare at Ms. Templeton before we got into the hallway. She looked sick to her stomach, leaning against the wall for support. And even though she looked sorry for what she was doing to me, at that moment I knew that I would always hate her.

My parents were the ones that packed my clothes and toiletries, they were the ones that forced me into the car, they were the ones that drove me to Grassy Plains. The entire time this was occurring, the tears wouldn’t stop falling. I felt numb. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. Today, I had expected my freedom to be given back to me. I had expected to see the end of numerous hours of therapy. But most of all, I had expected my parents to finally look at me like I was their daughter, not like a suicide risk.

My parents were the ones that signed the papers, finalizing my admission into Grassy Plains Medical Institution. They didn’t kiss me goodbye, or even say it, for that matter. They just looked at me, and shook their head. I could hear their thoughts, ‘Why can’t you be our old daughter?’

I didn’t struggle as two nurses escorted to me to my room. I didn’t complain when I saw its bare interior or felt its overbearing warmth.

I just cried.

I picked up the pillow on the small bed before lying down. I looked around the room—I had no idea how long I would have to call these walls ‘home.’

I clutched the pillow to my chest—I pretended it was Garrett’s body. I cried into its soft corner—I pretended it was Garrett’s shoulder. I pressed my nose against the pillow cover—I pretended I smelled Garrett’s scent. I whispered, “I love you”—I pretended it was Garrett’s voice.