Valerie

V: Beth

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hehe; I'm really incredibly smug and superior because I've finally uploaded. The bad news is it's on my least popular work and a little shorter than usual, but whatever. Anyway, for those of you who do read it - enjoy!

I'm watching her deteriorate in front of my eyes. Valerie. My daughter.

If her mind goes completely, Richard will leave me. There'll be no reason for him to stay, not if she's not there to keep him.

And I can't let that happen.

It was in a bar in Camden that I first met him. He was very drunk, and I was in some silly provocative outfit that one of my friends had forced me into, and I caught his eye. He offered to buy me a drink, and I accepted, and we went back to my flat because it was closer.

We had sex and he left me his number. 

At first I wasn't going to ring. Afterall, what's a few too many drinks and a one night stand in the world of romance? But then I found out I was pregnant. I had no choice but to contact him. I wasn't expecting much, but I thought he should know.

Rich never once doubted that the child was his. He came to me straight away.  He was ashamed of himself for letting it happen, but since it had he wasn't going to let me deal with it all on my own. He told me that he was always going to be there for me and our baby. He was going to marry me. Everything was going to be done properly.

He was so certain that he was doing the right thing. But he never once asked me if it was what I wanted too. I was grateful to him. So many other guys would have just left me, but not Rich. I was convinced that he was going to love and support us. I was right about the second part. 

He cares for Valerie. He's loved her more than anyone else in the whole world since her first breath. Even I can't dispute that. He's the best father any child could possibly have.

To be honest, he's a good husband too. He works very hard, and has always earned enough that I've never once had to work myself. But he's never taken me for granted as a stay-at-home wife either. He does all the cooking at the weekends, and always finds time to ask me how my day has been. He kisses me goodbye every morning before he goes to work.

We even have sex on relatively frequent occasions. 

But I have never once felt loved my him. Maybe it's because there are no spontaneous gestures of affection - he never strokes an errant strand of my hair, or lays his hand on mine. Everything he does with me, he does because it's his duty. He does it for Valerie's sake. Valerie's the only release for his emotions. 

And as for me, I've spent the past seventeen years of marriage attempting to decipher whether or not I am in love with him.

I always want to know where he'll be and when. Normally he's willing to oblige, and tells me quite freely upon my requests. But it's never enough for me. I want to be with him too, every waking moment of my day. It's an obsession rather than love. He was the first person ever to offer me the security, the safety, I'd craved all my life. I gave me what I so desperately needed, and in doing so attached me to him.

I can't be without him.

But if Valerie goes so far that things such as her parent's relationship mean nothing to her, then that's all going to go.

Not quite the fairytale romance.

So I need you to hang in there, Valerie. Hold the family together, like you always have. If you go, he'll go. And I can't cope with losing both of you. So stay strong, keep fighting. You're stronger than them - those voices you're hearing. So don't let them win. Stay strong, Val. Stay with us.

* 

Val's been moved to the residential ward at Helios'. I go over there to see how she's settling in - Val's always hated change. When I arrive she's sitting in same position I always find her in: cross-legged on her bed, staring blankly at the television screen.  

"Val." I lay a inquiring hand on her shoulder. She barely notices it. "Val." I say, with more urgency. This time she turns reluctantly and regards me with indifference. Her eyebrows knit together, as though she's trying to concentrate.

"You alright?" 

There's no response. Only the hard, cold silence. 

"Mrs. Argyll?"  

"Yes...?" I turn around to face the polite inquirer. It's a young man - no more than early twenties, possibly younger - tall and fair-haired. He smiles at me.

"I'm Dr. Bertrand's trainee psychiatrist," he says, holding out his hand. I shake it tentatively.

"Nice to meet you."

I wonder if he realises that he hasn't mentioned his name.

"You too." He pauses. "I was wondering if you'd be able to help me to get Valerie to partake in some, well, therapy."

I must have frowned, because his face visibly falls.

"What sort of therapy?"

"Writing. You see, as the schizophrenics condition worsens, their emotional articulacy deteriorates. As such a result of this, they find it almost impossible to convey what they're experiencing, which generally results in the patient becoming even more confined to their own world. Valerie has already reached a stage where she's not communicating properly - though more through choice than inability. What I'm proposing is that she write a diary, or even poetry, something that will exercise her abilities, and help her to maintain a state of proper articulacy. It may also help us to understand what she is feeling. Do you understand?"

I nod, feeling slightly patronised. He's practically the same age as my daughter, and I'm not stupid enough to fall for a load of jargon. It's pretty damn obvious what he's saying.

"Of course."

"So, do you think you could encourage her to do so?"

"I can try. Is this what Dr. Bertrand has recommended?"

"Not... as such."

I look at him properly for the first time. His face is pale and there are dark shadows circling his eyes. He looks anxious, desperate even, and beneath the professional facade I see a young man determined to prove himself.

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't suggested it to her yet. It's not standard or conventional treatment, but I am certain it could be highly beneficial. And to be honest, I can't see how it could do any harm."

"No..."

He looks at me hopefully.

"Please, Mrs. Argyll."

I hesitate, then relent.

"I'll see what I can."

He smiles.

"Thank you."