Savior

The Girl and the Bonfire

I lose Layla twice; the first time when I felt her body go limp in my arms and watched the light in her eyes die out and the second time much later when, waking from a coma, she begins to fade from my life.

The days are filled with silence, the night filled with suffering.

When the sun is out Layla is busy with the physical therapists that try to get her muscles used to working again –her legs and arms weak as the atrophy began to set into her limbs towards the end of her sleep. When the sun hides behind the city and the moon rises Layla will try desperately to fight the sleep that threatens to take her before finally falling into a fitful slumber.

It has been five days since her breakdown and Layla has barely spoken ten words since.

When she awoke from the drug-induced sleep she did not speak about what happened except for a quick apology and a refusal to speak about it. No one dares bring it up in fear of setting her off again, but I doubt it would anyway.

She has begun to disappear.

Her voice is lost even though the neck brace has come off and the bruises around her throat have faded to the color of dying moss. Her jade eyes are dull and often unfocused even though they have stopped pumping her with pain meds.

Her face is sallow, the bags under her eyes profound and jarring. Her arms are thin and spindly, hands shaky when reaching for a cup of water or remote. The bruises on her body are fading, but the ones that remain unseen only darken –threatening to rot her from the inside out.

She is withering away right in front of me and I am afraid I can't revive her this time.

This isn't like before –when she sought refuge in Cheshire after escaping her abuser. This is worse. So much worse.

She fought for a better life, a stronger resolve back then and now... Now, it seems as if all the fight in her oozed out of her body with the blood.

I spend my days assisting the nurses in getting her to eat, to try to walk, to get her to all her appointments. The nights are spent trying to stay awake to make sure that Layla sleeps fully, but does not get stuck in that abyss once again.

There is a shred of hope in me that once Layla is back home in her own apartment, the nightmare of the last month will finally fade. That her new life can begin again now that the threat has been taken out.

Today is that day. Today, Layla can finally come home.

Her stitches were taken out yesterday, though the doctor warned that she will be feeling some discomfort for a while and she may need to take it easy. Her last CAT scan showed no internal bleeding or injury and she can now stand on her own and even walk a few paces without getting winded or collapsing underneath her jellified muscles.

She is cleared in all areas but one: the counseling visit.

The one test I feared most she wouldn't pass.

I am pacing alone in the hospital room when the door is shoved open and Layla is being wheeled in by a very disgruntled Jamie. By the sour looks on their faces I can tell it didn't go well.

"I wish you wouldn't laugh it off, this is very serious, Layla. He is the one that decides-"

"I'm aware, thank you." Layla cuts her off, eyes darting between the two of us in a panic, obviously not wanting me to hear this part of their conversation.

"I assume the session didn't go well?"

Layla avoids my inquisitive gaze, but Jamie faces me head on with her hands on her hips, "Well, she spent the entire hour giving the doctor a bunch of facts on the history of psychology."