Drawn to Life (10 page)

Chapter 19

Mia—You Are Still Yourself

Budapest, June 2012

“Mia, come on. Get up!”

Kriszta stood next to the couch. She was already dressed, her makeup done, holding a cup of coffee.

I rubbed my eyes. I was so tired, and the ceiling lamp was glaring.

“Turn out . . . the . . . light, please,” I murmured hoarsely.

Kriszta laughed. “Nope, the light stays on. It’s almost five o’clock. Get up, sleepyhead.” Kriszta was surprisingly wide-awake and cheerful after only two hours of sleep. I couldn’t understand it. Especially when I considered all the wine we’d had. My head felt like it was filled with cotton.

“Come on, Mia. I want to drop you off at the station, but I have to be at work at half past six.”

“OK, OK,” I groaned.

“Good girl.” She smiled, and I shook my head. Ouch . . . Not a good idea with this headache. “What’s wrong?” she asked

“I don’t get how you can be up and bubbly after so little sleep,” I managed to say, yawning and shuffling behind her into the kitchen. “And look at you. Like, no dark circles, immaculate skin, perfectly groomed and dressed. I mean, you look far too good for two hours,
two hours
of sleep.”

Kriszta grinned from ear to ear.

“Yes, I meant that as a compliment, so go ahead and gloat,” I said while she poured me a cup of coffee. I held the mug with both hands, enjoying the aroma of fresh-brewed espresso.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” I murmured. “The pale pink shorts and beige blouse look great on you.”

“Thanks. Now hurry up. Finish your coffee, get dressed, and let’s go.”

I was still tired when I crawled into Kriszta’s old Toyota Starlet after tossing my backpack in the backseat.

“This old thing is still alive?” I said and fastened my seat belt.

“Whoa! Careful—be nice to her, or she won’t drive you to the station.” She patted the dashboard. “Though I wouldn’t mind keeping you here longer.”

“I really can’t stay, Kriszta,” I said quietly. “Yesterday was amazing, but I don’t feel good here, you know?” Where
did
I feel good?

“I know. And I want you to feel better. Mia, you’re still yourself.” She looked at me and reached for my hand. This time, I flinched. Yesterday I had been courageous, fueled by the wine. But today I couldn’t let her touch me.

Staring at my feet, I murmured, “Please look at me.” I raised my head and met her sparkling eyes. “I don’t know how to live like this. Everything I had was taken away. Life is such a struggle now. A fight.”

Kriszta exhaled deeply and shook her head. “You can’t think that way. Take joy in everything you’ve already achieved.” She smiled. “Because you’ve already made it. You’re still here.” She added quietly, “Always remember that.”

I didn’t answer. I turned to look out the window. She started the engine and drove to the station.

In the parking lot, she stopped and got out of the car. I waited a moment, breathing evenly, then grabbed my backpack.

“I can’t come inside with you. I need to leave directly for work.”

I nodded.

“Mia, you’ll be yourself again. In fact, you still
are
yourself. I saw it yesterday. I saw your laughter, your real laughter. You can do this.”

“Thank you,” I said in a low voice. I didn’t know how to handle these motivational speeches, no matter who said them—Kriszta, Dr. Weiß, my parents. On one hand, they made me feel better, because people believed in me. On the other hand, I was terrified I’d fail. What if I never again found my old passion for life to drive me forward once more? How long could I encourage myself to continue on? How long would I last?

I trembled, then offered her an open hand, palm up. My heart was beating fast. Her hand rested in mine, and she held on for a long time.

“I’ll miss you. Please let’s keep in touch. Let me know when you get to Rome.”

There was a lump in my throat when I let go. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, waved good-bye to my friend, and walked toward the station.

Chapter 20

Mia—Just Tune Out

Budapest, June 2012

I searched for my cell phone and earbuds in the pockets of my backpack. This thing was too large—or I was too dense—because it seemed I could never quickly find anything I was looking for.

I squatted in front of the station and emptied the entire side pocket. I heard passersby swear under their breaths. The words might be Hungarian, but I had learned at least that much of the language when I’d lived here. Maybe I was in their way, with my stuff spilled out around me, but I needed music. Now. I needed to tune out.

Once I found what I wanted, I hastily crammed everything else back in, walked inside, and headed directly to the platform. Once there, I got comfortable on a bench and would have dozed off had it not been for a male voice.

“Good morning, Mia.”

My eyes flew open. My knees began trembling, and my pulse sped up.

“Oh . . . shit, you totally scared me!” I looked at Samuel, feeling weary. He must be stalking me. Showing up like this couldn’t be sheer coincidence. I turned away and blew out a long breath to calm myself.

Samuel immediately apologized. I looked back at him in acknowledgment, but I didn’t feel like talking. He ran his fingers through his hair and wet his lower lip, a gesture that stirred some very interesting feelings. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t stand him. But his physical perfection made it damn hard not to think about certain things.

I gulped in a mouthful of air, hoping to distract myself from my thoughts. “No worries,” I whispered. I just hoped he wouldn’t do anything to set my mind on that course again.

I plugged in my earbuds and chose some soothing tunes. Then I tucked the cell phone back in my pocket and closed my eyes.

An announcement sounded. I reached to silence the music and waited for the broadcast to be repeated in English.

“Due to technical difficulties, the train from Budapest to Vienna will be delayed for approximately thirty minutes.”

Bummer. I looked at my watch. That really meant waiting another forty-five minutes.

“That sucks,” Samuel said as he played with his empty coffee cup, running his index finger along the brim.

I stared at the floor.

“Would you like a coffee? I’ll get you one,” he offered.

Without meeting his eyes, I shook my head and followed the movement of his fingers. It was easier than looking into his big gray eyes.

“OK, your choice. I’m getting another cup. It will be a long ride to Rome. Would you mind watching my stuff?”

I looked at him, terrified. Seriously? He was going to Rome, like me? Panic shot through my body. The blood raced through my veins, and my palms grew damp. My stomach ached, and a strange weakness flooded my body, down to my knees and my toes. I wanted peace, serenity. I didn’t want Samuel Winter tagging along, following me everywhere, all across Europe.

I quickly closed my eyes before I could look at him again and concentrated on my breathing, trying to fend off another panic attack. I clenched my hands into fists, my nails drilling into my flesh, deeper and deeper. I took more breaths. Gradually, I managed to relax them, moving my stiff fingers.

“Is everything OK?” Samuel asked.

OK . . . OK . . . OK . . . No, nothing is OK.

Hesitantly, I nodded and opened my eyes.

“Would you mind watching my stuff?” he asked again. With his chin, he gestured toward his backpack. I nodded slightly, and he walked away.

A few minutes later, he was back.

“I wasn’t sure how you like your coffee,” he said. I raised my eyebrows at him. He was grinning. “I decided I’d bring you a cup anyway, but I didn’t know what you’d want, so I have a cappuccino, a latte, an espresso with cold milk, and a double espresso. Take your pick.”

He tapped his right foot, his eyebrows raised.

“Black, strong, and large, please,” I said timidly.

Samuel put down the other three cups and, with both his hands, handed me the large espresso. It would be difficult to avoid touching him. I grasped the cup near the lid. Slowly, he let go.

“Thank you,” I said. “How much do I owe you?”

“My treat.” He smiled.

I took a careful sip but still burned my lips. “Shit.”

“Oh crap. Did you hurt yourself?” He was getting on my nerves. I stood up, leaving the cup on the bench.

“Could you . . . ?”

He raised his face to me. He wasn’t smirking anymore. I looked directly into his eyes. Their gray hue reminded me of the sky on a dark, rainy day, streaked with traces of light where the sun struggles to break through thick clouds.

“Yes?” He held my gaze.

I swallowed and tried to form my words without stammering again. It didn’t work. “Could you also—um—keep an eye on my things?”

“Sure.” He smiled.

I gave him my fake grin in return and then headed to the bathroom.

I was drying my hands when, in the mirror, I saw a man appear directly behind me, a disgusting sneer on his dirty face. His teeth, the few he had, were yellow. His clothes were old, filthy, and ragged.

Dread rose inside me. I grasped the edge of the sink. We stared at each other in the mirror.

Both hands in his pockets, he took a step closer. My heart hammered, and I could hear a rushing in my ears. Another step. I spun around but had to grab the sink again to keep from falling. I had to get out of here.

Carefully, hands still behind me, I felt along the sink, trying not to make any quick moves. He stepped along with me, shaking his head.

“What do you want?” I whispered, my voice hoarse with fear.

He didn’t answer. He only stared. I was in a sheer panic and panting roughly.

Reaching the tiled wall, I pressed my back against it and slowly slid toward the exit. A few yards more, and I would be able to touch the doorknob. I could make it. I trembled and lunged the final few feet.

The man moved just as fast. He caught me and pressed me against the tiles. He reeked of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and vomit. I would have thrown up had there been anything in my stomach to lose.

“Csinos teremtés,”
he breathed into my face.

His hands wandered down my body and stopped at my belly.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Chapter 20 ½

Mia—Don’t Touch Me

Graz, January 2012

“Mia, are you here?” I heard Dr. Weiß’s voice and felt his finger on my wrist, taking my pulse. “You’re calming down,” he said softly. “Open your eyes slowly. You are in my office.”

My eyes fluttered, and eventually, I managed to keep them open.

“Inhale deeply. You’ve just come around,” he said.

I was lying on his big leather couch. Dr. Weiß was kneeling on the ground beside it. I tried to sit up, but he gently pushed me back.

“Wait another minute.” He stood up and brought me a glass of water.

I reached out, but I was trembling so much I would have spilled the water one-handed. I had to use both. I struggled up a little so I could drink more easily. After three big gulps, the glass was empty. I handed it back to Dr. Weiß.

“Would you like more?” he asked.

I nodded. I downed the next glass in the same record speed and finally sat up straight.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dr. Weiß asked. I could see he was concerned.

“Dr. Weiß, I—I know . . . I think . . .” I exhaled. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how I ended up on this couch.”

I scratched at my scars. I hated these blackouts, which gripped me seemingly every other second. Whenever I came to, I’d find myself in a completely different setting.

“You stormed into my office. You were very distraught,” he said. “What happened?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. I hadn’t come to talk about what’d made me so angry. I’d come because I knew it was the only place I could find the serene environment I so desperately needed.

“You still don’t want to talk?” He massaged his forehead and scratched his beard. It was apparent he didn’t know how to help me, either. “You know, Mia”—he paused and looked at me—“I understand you don’t like to talk about your
things
, as you call them. But you need to realize I am not your enemy.”

He paced the room, ten steps in one direction, ten steps in the opposite, hands clasped behind his back. He paused again, a few feet away from me.

“You’re your own enemy,” he said. “Yes, Mia. You want to reconcile with the world, but before you can do that, you need to reconcile with yourself. You need to allow emotions. Right now, the only adversary you are confronting is you.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued without stopping, “You can tell me another hundred times that you are OK, but I still won’t believe you.”

He sat down on a corner of the small coffee table and leaned forward. “You need to talk with me,” he said in a friendly yet determined tone.

He was right. I was standing in my own way. Maybe I should accept his help. Doctors weren’t my foes. They wanted to help me.

“OK,” I whispered.

“Good.” He smiled. “And now we’ll revisit the beginning of our session step-by-step. We need to find the triggers for your panic attacks.”

I nodded.

“So, you stormed through the door and ran right to me. Your expression changed, and you began screaming. I couldn’t get through to you. I brought you to the sofa. Is there anything you remember? Why did you scream?”

I took a deep breath. “I had a bad day. I knew I could find some quiet here.”

“I’m glad you feel comfortable here, Mia.” With a brief nod, he motioned for me to go on.

“I ran into you. Your hand touched my belly, and that’s all I remember.”

“I see. What else happened today?” He didn’t ask any further questions about my blackout.

I scratched my scar.

He watched my fingers. “Please stop doing that.” He then walked to his desk, grabbed a black leather notebook, and handed it to me. “Write about everything that makes you do that. Much better than scratching. Give your arm a break.”

He asked me to continue.

With a trembling voice, I said, “I had th-the exam today. They looked at everything. I was so scared.” Tears shot to my eyes. “One of the doctors wanted to see the scar.” I pointed at my belly. “I screamed. I don’t know why. The doctor tried to reassure me. He said he only wanted to see if the stitches had healed well. He touched me, and I felt like I was under attack or something. I—I was afraid he wanted to cut me open again. He couldn’t calm me down. A nurse had to come and grab my arms so that he could look at the incision.” Tears streamed down my face. “Then they let me go. It took forever until I had myself under control again.”

“Thank you for sharing this. I’m proud of you.”

I looked at the floor and bit my lower lip. He was proud of me.

“Smile, Mia. That was a very good beginning.”