She sat in the bay window, her knees pulled tight to her chest. She was clothed in all gray: light gray stretch pants, long and loose cable net sweater, and socks that scrunched up around her ankles. Her attire matched the color of the sky outside. She hugged her knees closer and rested her chin upon them. She watched as raindrops zig-zagged their way down the window.
A man's voice spoke from behind her, drawing her back into the present and out of the watery world before her. She didn't want reality, she wanted to wash away like those raindrops.
He called to her again. "Mercy. Mercy. Can you hear me?"
Her name was Mercy and the irony of her own name and his question did not escape her.
As she slowly turned to face the voice her own mind asked the same question, "Mercy, can you hear me? Mercy. Mercy?" , but she wasn't speaking to herself.
She raised her eyes only long enough to glimpse today's intruder.
He sat in the only chair in the room; legs crossed, a notebook and pen poised and at the ready. He was younger than most. Her eyes caught his for only a second, but that was a second too long. It was too much exposure and she turned again to face the window. The rain was still dripping but the spell was broken, reality glaring hard about her.
"What do you want?" She asked.
"I want you to tell me why you are here."
"You know why I am here." She wasn't going to make this easy on him. She never made it easy for anyone.
"I want to hear it in your own words."
"I am here because life sucks, the world is scary, the fear and the anger tear at me all day long and I can't take it. I have no where to release it all and so I tear at myself, because I am the one I am most angry at."
But none of that came out. She just sat in silence and instead pulled a sleeve up over her arm showing him it, because that arm spoke louder and bolder than any words ever could have.
He was fairly new at this job. He had seen other arms, other patients, but none like this. He worked hard to cover his shock at the depth of pain revealed in this showing of skin. He didn't know how she was able to touch it. The skin was a dark purple, all of it and swollen. Deep scratches and scabs broke through the purple in telling lines.
"Why?" It was all he could muster and he wasn't sure if he said it with the professional flatness he had been taught to use.
He hadn't. The concern seeped through the question. Her ears perked, because she heard it, the concern. "He really is new," she thought, "or is it that he really might care?" Either way, the slip of his heart dropped her guard enough that she allowed words to slip out. "It is who I am. That is me inside and I wear it out. I wear my insides out and no one likes that, so that is why I am here. I am here because I show my honesty and it is too honest." Her hand pulled her sleeve back down over her hurts and anger. That was the most anyone had gotten out of her in a long time. This speaking honesty instead of acting it out was tiring and frightening. She slipped from the window and moved to her bed. Climbing inside she turned away from him and pulled the covers up close around her. "Can we be done now?"
"Okay, but I will be back soon. Thank you for showing me."
