Blue Tulips

art by Jacelyn Yap

by Abigail Beliles

“Sydney?” Jamie’s voice resonated throughout the empty house.

He bit his lip as he pondered how much longer it would be before she would get home. He knew he had to apologize for what happened that morning, but she hadn’t answered her calls all day.  He ignored the tracks from his muddied tennis shoes as he rushed toward the kitchen.

Her key fob was missing from the rack above the back door. The grease-stained dishes lay scattered in the sink. Drawers were pulled out, and the objects that used to reside in them lay scattered on the countertops. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone, the voice hammered in his mind when he saw that Sydney’s porcelain plates were absent from the china cabinet. She was really gone. It was all over.

 “Sydney,” Jamie called louder.

The familiar voice echoed in his mind and grew even louder than before. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone, it repeated. Look what you’ve done.

The bouquet of tulips that Jamie bought three days prior sat on the table, untouched. Their petals had already begun to wilt. Their once vibrant blue was now tainted with a crusting brown, and their crooked stems loomed over a pile of withering petals that obscured the diamond ring left on the table.

It humiliated him to have to go through all this again. He shifted back and forth in his chair, in the gaudy hospital gown the nurses forced him to wear. It felt like a dress. He squeezed his knuckles together so tightly that they matched the color of the walls.

The door swung open, and a young woman wearing a turtleneck sweater entered the room. In one hand, she held a clipboard and in the other, a plastic cup with tea. Different kinds of fruit intermingled with the ice floating at the top. A male nurse carried in another plastic chair behind her and sat it next to the only exit. She thanked him before easing into her seat.

She smiled at Jamie, but it appeared more like a glare. A mischievous smirkbehind prying eyes, looking to dissect his mind. Looking to mutilate him. Looking to hurt him.Craig knew it. Jamie knew it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jamie.” She set her drink beside her on the floor and lowered her clipboard to her lap. She pulled the chair closer to him. “My name is Natalie.”

He remained silent and moved farther back in his seat. He kept his eyes locked on her, observing every movement in case she tried something unexpected. He avoided her burning gaze by fixing his vision on her hands, watching her glittery pink fingernails grip a floral pink pen.

She’s planning something. She’s hiding something from you. She’s judging you. She thinks you’re crazy.

Reading from her clipboard, Natalie explained the legal requirements of his court-ordered therapy sessions and his ninety-day mandated stay in the psychiatric hospital. Jamie had heard it all before, but he struggled to comprehend what she was saying amidst the barrage of noise.

She scribbled on her clipboard as Jamie repeated the same conversation he had with every therapist in the facility over the past month. He wished this woman would finish the session already so they would let him back in his room.

“On a scale from one to ten, have you been feeling helpless, anxious, or depressed?”

“Four.”

“On a scale from one to ten, have you felt restless or on edge?”

“Two.”

“Have you had any thoughts to harm or kill yourself or others?”

“No.”

He purposely neglected to tell her how exhausted he was of the endless noise that consumed his mind or how he was willing to do anything for a reprieve from them, especially from the cruelest one, the husky voice that he and his previous therapist, Garret, named Craig. Garret hoped that by naming the voice, Jamie would feel as though he had some semblance of control over it. But most of the time, it felt like Craig had more control over him.

On better days, Craig would spout useless demands that Jamie could resist by distracting himself. On the worst days, Craig’s demands would be much more malicious, and Jamie could feel Craig’s breath down his neck, tickling his spine, as if he were standing right behind him. But each time he looked, nobody was there. Each chill he felt made him question his own sanity. He didn’t know what was real anymore.

 Craig couldn’t go a minute without making him believe that all the nurses and the counselors wanted nothing more than to make Jamie die a slow and painful death, whether it be through poison in the food served at lunch or every sudden movement that appeared to be a lunge. Craig told Jamie that in every coat pocket there was a knife to slit his throat with.

Get out of the room now. Get out now or else.

This time, Jamie agreed with Craig. He only consented to receiving therapy because a nurse promised that they would let him out of confinement sooner if he did. If he masked his defects well enough, the psychologist might finally let him go home. He had already spent two days alone in the pristine white room, with nothing but an armless chair and a mattress on the floor. The only human interaction he received was from the nurses who peeked in every fifteen minutes to make sure that he was still sitting in the chair. He pressed his back against the wall in the corner farthest from the door, just as he had done for the past three hours. There was nothing better to do than try to ease his anxiety by everyone who walked past his doorway or to pass the time reading the profane language written on the tiles of the floor.

Get out. Get out. Get out now.

His mind began to create endless possibilities of escape, but each thought seemed to pass as soon as it entered his mind. Everything felt blurry.

Natalie looked up at him from her clipboard, “Tell me anything you like, and I’ll believe you.”

Jamie snapped back to attention; for the first time, he locked in eye contact with her. But his body trembled when a chilled touch graced his back, by the familiar breath against his neck, the sounds of breathing growing louder. His chest throbbed.

“I want a new room.”

Natalie nodded. “We’ll get you one right away.”

For the rest of the forty-five-minute session, they sat in discomforting silence. Unphased, Natalie continued to write notes on her clipboard, as Jamie tensed in his seat. But when the session ended, Natalie promised to see him again the next day and to talk to the faculty about his room arrangements.

Jamie had doubted her words, but the nurses brought him to one of the ward bedrooms less than an hour after their session. Although the walls were just as barren as confinement, Jamie was grateful that his mattress had a frame and that it was next to a window with blinds he could open and close as he wished.

As he lay down that night, Jamie tried imagining that he was waking up in his bed at home, that he would wake up next to Sydney and see her beautiful golden curls shimmer in the early morning light. The faint smile that would purse her lips when he surprised her with flowers, always blue, her favorite color. The warmth of her embrace and hearing her tender voice whisper, “I love you,” whenever he was afraid. He wished she were there for him now.

He wanted to return to that world desperately, to drown the numbness he felt with the memories and to silence Craig’s constant reminders of his worthlessness. But his mind would rarely quiet for long enough to get several hours of sleep, and just as he would get comfortable, a nurse would slam a cup of pills next to his head in the morning.

If you get up, they’ll kill you. They’ll cut you into pieces. You understand?

Craig repeated the threat until he knew Jamie would listen.

He hoped that if he obeyed Craig’s command to stay in bed, then nothing worse would happen. But the next morning, the nurses forced Jamie to get up, despite his own wishes to remain there for the rest of the day. Jamie tried to feign sleep, so they wouldn’t come in to bother him, but even that did not stop them.

“Don’t touch me! Get your hands off me!” He screamed and kicked against them with the little bit of energy he had left after a night of little rest.

They forced him to his feet and brought him over to a chair they had placed for him across from Natalie, who sat quietly in her seat. Jamie hadn’t noticed her presence in the room.

She’s working with them, Jamie.

They shoved him into the chair with so much force that Jamie nearly tipped backward.

“Gentle. Be gentle with him, please,” Natalie murmured.

They released him, and he settled reluctantly into his chair. But his muscles still ached as if they still had a hold on him. His heartbeat reverberated as if it were trapped in his skull. His attention snapped back as he heard the door slam shut, as the nurses watched him from the other end of the room by the only exit.

“It’s going to be okay, Jamie.” Natalie’s voice had a slight tremble as she spoke.

She’s lying to you. Get away from her, she’s dangerous.

But all Jamie could do was slide farther back into his seat. He stared at the floor as he murmured, “How do you know that?”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she set her clipboard on her lap. “Because it’s okay to be afraid. You should never have to pretend otherwise.”

Jamie wished he could believe her.

 “I can still see the blood.” Jamie hung his head and watched his tears hit the floor, afraid to look up. “The blood on my steering wheel, when I realized that I was still alive. I still feel it sometimes between my hands. Everyone thinks I’m insane.”

            Natalie placed her hands together on her lap. “Your experience is your reality.”

A week before Sydney left, Jamie was avoiding her, and they both knew it. He locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out, no matter how much she begged. The voice, he later named Craig, told him that if he did, then Sydney would be in danger. Jamie knew Craig was after him, and he didn’t want to take the chance that he would hurt Sydney too. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. So, when Craig said to lock the bathroom door, he did.

Sydney never understood the dangers, no matter how much he tried to explain. He knew it wasn’t all in his head, so he spent the rest of the night on the tile floor. He wanted her to understand. He wished he could explain, but he never had the right words. After a while, she stopped banging on the bathroom door, and Jamie could hear her tears through her voice when she told him she was going to bed.

The next morning, Jamie got up early and went to the closest farmer’s market. He used the last bit of money in his pocket to buy her a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers. The only bouquet he could afford was one of the smallest bundles of tulips. They drooped over the sides, but they were the most brilliant blue tulips Jamie had ever seen.

He placed them on the kitchen table, just like he used to when they were just married, and waited for her to come home. He couldn’t wait to see her smile again. He couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled.

When he heard her come through the door, he met her in the kitchen. He moved closer to her and wrapped his arm around her back. “They were such a beautiful blue, I had to get them. They reminded me of you.”

He leaned in for a kiss, but when he met her gaze, he paused. Her expression was as heavy as before. She wore a weighted kind of smile, one that bore strain. She leaned away from him, as if she was distancing herself, moving out of his grasp.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like them?”

“No, they are very lovely,” she said with her voice lowered. “Thank you.” She set her purse down on the table and passed by without another word.

“Well then, what’s wrong with them?” He followed behind her as she moved to the sink. She gripped the countertop and leaned forward to avoid his gaze.

“Nothing, really.”

Craig chimed in his ear. He could feel his cold breath trickle against his skin. She says you’re worthless. Screw up. You’re worthless.

“Tell me,” Jamie pleaded. He hated how his voice trembled in her presence. It made him feel like he was a child.

She dug her nails into the countertop. “The flowers are very nice. What else do you want from me?”

You’re a failure, Jamie. You can’t do anything right.

“What’s wrong with you? I try doing something nice, and it isn’t enough for you. It never is.”

“That’s not it-”

“Oh really? You’re trying to mess with me, aren’t you?” He couldn’t recognize the cruelty of his own tone.

She hates you.

“Jamie, the flowers aren’t blue. Tulips don’t come in blue.”

“What?” He grabbed the vase of flowers and gripped them with both his hands. The petals were blue—Bluer than the sky, than water, than anything he had ever seen.

She is the crazy one. She is.

He glared at Sydney, and she clutched the sink as if it were her lifeline, as if she was on the verge of clawing for escape.

He only meant to set the vase on the counter, but it shattered. He never meant to smash it. She flinched and lifted her hands up to shield her face reflexively. Jamie trembled and stared at Sydney, despite the gash the glass made in his hand.

“I’ll… clean it up.” He scooped the glass into the trash can and went to bed without another word.

Sydney never came to bed that night. The next morning, the flowers were in a new vase, left on the table.

At breakfast, Jamie sat alone at a table near the back of the lobby. He thought about Natalie, her questions during the session, and the ever-so faint tremor in her voice, her pink floral pen, and the glitter fingernail polish that reminded him of the brand Sydney used to use. He barely spoke to her that session.

I’m the only one who loves you.

            The other adult patients clustered together at their own tables, like in high school cliques. They all leaned in and whispered to each other, but Jamie could hear them. He could hear all their voices, all together, complaining about how repulsive he was to be around, how he was a waste of time and money. It was all so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts anymore.

            They hate you. They are talking about you right now. They want you dead. They’re trying to get you. Don’t eat; it’s poison.

            The food in front of him, a bland assortment of overcooked meat, runny eggs, and canned vegetables, sat untouched on his tray. At first, he feared one of the nurses would lecture him about his eating habits again. But they were preoccupied with another young girl, who looked barely old enough to be in the adult ward. Her gown sagged from the excessive fabric that enveloped her thin frame. She looked as if a slight touch would cause her body to break.

            “I’m not hungry,” the girl said, looking down at her food.

            Five plates filled with large portions of various foods rested on the table in front of her. The nurses scolded her, threatening her with confinement if she didn’t eat it all. Another promised to hold her down and force-feed her.

            “You don’t know what’s best for yourself right now,” one of the gentler nurses murmured. He wrapped his arm around the head of the chair behind her, keeping her from leaving the table.

            “Know what’s best for me, my ass.”  She crossed her arms in front of her. “I said I’m not hungry.”

            “You ain’t leavin’ here till you finish all of it,” one of the bulkier nurses grunted, as he gripped the back of the girl’s chair and shoved her closer to the table.

            “I fucking hate this place!” In a blur, the girl snatched one of the cups and threw it at the nurses. Juice splattered across both of their smocks. The cup clattered against the wall. The seemingly indestructible plastic fragmented on impact.

            The whole cluster of nurses rushed the girl, the strongest grabbing her by the arms as she bit, kicked, and screamed. They forced her to the ground and pressed her head to the tile until she stopped squirming.

            Jamie and the rest of the patients could only watch as one of the nurses jerked the girl back up, revealing droplets of her blood across the floor. Blood flowed like a river out of the girl’s mouth and down her chin.

            “She bit her tongue.” One of the staff members shook their heads and sighed. “Get her cleaned up and take her to the D.C.”

            Disciplinary confinement. Jamie knew firsthand that whatever was going to happen to her wasn’t going to be good. His stomach twisted, remembering what was coming next.

As the janitor came to wipe up the mess, some of the remaining staff ushered Jamie and the rest of the patients back to their rooms early.

 Although he was back in the clean white room, he could still picture the girl’s blood stains on the floor.

Most nights, Jamie lay awake in his bed and stared at the ceiling. His mind spun endless narratives about Sydney. He imagined her resting in a plush bed by herself, getting her first eight hours of sleep in a year. He wondered if she had forgotten all about him by now, or at least made the choice to try and forget about him. It stung, but he didn’t blame her. She was better off without him. But each time he admitted that fact in his mind, his chest squeezed tighter.

He remembered her tears on the night before she left. Her eyes were swollen and red from hours of crying, when she begged him not to go out driving. They both knew he had just taken his prescription. A useless medication that did little to appease Craig, but Sydney insisted on him taking it because the doctor said it would help. It didn’t, but he listened to her anyway. On a good day, the meds made his vision spin. On the worst days, he was too ashamed to try to remember what happened.

Sydney had every right to take the car keys from him. She ripped them from Jamie’s hands as he was about to storm out the front door. His mind knew that she had every right, but it did little to stifle the terror he felt when the keys were snatched from his palms and when she threatened to call the cops if he left. Craig took it as confirmation that Sydney was the real threat. In an act of desperation, Jamie did what he never thought he would be capable of before.

            He squeezed Sydney’s arm and thrusted it against the wall.

“Don’t you ever take my keys from me again,” he screamed in her face, so close he could feel the heat emanating from her body. But when he saw her tremble beneath him, he immediately regretted it.

“Please. Please stop.” Sydney turned her head away as she sobbed.

“I’m sorry.” He let her go and shook his head, “I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you.” He reached out to brush away the hair that obscured her face, but she pushed his hand away and continued to sob. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, at what he had become.

Nothing he said could undo the damage he had already inflicted. He couldn’t bear the sight of Sydney weep. So, he rushed out the door, hopped in the car, and went for a drive. It was the only thing he knew he could do to keep from hurting her again.

When he came back home two nights later, most of her stuff was already gone. He could only remember fragmented scenes of what he did next; he wrestled with those thoughts as he tried to fall asleep.

I’m all that’s left for you.

In his next session with Natalie, Jamie recounted the events of what happened to the girl at breakfast. He didn’t know entirely why he felt as though he could confide in the therapist, but he was desperate for any kind of human interaction apart from the nurses.

“I noticed you mentioned her blood splattered on the floor quite frequently.” Natalie nodded morosely, lacking her iconic smile. “Would you say that the sight of blood is a trigger for you?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

One of his first nights in the ward, he saw blood spatter against the window with a thud. He rose as quickly as he could, but all he could process was the red smear against his window, and a bird’s convulsing body on the window ledge. He placed his hands over his mouth in a futile attempt to keep himself from getting sick at the sight of it. It was still quiet hours, and he knew the nurses wouldn’t let him leave his room, but Craig insisted that he had to go.

Get out, Get out. Get out now. Get out now before they do the same to you.

He slammed himself into his bedroom door, but the heavy wood didn’t budge. He screamed and pounded on the door as hard as his arms would allow him. Hoping the overnight staff would come back soon for another round.

“Let me out of here,” Jamie cried. “I want out of here. Get me out.”

By the time the staff arrived, they tried to sit him down and to comfort him, but seeing the red stain across the window—the bird’s twisted neck and motionless body—made something inside him snap.

He tried to push the staff away with all his strength, but they pulled him back down. He was then thrown in the D.C., as both male and female nurses stripped him of all his clothes, pinned him to the ground, and injected him with a sedative.

He was left alone in the room for days after that. Left to ponder the blood on the window and the night Sydney left. He remembered his blood on the steering wheel when his neck snapped up, but he was still left alive in the crumpled car alone.

            “When she left, I got back in the car.” Jamie’s voice trembled, “I asked myself, ‘what do I have to live for anymore?’ All the voices in my mind told me alternatives that scared me. But I was so tired of being afraid…”

            Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Do you even hear yourself?

            Jamie’s mind was filled with Craig’s grating voice. His head pounded, as his own thoughts were submerged by Craig’s demands.

            Kill yourself. You deserve to die.

He shook his head, trying to regain his composure. He pressed his hands against his head and squeezed until his knuckles ached. Everything flooded his mind all at once. Craig, but also Sydney. Her voice during their wedding vows saying, “Till death do us part.” No, not anymore. Not anymore. Even through the suffocating noise, he could hear her clearly, the same voice he used to cling to. But now, he heard Natalie, her pen as it graced the pages. The cadence of her voice, but also his own voice, as if he could hear another version of himself outside of his body. A new man, screaming for his life, pleading to live.

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