Chapter 3 - Fake Friends

It had been a few days since I had seen Vincent and Faye and I hadn’t heard from them again since the last messages we had politely exchanged from after we had met. I hadn’t reached out to them again, and they hadn’t to me. I started to assume that Faye had told Vincent what she had done to me in the restroom and that he had put a halt to their adventures.

As Faye and I had returned from the restroom I had quicky but politely made my excuses to leave and had said an awkward goodbye to them both. I couldn’t help but notice the look of suspicion that Vincent had shot Faye as I spoke. I was sure he knew something had happened.

Oh well. It was an experience if nothing else, and I was unlikely to bump into them as our circles were unlikely to overlap.

What it had done though was given me confidence that a meeting in that circumstance was possible. I had done it once, I could do it again. As I lay in my bed, conscious of the time, I logged on for a quick look around.

Again, no message from ‘V&F’ awaited me. But an inbox of thirsty men and a few other couples. ‘Ride the wave’, I thought to myself. I wanted to use this confidence before it dissipated and see who else may be able to excite me. I left all the messages unread, for now. Time seemed to be slipping away more quickly as it should as I threw back the covers to jump in the shower and ready myself for work.

I arrived at my office with only moments to spare. Although I doubted that anyone would be unhappy about my tardiness, I was a stickler for being on time and being where I said I was going to be, especially when it came to work. If I had indicated that I would be here to help someone or to be ‘on-duty’ for any issues, then I would always be in my office at those times.

I sat down at my desk, opened my laptop. I checked the time of my first session, and then my emails. I had stopped working outside of my contracted hours as the job was demanding and the last thing I needed was to be thinking about it 24/7. Another reason to set office hours and stick to them.

Nothing of great interest; one or two self-discharges of those who could, a voluntary admission who had requested to speak to me and one court ordered assessment who was also scheduled with me later that day.

I ideally preferred to only do one assessment per shift. Depending on the circumstance, it could be emotionally draining and stressful, and sometimes took a while to process the conversation. I had tried many times to do more than one in a day and often was unable to give the second my full attention due to the nature of the first.

I could only hope that the voluntary admission wouldn’t be too taxing, and I settled down to read the very thin case file which consisted of only a self-surrender form.

She was 24 and had indicated in her statement that she felt that she was at risk of self-harming due to personal circumstances. She had provided no next of kin and from experience, almost every time these details are omitted are due to not wanting their friends or family to know where they are; whether this be related to shame or fear. I gathered my notebook and pen, together with the file and went to meet her.

I lightly knocked on the door and started to push it open slowly.

“Lana? May I come in?”

Lana sat on the edge of her bed looking quite dishevelled. She looked a lot younger than 24; if I was made to guess I would have said 19 at the very oldest. She was very thin and pale. Her sunken brown eyes stared out of the window.

“Hi Lana, my name is Lucy and I believe you requested to speak to me? Do you want to do that now or should I come back a little later?”

Lana’s gaze didn’t move.

“No. I want to talk to you now. I need to. I don’t want to deal with this alone anymore.” Lana whispered.

“Okay. That’s great. That’s what I am here for Lana. We can go into the quiet room if you prefer, or do you want to stay in here?” I asked.

“Here. I don’t want to move.” She answered.

“That’s fine. Let me get us both a glass of water and we can have a talk?”

Lana slightly nodded as her gaze remained fixed on the view from her window.

I set the glasses on her bedside table and pulled up the chair, sitting to the side of her so to not physically box her in to our exchange. I felt that this may take some time so settled in for the long haul.

“In your own time Lana, why don’t we start with why you came to us?”

Lana’s gaze shifted from the window to the floor. The tears she silently shed started to fall from the tip of her nose.

“I didn’t want to hurt myself again.” She said as she twisted her inner arms towards me.

Both forearms were covered in wounds at all stages of healing, although none were completely fresh. Scars and scabs ran parallel to her wrists all the way up to her elbows on both arms; some white, some red.

“It doesn’t stop when I do, so I came here instead.” She said quietly.

“You have done the right thing, Lana. Can you tell me what doesn’t stop?”

“He doesn’t stop; and he doesn’t stop them.” Lana’s voice started to sound strained. Anger was creeping in; she continued through gritted teeth.

“He thinks I like it. Thinks I enjoy it because I don’t say no, or stop, or tell them that it hurts so it keeps happening and they think I choose to do it because I take the stuff, but I do it to block it out because I know what’s coming and I don’t want to remember but I always do. I always do. I can’t stop it. I want it to stop.”

“Lana, do you mind if I make some notes?” I asked quickly. She shook her head.

“I have a couple of questions, but you don’t have to answer them, so if you don’t want to answer, just shake your head.” Lana nods silently still staring at the floor.

“Who is ‘he’?” I ask.

“I don’t want to say any names, but he is my boyfriend.” She answers.

“Okay, and who is ‘they’?”

“His friends.”

I already understood exactly why Lana was here. The source of her self-harming, the reason she declined to put any next of kin; and I know where this will likely go. Nowhere. All too often women like Lana make moves to distance themselves from these situations, it takes many attempts to be successful, and in some cases, albeit rare, they never do.

“And what do you mean by stuff, Lana?” I ask gently.

“Coke. And vodka.”

“In your own time, Lana, and only if you want to. Can you tell me what happens?”

Lana raised her head and turned back to the window. I notice she has started to rock, maybe to comfort herself, or it may be nerves. I sit quietly and let the question hang in the air. A few minutes pass.

“The football. They always come over to watch football with him. The first time it happened, it was fun. We were all having a great time and, we’d all had a few drinks, done a few lines. I started it I think, I was so out of it I don’t exactly remember how it happened, but I think I just started sucking him off in front of his mates. He didn’t stop me, and he didn’t stop them from touching me as I did. From what I remember, it was great. We all had a lot of fun.”

Lana stopped and the very slight smile from the only good memory faded from her face.

“But then, it was like it was expected and I didn’t know how to stop it from happening. So, every time I would drink more, do more coke, anything to try and block it out. But I did it, Lucy, I never said no, I never pushed anyone away. I never stopped it.”