“Evie! Where have you been? Mum and Dad have gone nuts. They’re out in the car looking for you.”
I ran past her, up to my room. She followed.
“What’s happened to you? Have you been attacked? Let me call them. They phoned your friend Amber. She said you were with a guy?”
My sterile little room was unwelcoming and unhelpful. I tipped the duvet off, chucking it to the floor. There must be some cleaning stuff here. Something my parents hadn’t found.
Rose was on the phone behind me. “She’s here. She’s in a state, I don’t know what happened. Okay, I’ll try…”
I didn’t have much time.
“Evie?” Rose called softly, watching me turn my bedroom upside-down but talking like I wasn’t doing anything extraordinary at all. “Mum and Dad will be back in ten minutes. Let’s have a chat? Tell me what happened…”
I opened my bottom desk drawer…the germs…I could feel them growing…my tiny hidden bottle of antibacterial hand gel wasn’t there. They’d taken it.
BAD THOUGHT
You’re going to get ill and die… Get clean. Find a way! NownownownowNOW!
“Rose.” I grabbed her with my eyes wide. She jumped.
“What?”
“You have to help me. Something dreadful has happened. Where do Mum and Dad hide the cleaning stuff?”
Her mouth fell open, her eyelashes shaking. “Evelyn, no. There’s nothing here for you. It’s all gone. They don’t keep anything here.”
BAD THOUGHT
She’s lying. Your own sister is lying to you. She hates you and resents you and wants you to get ill and die so she doesn’t have to put up with your craziness any more because you’re ruining everyone’s lives.
“You’re lying,” I screamed. “There must be something. They must have cleaning products somewhere.”
“No,” she repeated, but I watched her scared eyes flicker in the direction of our parents’ bedroom.
The en suite. I pushed past her and ran down the corridor. “Evie, no. Please. Stop.”
I ran past their bed and into the little alcove that was their extra bathroom. Like a frenzied girl – well, I was one – I dived into the cupboard under the sink. And there, there it was. What I needed. Spray bottles and rubber gloves and disinfectant spray and all the wonderful lovely cleaning products that wipe away dirt and germs and all that’s wrong with the world.
I pulled out a bottle of bleach…
Evie’s logic that wasn’t logic really
If I could use something strong enough, I would stop all of Guy’s germs before they had time to breed. Simple soap wouldn’t cut it – he was too dirty and the viruses had had too much time to spread.
Bleach though. Bleach kills everything. Everybody knows that.
If I could just bleach the bits where he touched me…then everything would be okay and I wouldn’t get sick and I’d go see Sarah to keep my parents happy and things would get back to normal because normal is all I’d ever wanted.
But bleach burns… Maybe if I diluted it, it wouldn’t burn me? Like one of those acid peel face masks. I plunged my hand down on the safety cap, unscrewed the top and tipped some into the plugged sink.
Rose burst in just as I was adding water to dilute it. She looked so in pain – if there was any reasonable part of me left, her face would’ve broken my heart.
“Evie, please. Stop. Whatever you’re doing, stop!”
“I can’t,” I sobbed back, honestly, watching the bowl fill with water, willing it to fill faster. If I could just apply one layer before my parents came back and wrecked everything…
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just washing something off.”
I needed to put it on, I needed to stop the germs, I needed, I needed, I needed…
I sank a flannel into my diluted bleach mixture. The bleach seeped into the open sores of my hands.
I screamed.
The pain… The stinging.
“Evie!”
If I could just break through the pain… It’ll scab, but it will be free of germs, free of filth, free of dirt.
“Is that water, Evie?”
“Yes!” I wrung the flannel out and howled again. Then, with my hands shaking uncontrollably, I pulled my trousers down, right in front of Rose, and dabbed the skin at the top of my legs, erasing where Guy had been.
“Evie. Oh my God, is that bleach?! Have you put bleach on you? Oh God, Evie. Help! Someone help!”
Relief.
Relief flooded through me like a tidal wave of gorgeousness. My legs sang with relief. I let out a deep breath.
Then the burning started. First a tingling, then a hot fire coursing up me. I looked at my withered hands – blisters had erupted all over them. It hurt so much I could hardly see.
I sank to the floor, sobbing, wanting so much to do the rest of my body.
“Mum? Dad? She’s in here! She’s done something. I think she’s put bleach on herself.”
Crashing. Worried shouting.
“Get her in the shower. Now.”
“Evie? What have you done? What the hell have you done now?”
Cold water hit me – it rained down on my head, ran down into my eyes, joining with the tears.
Just before I passed out, I remember having one thought.
The thought
Well this isn’t normal, is it now, Evie?
Forty-three
What the doctors said
“It’s a good thing she diluted the bleach.”
“You did the right thing, getting her in the shower that quickly. It stopped the burn.”
“She doesn’t need a skin transplant.”
“But she may struggle to feel temperatures in her palms.”
“The scar on her leg will fade with time.”
“Your youngest daughter, Rose, may need some counselling.”
“How did Evelyn find the bleach?”
“We’re transferring her to the psychiatric ward, just for a week or two. Evelyn, do you understand what that means?”
“Evelyn, we’re putting your medication back up. We’re also prescribing you some diazepam, to help you feel calm again.”
“Your daughter has suffered a significant relapse of her Obsessive Compulsive Disorder…”
Forty-four
Mum’s visit
Mum was the first. She was allowed to bring chocolate, and clothes.
I sat in my tiny room, playing with my bandages, staring at the clock.
I burst into tears the moment I saw her. “Mum, I’m so sorry.”
She gave me a sad little smile and sat on the hard-backed chair next to the bed, placing some folded jeans and a bar of Dairy Milk on the mattress. “How are you feeling?” she asked, to the pair of jeans.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Evelyn.” But it wasn’t okay. I could tell by her face. Pain bled all over it.
“Where’s Dad and Rose?”
“They’re dropping by tomorrow.”
“I’m so so sorry.”
Mum brought her face up to look at me, to really look at me. At my skinny frame and bandaged hands and the sterile box room. It was her turn to cry.
“Oh, Evie,” she sobbed, sitting down next to me and smothering my face into the nook of her neck. “What happened? You were doing so well!”
“I know,” I sobbed back. “I’m sorry. I let you down. I let everyone down.”
She cried harder. “It’s not your fault,” she said. And, for the first time, I really believed she meant it.
We hugged and cried and hugged and cried some more.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked her, wiping some snot on her blouse by mistake. The snot didn’t upset me. It already didn’t bother me. I didn’t know if it was the drugs, or the intense therapy sessions, but I looked at the slimy trail and just thought, Oh, there’s some snot.
Mum smoothed down my hair. “You’re going to get better.”