hospital.
When he left, she gave in and let the tears fall. There just seemed to be no future. Certainly there would be no life for him with her. If he was lucky, they would drift apart and he would go to
Toronto in September. He might even meet someone else.
Kirsten had no idea what her full recovery would feel like, or even if such a thing were possible. The doctor hadn’t sounded very hopeful about reconstructive surgery. Presumably, she
would feel fine on the outside, though the scars would remain and have to be covered up. Was she just supposed to get used to her new state, put her past behind her and get on with life? Go to
Toronto with Galen, even?
He would be very understanding about her disability, at least for a while. Perhaps he would even marry her out of love and pity, and as time went on she would considerately turn a blind eye to
the bits on the side he needed to give him what she could no longer supply. She would be grateful just because he was self-sacrificing enough to love a cripple.
No. It didn’t sound right. Such a life could never be, should never be. Without really telling him why, she would have to ease Galen out of her life for his own good.
The depression was on her, in her, a kind of numbing fatalism that would admit no light, no comfort. She couldn’t imagine it ever ending, things getting back to normal. Already the
carefree, cheerful young graduate who had stepped out of Oastler Hall, enjoyed the warm air and scanned the night sky for the moon as she sat on the stone lion was gone. Utterly. Irredeemably.
And who or what was going to take her place? Kirsten wondered. She felt vague and disturbing forces moving inside her, like flitting shadows in places so deep and dark she had not known they
existed. And she felt powerless to do anything about them, just as she had when Galen had tried to hold her and she’d frozen on him. She was no longer in control.
But it was more, even, than that. She knew she only controlled enough of herself to give the comforting illusion of being in command. At best, like most people, she could control certain aspects
of her behaviour. It was mostly a matter of manners, like not burping at the dinner table. But her habits and mannerisms shouldn’t change so dramatically unless she made a great conscious
effort to alter them. She surely wouldn’t just wake up one morning and no longer bite her nails under stress or stop blushing when she overheard someone talking about her. No more than Galen
could stop his shoulders slumping when he didn’t get what he wanted, or Sarah sucking on her upper lip with deceptive calm before responding sharply to a remark that had offended her.
Yet that seemed to be just what had happened. What Kirsten had done when Galen had reached for her – before she had even had time to think about it – was something that had never
been in her repertoire of responses. It was her habit always to return the embrace of a friend or a loved one. But that part of her – the part, perhaps, that responded to affection and love
– was gone now, changed. She no longer recognized herself.
It would be typical of the doctors, she thought, to put it down to what had happened to her. It’s like, they would say, touching a hot coal and flinching the next time the hand nears
another. Once bitten, twice shy. Conditioning. One of Pavlov’s dogs. Naturally, they would go on, anyone who has suffered and survived such a vicious attack is bound to react with suspicion
when another man, however familiar, approaches her in any intimate way.
Well, maybe they were right. Perhaps it would pass in time. Animals and humans who are used to being ill-treated often strike out at first when someone finally offers them love, but in time they
come to accept it and trust those who give it. Surely she, too, could re-learn the right responses? But Kirsten wasn’t convinced. For some reason, she believed that this new instinctive and
frightening
When he left, she gave in and let the tears fall. There just seemed to be no future. Certainly there would be no life for him with her. If he was lucky, they would drift apart and he would go to
Toronto in September. He might even meet someone else.
Kirsten had no idea what her full recovery would feel like, or even if such a thing were possible. The doctor hadn’t sounded very hopeful about reconstructive surgery. Presumably, she
would feel fine on the outside, though the scars would remain and have to be covered up. Was she just supposed to get used to her new state, put her past behind her and get on with life? Go to
Toronto with Galen, even?
He would be very understanding about her disability, at least for a while. Perhaps he would even marry her out of love and pity, and as time went on she would considerately turn a blind eye to
the bits on the side he needed to give him what she could no longer supply. She would be grateful just because he was self-sacrificing enough to love a cripple.
No. It didn’t sound right. Such a life could never be, should never be. Without really telling him why, she would have to ease Galen out of her life for his own good.
The depression was on her, in her, a kind of numbing fatalism that would admit no light, no comfort. She couldn’t imagine it ever ending, things getting back to normal. Already the
carefree, cheerful young graduate who had stepped out of Oastler Hall, enjoyed the warm air and scanned the night sky for the moon as she sat on the stone lion was gone. Utterly. Irredeemably.
And who or what was going to take her place? Kirsten wondered. She felt vague and disturbing forces moving inside her, like flitting shadows in places so deep and dark she had not known they
existed. And she felt powerless to do anything about them, just as she had when Galen had tried to hold her and she’d frozen on him. She was no longer in control.
But it was more, even, than that. She knew she only controlled enough of herself to give the comforting illusion of being in command. At best, like most people, she could control certain aspects
of her behaviour. It was mostly a matter of manners, like not burping at the dinner table. But her habits and mannerisms shouldn’t change so dramatically unless she made a great conscious
effort to alter them. She surely wouldn’t just wake up one morning and no longer bite her nails under stress or stop blushing when she overheard someone talking about her. No more than Galen
could stop his shoulders slumping when he didn’t get what he wanted, or Sarah sucking on her upper lip with deceptive calm before responding sharply to a remark that had offended her.
Yet that seemed to be just what had happened. What Kirsten had done when Galen had reached for her – before she had even had time to think about it – was something that had never
been in her repertoire of responses. It was her habit always to return the embrace of a friend or a loved one. But that part of her – the part, perhaps, that responded to affection and love
– was gone now, changed. She no longer recognized herself.
It would be typical of the doctors, she thought, to put it down to what had happened to her. It’s like, they would say, touching a hot coal and flinching the next time the hand nears
another. Once bitten, twice shy. Conditioning. One of Pavlov’s dogs. Naturally, they would go on, anyone who has suffered and survived such a vicious attack is bound to react with suspicion
when another man, however familiar, approaches her in any intimate way.
Well, maybe they were right. Perhaps it would pass in time. Animals and humans who are used to being ill-treated often strike out at first when someone finally offers them love, but in time they
come to accept it and trust those who give it. Surely she, too, could re-learn the right responses? But Kirsten wasn’t convinced. For some reason, she believed that this new instinctive and
frightening
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