If Ever (COMPLETED - EDITING)

Chapter 3 - Ella

When I finally rose from my prostrate position on the floor, I washed my face and straightened my hair back. I looked ok, more normal and less like I had had a mental breakdown though my eyes were puffy and my cheeks were red and like always my lips were swollen. Maybe I should be committed here as well...

I went in search of Mare's doctor, Dr. Brunson. He was the plastic surgeon. I sat in his office waiting for him. The door opened and he sat down behind his desk looking at me worried.

"If you look at me with any pity..." I warned.

"You know me better than that, Stella." He said kindly. "How is she, when can I take her home?" I asked.

"Unfortunately, not as soon as you'd hoped, these things take time to heal, she was covered in 4th degree burns, she can't function like normal people yet, she now needs all the help she can get and you can't quit school to be her full-time nurse, and Mel can't quit her job to look after her either. We know this, we've talked about this.

But I am hopeful, she has managed to regain a form of speech, which is very encouraging, given the burns in her mouth and esophageal passage. You should be happy about this, she is on the mend, and I am doing everything I can to make her comfortable. We still have weeks of skin grafting for her face, neck and hands. But we will get there, slow and steady. I don't want to rush her healing, recovery and her progress. She is seeing a therapist everyday and has become clearer in her thoughts." He said. I was sinking lower and lower in my seat.

"When did she start therapy?" I didn't know this.

"Three weeks ago, when she started talking." He answered, and I felt like a complete fuck up, my sister who was so physically and emotionally damaged was able to talk to a therapist, was able to express her anger and sorrow and grief, when I was a gigantic fucking coward that refused to speak?

Forgive yourself, Ellie. Only Mare called me Ellie aside from David and Cece.

Is that the conclusion she had come to? That it wasn't my fault, that she had forgiven me. And here, I was, the one that could barely put a foot in front of the other. From guilt and shame and anger and, grief.

"Has she talked about it? The night?" I asked, more afraid of the answer than anything else in my life.

"She has." Was all he said. I knew he couldn't say more.

"I still can't." I said my voice thick; I looked down at the floor.

"Everyone heals and recovers differently, you are not her and she is not you, these things take their own time, you will learn to talk about it, Stella, and you will overcome it." He said with a gentle confidence. "Will I?" asked.

"Yes, you will, we all have our demons, some more than others, victims and survivors of such extreme trauma all look at their lives differently. There is a well-defined before and there is an after. There always will be. And what that after might be, is for you to decide.  And there is an after for you Stella, you just have to give it a chance. Don't just let life pass you by. Don't let yourself be consumed by your anger and grief. You will heal. Give it time. Not for anyone else, but for yourself. You deserve it." He stated.

"For a plastic surgeon, you sure sound like a therapist," I said wiping my eyes.

Dr. Brunson laughed, "you will find something or someone to help you fill the void, Stella. You just have to let it come to you, and when it does you have to make an effort to keep it. The problem most people face is running from hope because they don't believe they deserve it."

I walked out of the hospital, unsure of how I felt, like I was in some febrile delusion. My disabled twin was talking to a therapist, she was learning to overcome what had happened to her. I was stuck. Unable to move on. Because too much had happened to me.