Author: Robyn Carr
“I turned it on,” she said on a sob. “There were so many messages, the mailbox was full. I listened to about four and they were mean. ‘You’re a slut, Ashley! You’ll never get him back, Ashley—not even with your pathetic tits!’ There was even a guy—I don’t know who—who called me a whore.” She rolled back and sobbed.
“All right, you have to get up,” Gina said. “You’ll share this in your group, get some advice. Kids go through terrible bullying ordeals and survive. Not just survive but get stronger. Look what happened to Landon last fall, getting beat up by the likes of Jag Morrison! You have to stand up to this, Ash!”
Ashley rolled back. Her eyes were so red they were nearly crusty. Her whole face was swollen. “If you think I’m ever going anywhere, you’re crazy. I just want to die!”
“No, Ash. You have to fight back!”
“No! There are too many of them!”
“You have Eve, Landon and your friends!”
“I can’t even see them in the crowd!” Ashley whimpered. And then she pulled the covers over her head.
Gina left Ashley’s bedroom because she was beginning to shake. She didn’t know how to pull her girl out of this. She went to the kitchen and wondered who to call. Carrie? The useless Mrs. Downy? Finally, desperate, she got out her phone and dialed up the counselor, where she was forced to leave a message, which she left in low tones. “Mrs. Ross, it’s Gina James and I have a crisis—Ashley has been dealt another terrible blow. Her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend used Photoshop to create a naked picture of Ashley and texted it to the boy’s entire directory and launched it on Facebook. Ashley has been sobbing for over two days, refuses to get out of bed and I found she smashed her phone with a hammer. She says she wants to die. I don’t know what to do. Please help.” And she left her number, which Simone Ross undoubtedly already had.
Then she sat at the table, where she was determined to wait for a return call, no matter how long it took.
Tears ran down her cheeks. She’d read about teen suicide and wondered if those kids had said to their parents, “I just want to die!” Young girls harassed on social media sites or in chat rooms, escaping the pain through self-destruction? Young boys picked on so relentlessly they felt they couldn’t go on? Who put a stop to it all? Who intervened before it was too late?
The phone finally rang and she saw it was Simone Ross.
“I want you to bring her in,” Simone said. “I’ll see her in my office in one hour.”
“What if she doesn’t want to?” Gina asked.
“Bring her. Get help if you need help, but bring her. Let’s not play around with this. She’s had a bad experience, is experiencing feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness and I don’t want it to escalate.”
And so that’s what Gina did. She told Ashley she was taking her to the counselor and when Ashley refused, Gina threatened to call Mac to help get her in the car. And Gina reluctantly watched as Ashley threw on a wrinkled and smelly sweat suit from the bottom of the laundry pile. She just wanted her in the car; she wasn’t going to fuss about her wild hair, her sloppy appearance, nothing.
Once they were underway, Ashley said, “I don’t know why we bother. She can’t fix this.”
“We bother because you could use the support,” Gina said. “It’s hard to get through stuff like this alone. You need a team.”
“I just need to go away....”
This was their first trip to Simone Ross’s office during regular business hours and there was actually a receptionist behind the desk, a young woman with green hair and eyebrow and lip piercings. She didn’t even ask who they were—she used the intercom to buzz Simone, who came out immediately.
It wasn’t until Simone and Ashley were behind closed doors that Gina realized she hadn’t called Stu! Her boss had no idea she wasn’t coming back to work and by now the lunch crowd was beginning to arrive. When he answered she said, “Stu, I’m so sorry!” And then she burst into tears.
Eight
“Do you feel like telling me what’s going on?” Simone asked Ashley.
Looking down into her lap, Ashley said, “Didn’t my mom tell you?”
“Bits and pieces, but I’m interested in your version. Your mother is afraid, Ashley. She cares about you so much. Seems you’re getting picked on. Exploited. Or something.”
She lifted her eyes. “Picked on?” she asked, her eyes nothing more than swollen slits. She told her about the picture. “Downy’s girlfriend sent it to everyone in the world! Including all the kids at school and half the adults in town including the football coach. She put it up on Facebook. It was taken down, but not before the whole world saw it and shared it.”
“What about this is bothering you the most?” Simone asked.
“All of it,” she said.
“Help me out with some feelings here,” Simone entreated. “Hurt? Embarrassed? Angry? Sad?”
“All that,” she said. “Totally humiliated. And they believe it. People believe it.”
“So—your response to that is to do what?”
She thought for a moment that stretched out. “I called Downy to tell him how mean that was, but he didn’t pick up. He won’t answer my calls or texts. Not for any reason.”
“And what did you do next?”
She shrugged. “Cried. Fell asleep. Woke up and cried.”
“Have you gone to school? Talked to friends?”
Ashley shook her head. “I can’t.” Her voice was so small.
“Has it occurred to you that you’re grieving?”
“You said I was, so yes. I guess.”
“Have you been angry?” Simone asked. “Have you felt like this can’t be true?”
She just shook her head. “When you see it, you know it’s true. If I hadn’t smashed my phone, I could show you. It’s horrible. I know Downy wants to break up, I get it. But why would he let someone do this to me? Even if he hates me?”
“Tell me something, Ashley. Are you going to lay in bed forever? Are you going to get up at some point? Put on clean clothes? Call your friends? Go to school? Maybe go to a party or dance, like you used to?”
She shook her head dismally. “None of that stuff matters anymore....”
“Hold out your arm, like this,” Simone said, demonstrating. “I’m going to pinch you a little bit—just to look at the elasticity of your skin.”
“Why?” Ashley asked even as she held up her arm.
“Just to check something. I can see from your eyes that your face is swollen and... Ah, you’ve been crying so much and refusing food and drink so much that you’re dehydrated. I’m going to get you a bottled water.”
“I don’t really want anything,” Ashley said. “My stomach has been upset.”
“I know,” Simone said, but she got up, anyway. She went to the cupboard behind her desk and brought Ashley some water. “Try a few sips, please. I need to talk to your mother for just a minute. You’ll be all right here for a few minutes, won’t you?”
Ashley shrugged before she nodded. “What for?”
“I’ll explain. Just give me a second and try to get some of that water down. Okay?”
“What if I just throw up again?”
“Trash can, darling. It’s right there. I’ll be right back.”
Simone went into the outer office and Gina was immediately on her feet. “Sit down, Gina.” Simone took the chair beside her. “Ashley is showing symptoms of depression and I think she needs medication. If she were older, I’d just get her a script, but given her age and the severity of her symptoms, I want to admit her under the care of a psychiatrist. She’s dehydrated and despondent. I gave her a bottle of water, but she’s uncertain she can keep it down. She might need an IV, which I can’t administer.”
“Depression? How bad do you think it is?”
“She’s isolating, not eating, sleeping all the time. She hasn’t bathed. She’s dirty and doesn’t care. This isn’t like her, is it?”
Gina shook her head. Her lips quivered. “That damn Downy,” she whispered.
“The reason I want to admit her, Gina—this could be an emotional reaction to a bad breakup or it could be classic depression, which usually presents between the ages of fifteen and thirty. Is there depression in your family? In the extended family?”
Gina looked down. “I’m not sure. I’ll ask my mother, but we’ve been a family of women. My dad left when I was just five. I was pregnant at fifteen, delivered Ashley at sixteen and my boyfriend...” Tears came to her eyes for the first time in so many years. “Long gone,” she said weakly.
“It does run in families sometimes. I’m not saying she’s suffering from clinical depression but it’s entirely possible. If you can check with your mother and even Ashley’s paternal biological family, it would give us more information. Meanwhile, I want to take her to city hospital in North Bend. We can take her together, check her in. She’ll be safe there.” Simone reached for Gina’s hand. “I don’t want to take any risks here. She could be a danger to herself.”
“You think she’d kill herself?” Gina asked.
“I don’t know. I worry that she might let herself die if there’s not an intervention. There’s really no point in risking this. Come with me to explain all this to Ashley. Then I should make a couple of calls.”
And Simone went back to Ashley without another word.
Gina followed. She listened numbly while Simone explained to Ashley—depression, dehydration, isolation, risk. Ashley merely nodded.
“I want you to stay at least overnight in the hospital, Ashley, so we can give you an antidepressant and monitor the way you respond. It might be for a few days, but I’m fairly sure it won’t be long-term.”
“Long-term?” Ash asked.
“Some patients are critical and really need hospitalization for a couple of weeks, maybe a month. I don’t think that’s the case, but you need medical intervention—you’re sick to your stomach, dehydrated, can’t get out of bed. Let’s take care of this.”
She nodded weakly. “No matter what you do, I’m not going back to school.”
“I understand,” Simone said.
And Gina thought, Please God, let me be as sharp as she is when I finally achieve my degree.
Tears were wetting Gina’s cheeks. She’d sacrificed everything to keep this girl healthy, safe and well-adjusted, yet one eighteen-year-old boy had just about ruined them all!
“Thanks,” she heard Simone say into her cell phone. “Yes, her mother will handle the forms and we’ll be there within the hour. I’d rather not go through admitting. Oh, thank you—we’ll meet you on the third floor.”
She disconnected and stood from her chair. “Let’s go get this difficulty taken care of.”
Mac was surprised to see an Oregon State Police Trooper vehicle pull into town. Mac had been standing outside his office, chatting with old Sam Connie about the weather when Joe Metcalf parked and got out. He was more than just another officer to Mac. He was the man his aunt Lou had been seeing for the past year and a half, though she’d done her level best to keep him secret until six months ago.
Joe gave a nod to Sam then shook Mac’s hand.
“Looks mighty official,” Sam said. “I’ll leave you to it.” And off he wandered, using a cane as leverage.
“What’s up?” Mac asked.
“I should probably ask you,” Joe responded. “Lou says the place is falling apart.”