It was a tough time for Cinderella, coming off heroin, but she was determined to be clean. The demons that attacked her day and night for days, the sweats and chills, the itchy skin that was now bleeding, the vomiting and convulsions, the out-of-control mind and body … she endured it all. The screaming, scratching herself, then into foetal position for hours, then the screams and cries of a woman driven mad by visions you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.
Her mind was lost in some dark, depraved maw of a heartless, gutless god, ready to devour her at any moment. His fangs pressed but didn’t bite, teasing fear into her. She was beyond the safe world of normality as insanity screeched in her brain and tore at her nerves.
Lost in the black labyrinth of spiders, ghouls, and gnashing beasts, she could not think if she tried. Beyond the ability to assert any reason on herself, she simply reacted against every death threat of this vicious god of her underworld.
But … but, somehow, somewhere in all of this frantic frenzy, there was a flicker that wouldn’t go out. The vast dark night of her withdrawal could not extinguish this fine and flimsy firefly that kept its light on for her.
Totally unaware of this dim light, amid the seething blackness, it held her dreams and held her future while she forgot and fought the demons of today.
This irrepressible light held steady – a vision of peace and sweetness that she had never known but always knew was possible, somehow.
Eventually the sweats, scratching, vomiting and spasms died down and her body and mind collapsed into the void. Too exhausted to think or move, she could have died of dehydration had the butler not continued to drip water into her anguished mouth. Breathing and swallowing were automatic and nothing else worked.
But that firefly in her night still glowed as the darkness receded. It smiled her awake and raised her eyelids to realise the real world had returned.
James gave her more water and tears courses down her lip as she forced a smile to him.
He wiped her moist face and hair and she wondered how long he’d been doing that. She felt a comforting coolness as he asked what she needed.
“I wish I knew,” she answered, her mind empty of needs.
“I’ll stay until you know, okay?” he suggested, sitting on the side of her bed.
“Yes,” she said and found smiling came easier this time. “That is okay.” She wished she could think of something to say or something she might need. But no thoughts came.
“Do you want to sleep?” he asked, probably trying to be helpful.
“Yes … no … not sure,” she said, enjoying the sight of him and the comforting normality round her.
“You’re a tough woman,” he said. “You said you wouldn’t give up and you didn’t.”
“Did I … didn’t I … you know what I mean,” she said as words tangled themselves together in her mouth. “How long have I been … you know …”
“Eleven days.”
“Eleven days? Hell!”
“It’s certainly been hell for you!” he said, chuckling.
“And you’ve been here all the time?” she asked, suddenly aware she wasn’t the only person going through pain.
“As much as I could, m’lady.” He looked a little embarrassed.
“Why?” She suddenly needed to understand why someone would care for her. And the realisation that someone did care for her, perhaps for the first time.
“Because you are worth it, m’lady.”
And that’s when the flood of tears started. She sniffed and wiped and sniffed and wiped and still they came. She couldn’t look at him but she felt his cool, damp cloth on her face, wiping away her pain. Wiping away her past. Wiping away her self-loathing.
“Why did I do it?” she asked, not quite understanding her question.
“Do what, m’lady?”
“Please call me Cinderella.”
“Yes Cinderella. Hmm, that sounds strange … and nice.”
“Do what?” she repeated. “Oh, abuse myself, I suppose.”
“I’m no psychologist, m’lady … aah, Cinderella, but abuse is all you’ve known, since you were three. From your stepmother. From your step-sisters. The abuse has gone long and deep and, with your father being away so much, there has been little to dilute the abuse.”
“Right,” she said, feeling a little more energy flowing in – enough to sit up a little.
“Their abuse at you became yours at you and maybe you tried to escape with the drugs.”
“Perhaps you’re right, James. Perhaps you’re right,” she said as that faint light flared up a little, illuminating her mind in a way it hadn’t been lit before.
“You’re not a bad person. You are worth it, Cinderella.” The flood of tears started again and she leaned into his starched, white shirt as his arm went around her.
“Is it too late?”
“Too late, m’lady … aah, Cinderella?”
“Too late to make amends. I don’t know. Make all my wrongs right.”
“They are right, Cinderella. There is only now and you are alright.”
“It’s that easy? It can’t be.”
“It is if you want it to be.”
“God, it feels as if I’ve had a right ball, all my life, and never really considered you. Or others.”
“It’s hard to think of others when you’re in so much pain. And it’s not a ball at all if all you’re doing is trying to avoid pain.”
“Gosh, you really are a philosopher, aren’t you, James. I’d almost call you my Prince Charming!”
“Or your Fairy Godbotherer!” he said, laughing. She looked up into his warm, brown eyes.
“And you have a sense of humour! I never knew that. You really do fill out big shoes,” she said, not quite sure what she meant, looking away in confusion.
“The shoes you see are the shoes you wear, Cinderella. You’re perhaps growing into the ones you were destined for, all along.”
“Maybe you’re right, James. But can you help me walk in them, please? Steady me for a while?” she asked looking up at him again, pecking his cheek.
“Of course, Cinderella, of course,” he said and her light glowed even brighter. And so did his.
This story is from the amazing book, My Whispering Teachers.