Be Myself! - 44. A New Beginning

The week between returning home and going back to school was supposed to be a time of rest and gradual normalisation of my new life. Now that I was out of hospital, I was not the only one who needed to adapt to disruptions in routine and unexpected complications. Mr Viñas started to wake up earlier than usual in order to prepare my liquefied food before everyone else’s. Ms Savage became my personal nurse, taking my temperature every few hours and checking my stitches every day and making sure I took my medicines at the right time (it was unexpectedly difficult for me to remember when to take them, or even if I had already taken some, probably because of the concussion). Oliver tried his best to pass me school lessons and homework, but since we did not share any subjects, it was very difficult for him. Even Sam’s routine was affected; he was encouraged to spend a lot more time with the upstairs neighbour (a boy close to him in age), so that his parents could have an easier time keeping an eye on me. I did not like that I was the cause of so much disruption, but the Viñas’ were determined to not let me feel like a burden.

On Wednesday, the second day of this new routine, Oliver was trying to explain to me the physics homework, but it was obvious that he had no clue what he was talking about. He only had a vague knowledge of the terms, and knew even less about what they were supposed to mean. As I watched his confusion and frustration, an old memory of Joseph flawlessly explaining my homework to me led to an important realisation.

“Oliver, stop. Don’t bother with this.”

“What do you mean? I’m doing my best to–”

I interrupted my boyfriend before he could finish the sentence. This was not about his efforts to help me stay up-to-date with school stuff (an effort I appreciated more than I could put into words). This was not about him at all. “I know you are, and I’m really glad I’ve got your help, but I think this is a waste of time for both of us.”

“What do you mean?” Oliver asked again, still confused.

“I don’t think I want to study physics anymore, or chemistry, or maths. I only picked those because Joseph wanted me to study useful things that would lead me to a respectable career.” Oliver’s gaze softened when I mentioned that man. He watched me closely in case I felt bad because of my memories. “Physics reminds me of him. He was a physics professor and all that. To carry on studying the things he forced me to take is like a reminder that he didn’t accept who I really was.”

“Do you think we can ask the school to switch your subjects? You’re smart and the school year has just started, so you should be able to catch up on the stuff you missed until now…” Oliver smiled slightly. Talking about Joseph did give me a bit of a nauseating feeling, but it was not too bad. I could handle it, at least for a while.

“I guess I could try. I would like to take music and geography at least. Maybe biology too.”

“Mr Smith would be really happy to have you as his student again. If it depended on him, you would definitely be accepted back!”

“Mr Smith teachers the fifth years too?” It was kind of a silly question to ask, but it had not occurred to me that we could have some of the same teachers from previous years. Fifth and sixth year, as the final years of secondary school, were completely focused on getting students through to university, and therefore were structurally different than anything we had seen before. So far all my teachers had been new, so I just assumed it would be the same across all subjects.

“Yeah, he does. The Geography Department is really small. Actually, it’s pretty much just him.”

“How do you know that?” This was the kind of information I expected to get from Ariadne, Edward, or Jean, since they were the ones who lived with people linked to the school and thus could potentially have that knowledge built into their daily life. I did not expect this from my boyfriend, though.

“He told us on the first day of class. You’re not the only one wondering why we didn’t get a new teacher.” Oliver smiled playfully. From then on we ended up discussing what I would like to do if the school let me change subjects. It was not so much about my academic future, but about what kind of person I wanted to be now that I was free from Joseph’s influence. Anything to do with the more exact sciences suddenly felt oppressive, not at all like this person I wanted to become. Physics, chemistry, maths, I did not want any of that, but I would definitely keep doing English. And as for German…

German had been Joseph’s idea too, as a way to keep the family heritage going. He believed that if we carried a German surname, we should be able to speak the language. He even made a point that for me it was even more so, otherwise people would have a hard time believing someone like me could really have German ancestry. So I had all the reasons to want to drop German as well, or arguably even to change my surname as soon as I could, but it did not feel all that straightforward to me. Speaking other languages was always useful, and I had worked hard to reach my current level of knowledge (I knew enough to have basic survival skills if I was suddenly teleported to a part of Germany that did not speak English and was conveniently located around Berlin). In the end I decided to continue studying German because it would be a lot more useful to me than physics, but I knew I would need a lot of work to dissociate the subject with Joseph and his family.

By the end of the day, none of Oliver’s previous homework got done. Instead, we came up with a new plan for my education, a new timetable, and a proposal to the headmistress to convince her to let me go ahead with it. I wanted to do music, English, geography, biology, and German. My main argument was that I wanted to start things over in my own way, and put my past behind me for good. We hoped the headmistress would understand my reasons and be supportive of my decision.

(...)

The next day, Ms Savage went with Oliver to school to talk to the headmistress on my behalf. Ariadne’s mother was very understanding, and agreed to give me a provisional timetable to see if I could really catch up with the new subjects. She promised to talk to the teachers about my situation (not that she would need to say too much, considering this whole mess still made it in the news headlines every now and then), so that they could help me out. Ms Savage also arranged for me to see the school counsellor every week (appointments were during the school day, but arranged in a different time each week so that students did not always miss the same subject all the time). With all those reassurances in place, the rest of the week passed by relatively quickly. The rest of my friends came to visit again over the weekend, but this time around Jean kept his distance and almost did not flirt with me.

“It’s not fair on you to make you want my sexy ass when you can barely move,” Jean explained with his trademark grin. Other than that, he acted normal enough, but I could not get rid of the feeling that he was acting differently around me because of the things he told me during my welcome home party. I still had to make a very conscious effort to look at him and not imagine his child-self surrounded by predatory old men, so it was reasonable to expect that he too was still affected by what happened.

By the time Monday came around, I was already anxious to be back to school. I had always been among the few people (as far as I knew, the only one in my year) who actually liked school and missed it during the holidays. With my new timetable and the prospect of studying the things I enjoyed the most, I became even more eager to return. But I had one more hurdle to overcome before this could be so.

Doctors. Two of them. Ms Savage was with me when the GP gave me three different vaccines. She ended up having to guide me to the car, because I felt sick and dizzy from the excess of needles and pain. It would have been nice if I could then spend the rest of the day recovering from the experience in bed, or at least on the couch watching mindless television, but my afternoon had other commitments.

“It does seem your nose healed a little bit out of place,” the doctor said after inspecting my new crooked nose for about two minutes. The swelling was mostly gone, and breathing had become an easy task again. “We can do another surgery to correct it if you want. It should be very straightforward–”

“Another surgery? As in… going back in hospital?” As much as I did not like the way my face looked with my nose obviously curved to the right, I had a much stronger revulsion towards hospitals and operating tables. I had been out for barely a week, but I was sure I had had enough of that place to last a lifetime.

“It is not an urgent procedure. If you can breathe without obstruction, including when you are lying down, then it would be mostly for cosmetic purposes. Obviously, the sooner it is done, the better your chances of healing well, but it should still be an easy operation even if you take your time.”

“I don’t know…” I did not want to have to go through another operation, but I did not like the way my face looked and how, no matter how much I got used to it, it was still a subtle reminder of what Joseph had done to me. I already had problems liking the way I looked before; this only added to my issues. Neither of my options sounded particularly appealing.

“Then maybe we should wait a little and see,” Ms Savage suggested. “We can try to go without the surgery for now, but if after a while it becomes too unbearable for you, we can re-evaluate your options.”

“The only reason an operation would be strictly necessary is if the current shape of your nose is preventing you from breathing properly. I want to do a few more tests with you today, but by the looks of it, it doesn’t look like it will be an issue.” The doctor and Ms Savage looked at me expectantly, and I felt pressured to decide quickly. Which option sounded less horrible? Going to hospital again or being reminded of traumatic experiences every time I looked in the mirror? The more rational side of my mind argued that I should have the operation, because I would only have to be in hospital for a short time, and then I would never have problems with my looks again. But it did not feel right to pick the hospital for some reason. Maybe deep down I believed I could overcome my self-image issues if given enough time, or maybe I just knew that correcting my nose would not erase my bigger issues with my looks. In the end, it was a very tough decision. If my brain had a voting chamber, the winner would have won by the tightest margin.

“I think I want to wait a little if I can.”

“Very well, then let’s take a closer look at you to make sure this can be done.”

The doctor seemed to take my decision well, and then proceeded to tap, prod, poke, and generally harass my nose looking for signs that something was not quite right. It took a while for me to be given the all-clear. No operations would happen any time soon, and I had to find a way of overcoming the obvious trigger on my face.

Thankfully I would soon have school to distract me. Hopefully the familiar environment, the daily socialising with friends, and the constant challenge of homework, would make me forget that my face looked less than ideal. Hopefully all those things would give me enough strength to start to believe that my face was not just a reminder of horrible times, but marks of strength from a survivor, from a fighter.