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A Promise In The Darkness

Fandom: Hatchet Character: Victor Crowley Relationship: Victor/reader Request: Thank you for all you write. So I found the Hatchet fic and was hoping if you can write one for that as well. It’s where Victor as a child made friends with a younger reader who he only saw through the window of the holes in the Cabin. She isn’t afraid of him despite his looks often talking on hours with him through the wall when his pop wasn’t home. The reader and Victor would exchange gifts and notes through this system, even sharing a friendship bracelet. The reader is devastated when he dies and keeps on wearing the bracelet. They’re the only one to get close to Crowley without harm and they use this to their advantage to make him rest once and for all. They hug him as they say their glad to see him again, but having to do what they have to do before tearfully saying goodbye and smashing the jar in his father’s ashes on him. Rest is up to you. Sorry if this is too long. You watched from behind the tree at Victors father left the cabin, getting into his truck and driving into town. Once you could no longer see the vehicle at the end of the road, you ran towards the cabin and knocked on the wood with a joyful tune. “Victor?” you sung out his name as you kneeled next to the hole at the back of the cabin. It was in Victors room, just beside his bed. He had hidden it by placing a few bags there a long time ago. He knew his father would want to board it up to stop insects getting in the house, but Victor could put up with that so long as he could see you. He watched for you from his bedroom window, keeping enough of a distance so you wouldn’t really see him. Once he saw you running, he would start to move the bags. His father wasn’t being abusive or neglectful when he locked Victor in the cabin. it was for Victors own good and the boy was grateful. He didn’t like going into town and dealing with the abuse he got from the towns people. When he had first seen you playing about in the woods, he watched you from the safety of his window. But you had seen him. You bounded over with a big smile, asking if he had wanted to play. He shook his head, trying to keep as out of sight as he could. But you kept coming back to see him. His first and only friend. “I made you this.” You smiled as you pushed through a daisy chain that you had made first thing this morning while out in the garden. You lived just through the woods, not too far away. Victor smiled widely, quickly pulling the ring of flowers over his head and around his neck. You had made it a little bigger for him, which he was grateful for. Victor fumbled a little as he held his present for you in his hands. He took a deep breath before pushing it through the hole. “Is this for me?” You asked, your voice higher out of excitement. Victor made a small uh-hu with a nod that he knew you couldn’t see. “Wait, come to the window.” You call to him and you bolt up to his window. It was 5 feet off the ground, since the cabin sat higher, so you couldn’t look in but he could look out. Because it was so bright outside, Victor could walk right up to the window and you couldn’t see him properly. You stood outside, holding your right hand up so he could see the blue and pink friendship bracelet he had given you was now wrapped around your wrist. You smiled widely at him, making his heart jump into his throat. But your head snapped toward the road and you quickly retreated back to the trees as Victors father pulled back up. Victor quickly covered the hole again as his father came back. “Forgot my wallet.” He called as Victor went to meet him at the door, wondering why he was back so early. His father grabbed his wallet off the coffee table and disappeared back out the front door. Victor rushed back to his bedroom, to his window. He saw you peak out from behind the tree as you watched the truck drive away again. He saw you hold up your hand to him, indicating you would be back soon before disappearing off into the woods. Victor waited anxiously by the window, watching for an hour until your little figure came back. But then he heard his father truck. You were quick, managing to run to the little hole and push something through it. “Friends forever. Promise?” you asked through the hole as Victor saw the small friendship bracelet, this time made of green and purple. “Forever.” He agreed, a smile spreading as you disappeared back into the woods until tomorrow. When you could, you ran right back to him. But then next time you came back was that night. You had seen the smoke in the air and instantly ran to the cabin, only to find Victors father trying to bash the door in with an axe. It all happened so quickly. Screams and crying suddenly stopped on one swing of the axe and you instantly knew what had happened. You stood behind the tree, your hands covering your mouth as you sobbed. You watched the cabin burn to the ground before turning on your heels and running into the darkness. -------------------------time skip ---------------- You sat in your car, staring into the woods. The killing needed to stop. You needed to help your old friend, help him find peace. But you were so scared. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of your car, staring into the woods. You had grown up wondering these woods, only leaving them when Victor had died. You had left a daisy chain on his grave when his father hadn’t been around. Sometimes, his father had seen the small girl at his sons grave, but never approached her. Maybe she was some kind of angel sent to comfort his son, or maybe a child who had seen him once before. Whatever it was, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He had seen her face before. But could never place it. After his death, that was when the murders started. You had moved away with your family, but you all heard of the rumours. It was Victor Crowley, back from the grave. The thought terrified you because even after his death, he was still in pain in some way. As you aged, you looked more into spirits that were vengeful. They stayed on earth until they had a reason to move on. And you were hoping Victors reason was in her bag. A urn containing the ashes of his father. You had heard if this was shattered, it might free his spirit. But there was only one way to find out. So you got out of your car and began to wonder the woods, like you had done as a child. Never had you felt scared of the forest as a child, but here in the dark, it was terrifying. What if he didn’t recognise you? If he tried to hurt you? You banished the thoughts as the minutes turned to hours. “Victor?” You called out into he darkness, hoping it might draw him to you. “Where are you.” “Here.” A rough voice came from behind you. you froze for a moment, glancing over your shoulder but the second you saw his eyes, you knew it was him. “Victor?” You couldn’t help the smile that dawned your features. His eyes were focused on you and nothing else. For a moment, you were scared he really didn’t recognise you, but then he smiled. You couldn’t help as you twisted and raced to him. You didn’t even notice the hatchet he carried as you flung yourself at his. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you held him tight. One of his arms wrapped around you. “ive missed you, old friend.” You whispered to him, your arms hooked around his neck tightly. You held him close, feeling how his body shivered under your touch. “Missed you more.” His voice was softer, loving as he returned the sentiment. If things had been different, if he had lived, you would have easily married the man. You could see it, sitting by him in a cabin of your own. He would never stop loving you, never. He would try to give you everything he can, trying to prove to your that you had made the right choice after all. his friend, his lover, his family. Your tears ran down your cheek as you sobbed, your body shaking as you prepared yourself for what needed to be done. “Victor.” You pulled back, not bothering to wipe away your tears. Victor tilted his head a little, his eyes showing his sadness at the end of the hug. The first time he had ever been able to properly hold you in his arms. You take a step back, reaching into your bag and pulling out the jar with the ashes inside. Victor froze at the sight but you needed to act quick. Raising it over your head, you threw the jar onto the ground. It caught a rock and shattered as the grey ashes escaped to cover the ground and yours and Victors feet. A roar of anguish filled your mind and then you felt a sudden, sharp pain in your stomach. You stared in front of you without seeing as you realised what had happened. The hatchet that Victor carried was now embedded in your stomach. A moment passed as Victor fell to his knees over his fathers ashes, crying out before he froze and looked back to you. his eyes widened as he realised what he had done. You were unable to stay standing and collapsed to your knees as the taste of blood filled your mouth. Fresh tears filled your eyes as you stared at him. “I just wanted you to be at peace. I wanted you to be at rest.” You spoke, the blood dripping past your lip and down your chin. Victor darted forward, his arms wrapping around you and he pulled you back so you could lean against a tree. His hands were shaking as he grabbed the hatchet and pulled it out. The pain, which you had been all but numb to for a minute, erupted in your body, making you scream in pain. You grabbed onto his shirt, your knuckles turning white as you felt the warmth of your blood soaking your torso. Your eyes found his and you could see tears. His face contorted in pain as his eyes darted across her body, trying to figure out how to help. “Will you come with me?” You ask, softly as you reach out and rest your hand on his cheek. He froze at the contact which he so desperately craved. Victor looked down at your wrist, his eyes widening when he saw the friendship bracelet he had given you so long ago. he wraps his fingers around your wrist, covering the bracelet with his hand. Closing his eyes, he nodded. “Promise?” You breathe, your eyes starting to see speckles of black as you fought to keep away a little longer. “Promise.” Victor breathed. You used the last of your strength to lean your forehead against his own before you allowed the darkness to take you both.

Yes means no.

***There are two parts to this long ass post because I didn't realise I had so much to say oops***

Setting boundaries, I recently learnt I've been terrible at that for most of my life.

I hate when people tell me what to do, to the point I'd do the exact opposite, but I always wanted validation. I sought it from everyone and their mothers because I never got it from myself.

The internet seems to talk a big game about how the universe will keep on sending you lessons in all it's glorious forms if we don't pick up on it; like how we always encounter the same toxic people and relationships, one after another.

It's funny when I recall them now.

***PART 1***

I like to think I've been very blessed when it came to friendship. All through my life, I've always felt that I made friends easily and had plenty of platonic support. However at different stages of my life, I've also noticed that despite all the good friends I surrounded myself with, I've always had that one person in my life who was just a little too self absorbed, borderline narcisstic and treaded way too close for comfort.

For reference, I'm going to list some people but not their whole names: my mum >> X >> O >> H >> C

The most coincidental thing I've come to realise is 1) that each person had a specific time in my life where they rose to prominence, or in other words, where they suffocated me the most 2) the end of each 'stage of prominence' was the start of the next. For example, when I thought I'd finally stepped out of my mum's narcissistic shadow, X stepped and morphed into that narcisstic figure until I'd decided it was time to cut ties. Around the same time, I met O and she slowly morphed into that person.

Continously, I realise I've always had that one presence in my life and each person would stay for many years until a breaking point, after which I would draw the line and keep my distance. As a rough estimate, I took about 25 years to understand that this exhausting cycle of going through toxic loved one after another is simply a lesson of setting boundaries.

I came to this realization in the past 6-12 months because I was having a particular hard time adjusting at work and it was really tough to master the art of stakeholder management. I won't say I'm an expert now, but I've gotten much better at putting my foot down and helping people to understand how their basic (read: brainless) actions are making my job unnecessarily difficult and defying my work ethics. I started to understand the importance of setting my own boundaries because we can never assume anyone would know them if we don't speak it.

Around the same time, I noticed the last person in this cycle, C had started to transition out of her role as the narcisstic shadow in my life entirely on her own. I've never had that happen to me without having to ruthlessly cut ties before. It's like something just clicked. On hindsight, the lesson just made sense and perhaps because I understand what it is now, there was no longer a need for the lesson to remain.

I always thought I was good at saying no to people, because I didn't care what they think which is true for the most part, I don't care what strangers think. What I came to realise about myself was that I needed help saying no to non strangers, people I care about, the people I need in my life.

***PART 2***

The word 'no' carried too much grief and associated history with abuse and neglect. My parents never made it easy for me growing up; affection was a competition between myself and both my younger sisters. My father could never find balance at work, so he overcompensated by trying to take control of everything at home. Nothing I said nor did could ever please him, he was always angry about the tiniest thing.

Everything was someone else's fault; between denying me any help with school work because I didn't go to a school of his choice and completely beating my self esteem down because I dare ask him for any help to a seemingly insignificant act like him accidentally stepping on my toes at the supermarket, he would twist and mold all my words until they made him looked like a hero in his own fantasy, that I was beneath him, and that everything bad that happened in his life was my fault and no one else's.

You couldn't fight him with reason even if you tried to, because he wasn't fighting for anything, he just wanted to win and he would say anything to wear you down. Every night would end in the same way, a disgustingly heated verbal mess between him, myself and my mom; abuse of any kind is simply the cheap power you get when you destroy people for the sake of your ego.

My mum was completely helpless in that regard, she stayed the hell out of his way whenever he had an outburst, even if it meant leaving me to fend for myself. I refused to back down from the injustice and his words dug its claws deeper in my gut, every quarrel we had made me sick with anger because no matter how hard I tried to defend myself, every takeaway was how each of his mistakes were the result of my failures even if it had nothing to do with it.

This went on for years. I knew I couldn't run away because I was underage, financially unstable and still needed a roof above my head. I felt absolutely helpless and remember crying myself to sleep all the time, praying to God to take me away - away from here, away from being the family's punching bag, away to another universe where parents actually protected their children, built them up and supported them.

Growing up in an environment where your survival thrived from avoiding all the stressors that could result in rage meant that I became extremely cautious in expressing my needs and opinions out of a fear of of displeasing my parents. Every subsequent outburst was a slap in the face, a painful reminder of how abandoned and unsupported I was in this family.

This led to a series of bad behaviors where I was desperate to please and longed for a life devoid of rejection. For the parts of myself who had endured so much neglect, I just couldn't bare the same devastation over again. Putting myself second and others first was easy as long as they were happy. I had this belief that if I accidently let myself be honest, people wouldn't accept me and I couldn't risk letting my guard down again.

Over time, I started saying yes to everything I wanted to say no to. Yes means no, no came with a '... but I'll do this for you instead' to overcompensate my fear. Slowly but surely, I became exhausted from pleasing people all the time. I said yes to social events I didn't care to be at, I patiently listened to every word of every person who needed me even if they didn't care to be there for me, I helped every toxic person who saw an opportunity to exploit my time and kindness. Without realizing, I was unnecessarily deriving a form of validation from being a yes-girl, I didn't know how to say no. Beyond that I'd lost my sense of self because I didn't know if anyone would care about me if I stopped doing all these things.

This obviously manifested in many unhealthy coping mechanisms and constantly wanting to be alone because I felt that everyone around me wanted something from me I couldn't give. It became a toxic cycle of self harm, feeling absolutely hopeless and finding sick joy in dreaming about the many different ways to end my life. At age 17, I've never felt more alone.

Ive had to see a counsellor for prolonged periods of my life and thisemotional abuse was one of the key moments that contributed to it.

Recovery was one hella of a slippery slope and had relapsed so many times I've lost count. I was convinced my abuse had rewired my body's ability to understand what love was, all I felt was the fire of resentment, burning my insides with the anxiety of having to live out the rest of my life in a bubble of 'my mistakes'.

Through my counsellor, we had to un-learnt the act of being too harsh of myself, as a result of the years I spent projecting my dad's expectations on myself. Rewiring your brain to calm itself down when you're triggered is difficult but not impossible. There were many scenarios where I became aware of the fact that the voice in my head mimicked my dad's in giving all but bone crushing criticism, guilt tripping my every move and spiralling myself into depression again.

Re-learning the notion of 'giving myself to others' whilst being 'unapologetically myself' was interesting and refreshing. Mostly, my subconscious got better at unlearning the act of constantly censoring myself for the sake of others; how to live freely & become a more honest version of myself regardless of the people around me. Not in any manner that might be of harm to others though, just in a way that allows me to stop relying on other people’s validation to keep my spirits lifted.

Every relapse back then sunk me into my depression, harder. Looking back now, I'm glad I didn't give up even though the chance was present and tempting every step of the way. Everyday still feels like a challenge, but I get it now when people say it gets easier

Life in Chogoria

February 6, 2017

Today was day 7 in a row of working at PCEA Chogoria Hospital. For the previous six days Dr. Clark and I have been rounding on the men’s ward (the males and females are split between two inpatient wards – the other wards include surgery, pediatrics, OB/GYN, and private). Over the weekend the coverage reduces and procedures, discharges are somewhat on hold – which makes inpatient medicine with sick people very challenging. We have had several deaths on the men’s side that have been challenging to bear – in Traverse City I have only had one patient pass away on my service and he was very ill in the ICU and opted for comfort measures. Since being in Chogoria there have been six within the last 7days. I take them very personally and a dark place in your mind wonders "is it because of me?” – but then I remind myself how much I advocate for these patients during the day and just how sick they are. We had one guy with a hemorrhagic stroke who had expansion of his bleed due to resistant hypertension – in a ward where the blood pressure cuff works 50% of the time and there is a delay of hours to days when a new medicine order is put in, and where we do not have access to percutaneous intervention. Another patient had severe nephrotic syndrome with recurrent ascites filling his abdomen that was resistant to treatment. He passed away from respiratory failure prior to being placed on dialysis because the machines had been broken for a while and the technician/specialist who could initiate dialysis wasn’t due to arrive for a few more days – he was in his twenties. However - undergoing dialysis is not comfortable. Patients often feel sick when they get dialysis and it usually lasts up 4hours every other day - for the rest of your life - which is ultimately shortened anyways due to the severity of disease required to consider even initiating dialysis. If he had survived long enough to get dialysis, it is quite possible that it would have been an unpleasant and still very much shortened life. Another twenty something year old was emaciated from HIV and the lab technician missed drawing his labs for three days despite reminders and pointing out the patient. I have noticed that patients with known HIV that has progressed to illness and malnutrition tend to get less attentive care from nursing and ancillary services like xray and laboratory. In a system where it is not common for very ill people to not get labs drawn for a few days, this can certainly accelerate patient mortality. However, if you calculate a patient’s prognosis (expected life outcome) due to the severity of their HIV illness, even with top notch medical care you may not extend their lifespan more than a few months or a year once they have become so ill. So perhaps it ends up being the kinder end to pass away with an acute illness rather than drag on living in a hospital for 12 more months with such poor quality of life. It certainly depends on your outlook on life because this can look suspiciously like neglect and bias against those with HIV. In Kenya the idea of Do Not Resuscitate does not work, because culturally this looks like neglect. Palliative care has similar negative connotations in the US and Kenya however is perhaps less welcome in Kenya – in the US I think if more people were educated in what it truly means there would be little resistance whereas here in Kenya, if people were more educated on it they would still resist it.  

While the patient deaths and hospital inefficiency challenges have been difficult (albeit not unexpected), I have had some really great experiences too. I really enjoyed working with Janet and Musa while on men’s inpatient ward. We created a nice team of collaboration and were all engaged with the patients and patient care. There was no oppressive hierarchy – we were all contributing to improve patent wellness. We went out to dinner at Lenana’s with the clinical officers and visiting medical students on Thursday night and had an interesting discussion regarding strikes and protests internationally, prompted by a new national nursing strike in Kenya on top of the already going physician and university strike. The food was lacking (and this was the second time we went to Lenana’s and they had run out of food) but this might be biased by the fact that we asked for pilau w vegetables and received chicken rice with cabbage. We returned for lunch the following day (we had heard their lunch menu typically was more robust) and I was not disappointed with a mashed root vegetable with spinach-like greens. They also have fresh squeezed tropical fruits (sooo good). On Saturday afternoon we hiked the ravine behind our apartment compound to look for a waterfall. Due to the drought we found some boulders and mosquito breeding cesspools, but the view at the top of the boulder pile/head of the ravine was beautiful as we got our first glimpse of Mount Kenya in the background. Chogoria rests in the foothills of the mountain so it is hard to see it with the intervening hills. We had to shower after the walk back on the dusty red dirt road. On Sunday evening we lounged for several hours in Dr. Clark’s backyard, picking vegetables and herbs, reading on her swing, basking in the sunlight (slathered in SPF 30), and she made us dinner that we ate on her front porch with a dessert of papaya, passionfruit, lime, and freshly picked mint. We then played cards until the sun went down while listening to the a capella singing of the several surrounding girls’ schools. We have also been eating significant amounts of tropical fruit (perhaps spurred on by reports of winter storms and below-freezing temperatures back home). Today I had half a mango for breakfast (with yogurt) and probably one third of a yellow pineapple for dessert. Not to mention my avocado grilled cheese I also had today and the taste/trial of horny melon that we had prior to dinner (I think it wasn’t ripe yet – unless it’s supposed to taste like a sour cucumber). Jen picked a papaya from the tree behind Dr. Clark’s backyard and we have our eyes on the avocado tree and neighboring mango trees.

Today we went to Chapel in the morning (every Monday this is a time for the hospital to make announcements and introduce new people). Although the prayer was appx 10minutes long I did stay focused long enough to hear the sermon – there was mention of Trump and his ridiculousness name calling this “so-called judge” and fear mongering in the context of Kenya’s election coming up later this year. The message was focused on putting God first during this challenging time however the guy lost me when he started mentioning the evils of homosexuality and taking religion out of schools. Instead of rotating on the men’s ward today I followed Jason for the morning in the NICU and on pediatrics.

In the NICU incubator is a 35day old infant who was born between 24-26week estimated gestational age by spontaneous vaginal delivery. Today is the day we are going to see how he does outside of the incubator as he is now 1.7kg.

On pediatrics we had to inform a mom that her 11month old had end-stage liver disease. The patient had evidently presented with hepatitis and diagnosis of biliary atresia approximately 6months ago and was referred to Nairobi for a stent placement (to drain the blocked duct) – however when the surgeon opened the abdomen it was obvious that the liver had suffered too much damage so they had to close the abdomen without placing the stent. Since that time the family has been home, however the mother re-presented to Chogoria due to worsening jaundice and poor feeding. The poor baby had ascites, venous congestion with veins criss-crossing the abdomen, jaundice, and was small for her age. The process of explaining the disease and need for palliative care to the mother was challenging to begin with but almost impossible when there was a language barrier. The clinical officer tried however I am unsure whether the empathy was well transmitted.

Another 6year old kiddo who has mysterious systemic lymph node swelling, low platelet counts, hemoglobin, and no obvious derangement on peripheral smear was scheduled for a bone marrow aspiration today. Provi – a US trained physician who was raised in Kenya as a young child – showed such care for him as she carried his small frame from the pediatric ward to the minor theatre (operating room) and held him tight while he had his IV placed. He did so well with the bone marrow aspiration; we did sedate him with ketamine but prior to that he lay calmly on the operating table next to his dad, gingerly holding his new IV site. He has the thickest eyelashes I have seen so far while in Kenya.

Afterwards I rounded with Provi, Lena, and Eric on female medical ward, so I spent the morning getting to know the new group of patients. I was again impressed with Provi’s compassion with patients – it really helps when you are able to speak the same language and you have such good bedside manner. I couldn’t help but duck over to the men’s ward a few times today to check on the status of our more ill patients and wave/smile hello, habari to a few others. This is when I heard of the passing of one of our mystery illness patient’s. He had been encephalopathic for several days after previously being able to chat with us and developing renal failure after we diuresed him from heart failure exacerbation. He likely had severe sepsis from an unknown source, likely meningitis, however the empiric antibiotics we started were not sufficient to overcome his illness. A point-of-care cardiac ultrasound performed earlier today showed a barely pumping heart. We actually received some lab results back on him after he had passed away – he had an INR of 50 suggesting systemic coagulopathy. We were unable to perform a CT scan of his brain to rule out stroke versus infection as he was not on the national insurance plan and his family had not come to visit him so we had no one to pay for it – in Kenya you pay for the procedure or imaging prior to it being performed. If you cannot pay, you cannot get the procedure.