Chapter 4 — Inequality and Power (Numbness in Love and Minds)
“Rina is being groomed by her stepfather. We
request that the orphanage keeps Rina under twenty-four-hour supervision,” Ara
requested. The psychiatrist looked intently at the head of the orphanage.
The sun was oppressively hot. The room felt stuffy. A
table stood as a mediator between Ara, the head of the orphanage, and Mr.
Bisma—Rina’s stepfather. I sat in the corner as the reporter, while Mrs.
Dian—Rina’s mother—was absent due to work. Ara and I were following
up after Rina’s story yesterday about how she would swim with Mr. Bisma
until three in the morning.
“I apologize for the misunderstanding caused by
Rina...,” Mr. Bisma said with teary eyes. “Rina herself admitted she was
joking. Her biological father has passed away, and she’s just a vulnerable
pubescent teenager. Even though there are no physical injuries on her body, I
will earnestly protect her,” he continued, clasping his hands tightly,
prompting the head of the orphanage to write on a piece of paper.
Closing the pen, the head of the orphanage spoke,
“Truly, the orphanage shares your concern. We are willing to look after Rina
twenty-four hours a day. However, based on current regulations, we need
assistance from social services for temporary custody. We do not have the
authority to decide full rights. We also don't want this report to lead to
accusations without proof."
“The main priority isn't about arresting the
perpetrator, but protecting the victim and potential victims. Do we act only
after the victim experiences trauma?” Ara explained carefully. “Karina,
as the reporter, saw Bisma kissing Rina’s cheek very deeply.”
Mr. Bisma
bowed his head in apology. “I apologize for before. We used to live abroad, and
kissing on the cheek is common there. We’re sorry if that habit carried over
when we moved back here.”
The head of the orphanage looked at him seriously, yet
remained calm.
Ara
looked Mr. Bisma in the eye. “It would be better if Rina is cared for at
the orphanage, Sir, with full supervision and official guidance. This
way, those foreign habits can fade, and Rina can mingle with friends her age
here... I ask for your cooperation, and I will be responsible for the guidance
process.”
Without a word, Mr. Bisma bowed while nodding
slowly, prompting the head of the orphanage to stand and pick up a folder.
Sheets of paper were arranged on the table. The
temporary custody report was prepared. Stamps and signatures were pressed onto
the meterai. The agreement was bound in black and white. Ara
signed as the guardian. Mrs. Dian agreed over the phone; her signature
would follow according to procedure.
Before leaving the orphanage, I saw Rina. The
thirteen-year-old girl sat alone in the room. Her body was wrapped in the same
T-shirt and shorts she wore during the examination. She smiled at me; I gave a
reassuring smile back.
The black car descended the brushy road, crushing
bushes as it took a sharp turn, prompting Ara to turn the steering wheel
while checking her watch.
“I want to take this to court...,” Ara stated
firmly, her eyes focused on the road. “Even though there are no external wounds
and Rina isn't showing much emotion, the change in her behavior is clear from
her gestures. She’s more silent and seems dependent. Those are signs of an
unhealthy relationship,” Ara explained; I listened to every word.
“Grooming is a manipulative behavioral pattern
that is difficult to recognize. Victims can be minors or adults. Sometimes the
perpetrator is aware, sometimes they aren't. The perpetrator trains the victim
for emotional dependency by conditioning the amygdala through trust and
happiness—through the release of dopamine and oxytocin. This
leads to cognitive dissonance," Ara said, glancing at the
rearview mirror.
"The perpetrator creates confusion in the brain
between the amygdala—emotion processing—and the prefrontal cortex—the
part of the brain that makes decisions. On one hand, the perpetrator seems
kind; on the other, they begin to restrict. This is followed by gaslighting,
where the perpetrator twists facts, making it hard for the victim to trust
themselves, causing anxiety. The amygdala increases fear, while the hippocampus—which
is vital for forming memories—can be disrupted, making it hard for the victim
to remember things clearly."
"Then the perpetrator isolates the victim,
followed by trauma bonding or a cycle of affection followed by abuse,
creating an addiction. The victim craves validation without realizing the
danger. Untreated minor victims are at risk of becoming perpetrators in the
future, called the Victim-to-Victimizer Cycle. That chain must be
broken... As for Orion’s behavior toward you, that wasn’t grooming,
but he clearly violated the teacher-student relationship.”
I was stunned when I heard that last sentence. I
looked intently at her.
“Fortunately, Orion was able to keep his
distance, and your relationship stopped at guidance. I’m not justifying Orion,
but when he was twenty-seven and you were seventeen, he was just as vulnerable
as you after losing his parents. I’m also to blame for being too busy with work
and failing as your guardian. He helped you, cared for you, and you, being
kind, cared for him too... eventually, your feelings grew out of pity, didn't
they? And that was Orion’s mistake.”
I was speechless.
“I’m glad I realized it, and so did Orion.
Ultimately, Orion made the best decision by distancing himself. When you
turned eighteen, you could live far away to pursue your dreams without
dependency, right?”
I nodded slowly. The ten years I spent apart from Orion
weren't actually that difficult. We separated to study in different countries
and only met occasionally. Now I am twenty-eight, and I focus on my work.
Although I still admire him, I’m not as emotional as I was when I was
seventeen. I’m also not too dependent on him. I relied more on Ara and Dimas—during
college. I’m grateful our relationship was limited to learning.
“Now the decision is in your hands since you are both
adults, but I hope you don't end up with him. Because you've been close to him
since you were little, there are traces of an old power dynamic. A
household must be balanced, willing to accept input and support each other. In
a case like that, unconsciously, the younger one might often feel inferior
beside the older one....” My sister looked into my eyes. “Do you still like Orion,
dear?” she asked.
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated. The name Ayu—a
nurse at the hospital—flashed on the screen.
“Yes, Ayu, what is it?” I asked, picking up the phone.
“Doctor! Mrs. Sari—the bipolar patient—needs
you!” she answered.
The car sped down the road. Trees flew by, the wind
blowing harder. My heart pounded along with the blaring horns. The car door
opened quickly. The ambulance door slammed shut. The gurney was pushed into the
ER. Fatigue blew away with the sky; the blue turning into orange. From
the emergency room to the wards, my steps never stopped. My body was sweating;
my breath was staggered. The clock kept spinning; my phone vibrated. Libra's
contact appeared on the screen.
“ER!” the message read.
I hurried down the hospital corridor. I saw Orion
running toward the lift, quickening my pace to close the distance. My dusty
shoes entered the lift. Empty. I pressed one. The door began to close. It got
stuck! A shoe and a hand propped the door open, holding the gap so the door
would stay open.
By what fate did we meet. Sweating, out of breath. The
flickering lights illuminated the darkness. After a long day, the heartbeat
slowed. His black shoes entered the space. A blossoming smile was reflected in
the glass. Standing across from each other without words. Eyes met, having
worked hard. Clad in the exhaustion of navigating life. His hand pressed the
button; his body leaned against the glass. The same face that bore wounds. The
same worn-out uniform.
He pointed, tidying his wet comma hair.
Spontaneously, I tidied my sweaty bangs. Slowly, a dimple graced his face,
causing my "cat whiskers" to bloom slightly. I exhaled. Mist formed
on the glass wall. Like a mess of a woman who never combs her hair, I tidied my
short ponytail. Slowly bowing my head, I leaned weakly against the glass. My
eyes were pensive, fiddling with my fingers. I saw his shoes moving listlessly
side-to-side as his head leaned fragrantly against the button wall.
Accidentally, my head also pressed against the door
wall. We locked eyes; a thin laugh met to dull the pain. He looked up, making
me curious; I saw the sky soaring with a smile, flying higher into the
atmosphere. Truly, when I’m with him, brief moments feel slow. It felt like a
celebration of numbness. The doors opened, and we parted without looking back.
He went toward the exit, while I turned toward the ER corridor.
The glow of the night felt warm amidst the heavy rain. I smiled, returning to work and wiping away my sweat.
⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡ ⋆｡⚛︎ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡ ⋆
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