Prodigal

 

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1

Grace often found herself thinking about that final walk, heavy bags in hand, dragging her feet across the pavement of the driveway for the last time as she bid farewell to her only home. They were meeting at the park, and from there it was westward bound until the golden sands of the west coast kissed the soles of their weary feet. That was the plan, at least. It didn't all go down quite like that, but in the beginning it was pretty close. The fact that she met them at a psychiatric hospital should have been a red flag, but at the time Grace was blinded by the mask of friendship donned by each member of her little entourage.

 She arrived early in the morning, sporting her school uniform in all its wrinkled dignity. Her mother did not walk her in. She pulled over to the curb, tossed Grace out with her bag of clothes, sped away with a sullen "Consider this your Christmas gift, kid." She could have walked away then, started an early career as a vagabond (Only sixteen and already travelling the country on foot? My, what an impressive girl!), but this trip to the hospital had been her own idea. She had discussed it with the school counselor before classes, shared the desolation and helplessness that had taken hold of her heart, eating away at her desire to live. The counselor agreed and reserved a place for Grace before informing her mother. Needless to say, the woman was far from pleased, but drove her there anyway, leaving the adolescent to wait for her father, for despite her age, a legal adult was required of Vanderbilt to perform the necessary intake procedures. 

Intake at the hospital consists of waiting, a few questions, and more waiting. The receptionist sends the prospective patient and the guardian (if the patient is not yet an adult) into a white-washed room containing three chairs, one square table, and a loud clock. Father and daughter sat in silence when they were not being handed paper work or interrogated by a doctor. 

He stared out the small window while she peeked through the cracked door, watching nurses go hither and to, carrying out various missions with trained accuracy. They sometimes exited with a new inpatient, sometimes carted around a stand of medical equipment or a computer. The contrast between the stagnant, time-suspending room and the bustle in the halls created a paradox in Grace's mind, and all the while she viewed everything through a numbing haze. How could time move so quickly out there, when in here it took an eternity just to inhale a single breath? And they were so busy all the time, even on holidays it would seem. What happened to all of the people they had to turn away? The building only contained so many beds, and as a new nurse entered the room with a wrist band, it was evident that one of those beds would now be hers.

She didn't remember the nurse, Will, leading them to the adolescent unit, but suddenly they were there, and the sterile stench jerked Grace from her stupor. It was a pretty dismal area. More white washed walls, a small social room populated only by chairs, void of bodies to sit upon them. In fact, the entire unit seemed lacking in the patient department.

The befuddlement must have shown clear as day on Graces face, as Will shrugged and explained, "All of the kids are down at the gym. They should be back in a few minutes."

Grace responded with a hollow nod, casting her gaze down to her feet. She wriggled her toes and chewed on her bottom lip, uncertain of how to act in the awkward silence in the room. The others would be coming back soon, parading through that door in a mad dash for the best chairs in the social room, not even noticing her until they all sat down and turned to stare at her through the glass windows. And she would feel the burning questions and the silents judgement dig through her chest and pierce her heart. She wouldn't fit in here, either. 

Her bag was checked, and any belonging that were prohibited because they contained draw strings or any such mechanism that could be considered harmful to oneself or another was stowed away behind the nurses' station. She and her father exchanged empty words, and then she was all alone. And still the patients had yet to return. That was okay. She took a seat on a bench just outside the social room, back against the glass, knees pulled to her chest. Her gaze wandered around the foreign room. There was a long hallway to the right, lined with doors and the occasional laundry hamper. Those would be the bedrooms. In front of her was the nurses' station. A large, crescent shaped counter, behind which held the medicines, patient information, and any other technical thing needed to manage this institute. One nurse sat behind the counter now, typing away at what Grace presumed to be a daily report of the activities in the hospital. 

Will returned, hefting a paper sack with the remainder of Grace's belongings. "Sorry, but ti doesn't look like your room is ready yet. Is there anything you need right now? If not, I'm just going to hang onto this stuff until we can get you situated."

Grace looked up at the man. He was intimidatingly tall, but not unkind. He waited patiently for an answer, a tired smile plastered to his face. It looked like he had been here for a while, and Grace could not blame him for his practiced smile. He probably wanted nothing more than to go home, so she wouldn't bother him for too many favors. "Just my book," she mumbled, pointing to the small paperback sitting at the top of the pile.

"Ah, the Hobbit," he replied appreciatively, handing the book to her. Grace nodded, clutching the worn item to her chest. it was her favorite book. The one she could always read without growing bored as the tale progressed. Each time she turned the pages, it was like diving headfirst into an adventure of epic proportions for the first time. The characters always trekked the same path, but each time was subtly different because each time, she got to know them just a little bit better. 

Grace cracked the book open, beginning again on page one, painfully aware of Will as he continued to linger. She would not meet his gaze, instead forcing herself to stare at the words on the yellowed page, eyes scanning but not comprehending the words as they passed. Still he hesitated, looking as if he had something more to say, and still she ignored him, burying her face deeper and deeper into the crevice of her book. Surely he had better things to do. Apparently he decided so as well. Will looked around listlessly, then decided to go else where, presumably to organize or clean something.

For a few moments longer, Grace was surrounded by blissful silence accented only by the clacking of computer keys. This was not the same, uncomfortable silence she had encountered downstairs. This silence was warm, almost comfortable as if she were in her own room. Except it was cold here. Even in her leggings and heavy Oxford shirt, Grace found herself trembling a little from the lack of heat in this wing of the building. No matter, she'd have her sweatshirt soon enough.

Grace was no stranger to the world of mental health. She had been visiting a long string of therapists since the age of eleven, each one making little progress compared to the last. Her mother was an impatient woman who demanded immediate results. When she saw that her money was being spent on gradual change, she would cancel appointments with no explanation and pick up another therapist at the snap of her fingers. Grace never stayed with any therapist long enough to reach that break-through point where everything seems to get better all at once. Instead, her only accomplishments consisted of a memorized monologue of her life and the ability to answer a therapist's questions before they were even asked. And as fun as that was, she just wanted to be normal. The sort of normal that did not include prescription medicine, psychiatrists, or hospital visits. As such, Grace was determined to make this her last visit.

The door opened, startling Grace as a mob of rowdy teens pushed through the door. Conversations charged the air with laughter. Grace felt her body go tense, a deer in the headlights, though no one seemed to notice the frightened little fawn as they pushed past one another into the social room or to the cabinets serving as a temporary home for shoes.  She watched all of the faces from behind the safety of her book until one in particular caught her eye. The first thing she noticed was not his face, in fact, but his shoes. He sported bright pink Nike sneakers which squeaked as he dragged his feet across the floor accompanied with standard black athletic shorts, and a white t-shirt damp with sweat. His hair was a mess of dark blonde curls, and the scruff framing his jaw line spoke of days spent without a razor, but she had to admit he was rather attractive. 

He paid no mind to her as he kicked his shoes off rather aggressively and grabbed for the phone on the wall, demanding that one of the nurses dial his grandmother's number. She watched as he paced back and forth as far as the phone cord allowed, kicked the wall a few times, then suddenly stood still as the call was transferred over to his line. She thought maybe he was just homesick, but as he immediately started yelling at the phone in his hand, that notion was quickly dispelled. She wanted to know why he was so angry, but the other conversations collided with her ears, preventing Grace from picking up more than a few bits of the blonde's angry words.

This went on for a few minutes: Grace peeking at the boy, the boy glaring at the wall. Uncomfortable eye contact was made at which point Grace quickly buried her face back into her book, cheeks slightly flushed. She imagined he continued to look at her, but each time her gaze ventured away from her lap he was looking not at her but down the corridor or past the nurses' station into another unit. She could not find a reason for her intrigue other than the fact that he did not fit her schema of boys in psychiatric hospitals. He was tall, muscular, and likely very popular with the girls. 

The boy's conversation ended with him punching the wall, making a noise of utter frustration, before beating a hasty retreat to his room. With his departure, the lobby area--well, it felt like a lobby, at least--became substantially more quiet. Grace glanced around, wondering if any of the nurses were going to check on the kid, but they all seemed rather unperturbed by the little tantrum, leading Grace to wonder if this were a common occurrence with him. She couldn't help but think that that could be quite unfortunate for everyone here.  

With that out of the way and the noise simmering down a little, Grace felt she could now continue her book with little interruption. Sadly, just as she directed her thoughts back to Bilbo, another nurse made her entrance by announcing that it was now time for Group. Whatever that was. The kids in the social room willingly complied, arranging the chairs in a circle. Those who had gone to their rooms emerged in various states of wakefulness and shuffled in, falling into the first open chair they could find. The blonde boy was the last one to take his seat, still looking rather disgruntled. Or maybe something else. She couldn't tell as he had donned a hood to cast his face in deep shadow.

Grace listened with one ear as the nurse (who introduced herself as Miss Gabby) took her seat and began explaining that this group would focus on self-esteem, but did not bother moving from her bench. She was rather comfortable at this point, and anyway, she didn't have a problem with self-esteem. No one really seemed to mind, at first, but about half-way through another nameless nurse showed up with some helpful information that she'd rather not hear.

"Grace, you should probably go in there. I don't know if anyone has explained this to you yet, but we have group four times a day. Participation is not required, but strongly suggested. Consequences are also used as motivation for patients to attend group. Basically, if you don't go over there you can enjoy your dinner up here while everyone else is allowed to eat downstairs in the cafeteria." 

Grace responded with an unblinking gaze that was two parts loathing and one part resignation. She marked her place in her book and removed herself from the bench. She shuffled into the social room, lingering near the door. She stood, shoulders hunched, head slightly bowed, looking for an open chair. There was one left, in between a small Asian boy and a very haughty-looking brunette. She shuffled over, taking her seat as quietly as possible, suddenly wishing she had been born with the gift of invisibility. Eyes bored into her chest as she took her seat, and even the nurse paused to watch her. 

"Well, and what's your name?" she asked in lieu of a greeting.

No answer.

The words stuck under her tongue. Her mouth was glued shut, and only a nice, isolated reprieve could pry the answer from her despondent lips.  

"It's nice to meet you," Miss Gabby plowed on, unconcerned by Grace's lack of response. "I'm glad you could join us. We were just about to start our activity. Everyone is about to receive a small slip of paper on which you will write one thing you like about the person sitting to your right, then pass it in a circle until your paper makes it back to you. If anyone wants to share the comments they got, then they can. After, we will discuss how this exercise made you feel, and talk about how you can use this in your daily lives."

No one looked particularly thrilled about the activity, but Grace felt like she cared least of all. She knew nothing about any of them, and they didn't know her either. What was the point of her participating? Exactly. There wasn't one, so when the papers were handed out, she discreetly took her blank one, crumpled it into a little ball, and slipped it up her sleeve. The exercise commenced, and she passed each paper she received to the girl next to her with no comment. She instead took this opportunity to examine the patients further. The boy next to her had hair growing out from a previous buzz cut and stood straight up without any aid from hair products. His eyes were half closed, and he looked like he might fall out of his chair at any moment if his eyes managed to close completely. The girl on her other side had large green eyes lined with heavy make-up, a nose piercing, and perfect hair that cascaded down her back in tame waves.

Next to her then continuing around the circle of chairs, Grace counted a total of five girls and three boys. She didn't examine them too closely mainly because she couldn't quite make out features. Her eyesight was admittedly horrible, but she had yet to visit an optometrist to prescribe the correct lenses. What she could see, however, was that there seemed to be an unhealthy amount of estrogen in the room, all emulating from the pretty brunette and the dark-haired girl next to her. Throughout the exercise they made eyes at a boy across from them with shaggy black hair and blue eyes. He didn't appear to notice--or if he had, he didn't care--and this caused little spurts of giggles if he happened to glance up at them.  

It was as if she hadn't even left school. Girls fawning over boys, boys basking in the attention, Grace left alone to marvel at the stupidity of her generation. At this point she would have pulled out her headphones and drifted through the rest of the day in her own head, exploring the caverns of her own mind with various instrumental pieces playing in the background. Sadly, music was not allowed here as someone somewhere believed it to hinder the therapeutic process. In short, the kids were expected to be social. Grace was not social. She was, rather, at peace with herself and found the company of her own mind more intriguing than that of someone possessing the intellect of a fish.

So then why was she here?

 

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2

The doctors said she was sick. Something about not enough serotonin or too much of it, she couldn't remember. Whatever it was, that meant depression. That meant medicine which gave her a lot of headaches. Grace hated the medicine. She hated the constant surveillance. She hated having to sleep with the door wide open. Actually, she didn't sleep. She'd sit by the threshold and read until the sun came up because the light was too bright, the covers were too thin, and her roommate snored. She hated this place, but it had been her fear of death that had driven her to seek help.

What felt like an endless purgatory devised by Grace’s own malicious mind finally gave was to her worst nightmare. A foot prodded her in the doorway where she must have dozed off some time last night. Blinking furiously to deflect the florescent lights from her blurred gaze she made out the face of an equally exhausted nurse. “Mind if I give you a poke to get some blood for the doc?” served as a replacement “Good morning.” 

Yes.

 Day two had the patients up before the sun, as per protocol. The kids shuffled out to the lobby all bleary eyes and tangled hair. Many of them collapsed onto the padded benches or two to three chairs, attempting to return to that last dream of sweet freedom before the day had truly begun. Grace sat near the nurse’s station, poised to flee at a moment’s notice. They wanted to take her blood, but she was not so willing to relinquish it. She kept her arms close to her chest, giving the nurse her best stink-eye. The truth was, the girl was deathly afraid of needles, and she would do anything to avoid them.

“Sweetie,” the nurse clucked. “I need your arm.” 

Grace felt the panic rising in her chest as the burly woman gently but forcefully pried the her left arm from her chest. Electric eyes flashed with panic, searching for someone to break free and save her from this hell. To wake her up from this eternal nightmare of confusion and pain. 

She cast pleading glances toward the other kids. Desperately trying to make eye contact with at least one of them.  No one moved. Her only option was to shut out the world of white walls and blue scrubs. As her eyes dragged downward, the most stunning hazel eyes stopped her cold. Her gaze faltered as instincts begged her to look away, but Grace willed herself to hold that mesmerizing gaze just a little longer. It was unusual, but so natural. Something beautiful resonated within her. Her body thrilled at the intangible touch. The moment seemed to go on for hours, but she begged it to go on for eternity. A feeling of warmth and safety spread from her chest, pouring through her veins. The owner of those miraculous eyes smiled and looked away. The moment slowly faded to nothing.

She felt a prick and the world fell away beneath her. Forcing herself not to look was pure agony, but that small voice in the back of her mind warned of the consequences of looking. She would likely become physically ill if she didn't black out completely. Grace desperately sought after those eyes again, but they had disappeared with the rest of the rag-tag bunch down to breakfast. The nurse slapped a cotton wad and bandage over the small pinprick of red and left with the promise of breakfast.

Left to her own devices, Grace picked at the bandage, tested each chair for maximum comfort, rummaged through the cabinet that doubled as storage for games and a bookshelf. As much as she loved Bilbo, it was only day two and she’d already read it from beginning to end twice. She needed another book before her favourite book began to bore her. 
The brunette let out a large sigh of disappointment when she pulled opened the doors of the cabinet to find three copies of Huckleberry Finn, one dictionary, and an wide assortment of Star Wars fanfic--creative novels, sorry. In the end, she settled down in a cozy corner spot with her back against the Cabinet of Disappointment, feet propped on the arm of another chair, and started with the hobbit hole one more time.

The minutes passed by slowly and Grace found herself intrigued more by the clock than she was by her book. Her stomach rumbled its complaints about the lack of food before her. She frowned at her abdomen and demanded it remain silent until everyone returned with her food.

“This sucks,” she sighed, resting her head back against the cabinet. “First morning here and they simultaneously take your blood while refusing you the option of breakfast. Bilbo, I am completely at their mercy, and I do not like it.”
Silence answered her with a sympathetic sigh as the air unit came to life with an audible click followed by a rush of hot air directed at Grace’s face. Lovely. She had decided that this place was built to test her tolerance, and so far it was winning. She could not tolerate the harsh lighting. She could not tolerate the lack of privacy. Hell, she couldn’t even tolerate the air system.

 

 

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3

“So if I were to take a wild guess, I’d say you’re pansexual?” The question caught Grace by surprise. She snapped her book shut, fixing Zach with a skeptical gaze.

“And what makes you say that? You some sort of psychic who can determine a person’s sexual orientation just by looking at them?”

“Judging by your reaction, I’m going to go ahead and say I’m right,” Zach said smugly, adopting a proud stance in his seat. Grace shook her head, reluctant to admit that he was right. She knew little about him, but what she could infer after just a day of acquaintanceship was that he had an ego the size of a house, and she would do her best not to inflate it even more. In order to do this, she simply shrugged and continued to scrawl lines of prose in her notebook.

“I am so right,” Zach teased, poking her in the side.  Grace’s body reactively jerked away from the touch, and a shrill cry pried itself from her throat.

“Hey!”

Both Grace and Zach looked up to find a walrus of a woman looming over them, hands on hips, a scowl etched into every crevice of her face. Grace’s first instinct was to make herself as small as possible. So as she cowered in fear, Zach sat a little taller, his grin taking on a more mischievous tone.   

“Can we help you, Miss Tonya?” He purred, voice sweet as honey.

“Well Zachary” she spat out. “You have been here long enough to know exactly what you are doing wrong here and I will have none of  this. Do I make myself clear?”

Zach played it off with a simple nod showing how much he did not enjoy authority in the least bit. Tonya walked off after making her point and her dramatic entrance.

Grace sat still curled into her ball , trying to hide even though she was gone.

Zach spoke like he had been there for years. “You’ll get used to her. Don’t worry.”

Grace slowly pushed herself back up into a sitting position and watched at the large woman squeezed through the door. She was absolutely mortified by her cowardly reaction. She was a fighter, so what the hell was that? In an attempt to play it cool, she replied with a bit of humour. “Jesus Christ, who does the think she is? The fucking Warden?”

Zach chimed back in “Thats one way of looking at it. I prefer the term  walking blob of sorrow”.” He laughed, It was loud, unapologetic, and extremely contagious. Grace allowed her first genuine smile in months. It started as just an small smirk and quickly spread to show slightly crooked teeth and crinkled the corners of her eyes. They both looked at each other and locked eyes and the air was still for a moment before the two dissolved into a fit of laughter.

Grace’s laughter faltered slightly as she watched the the door to the adolescent unit swing open. “Oh shit, there’s a new person,” she breathed, knocking Zach’s arm with her pencil to get his attention.

They looked on with watchful eyes as a small, lanky boy was ushered in. The kid immediately took a seat on the same bench Grace had claimed on her first day. She  cocked her head to the side, squinting a bit. “Does everyone sit there when they first come in?” This was the first kid to be admitted after her . She looked at the boy every other minute or so. Trying to get a good look at him to see his features. She spun her head to Zach and tapped his wrist with her pencil.

“Hm?” Zach asked.

Grace spoke, “Remember that game we were playing?”

“Game?” Zach asked slightly confused.

“Guessing the sexual orientation of the new kids.” she said with a slight grin.

“Oh, we were making that a game?” Zach deadpanned. “Sure. I bet you twenty buck that he’s gay.”

Grace snorted. ‘Are you kidding? That hat with those shoes--”she waved at his blue beanie and magenta shoes”--the kid has to be bi.”

“So you take my bet?”

“Of course. I’m right, after all,” Grace smirked.

“Alright,” Zach clapped, jumping to his feet. “Let’s go find out.”

“Hah, yeah ok--wait, what?” Grace stammered as Zach pulled her to her feet and lead her over to the new kid. He didn’t really look up at them, just stared down at his hands. He wore a short-sleeved shirt allowing full view of the deep gashes in his arm. Grace tried not to stare, but the image was seared into her mind. It was so awful what these kids did to themselves. She had a good amount of scars herself, but any self harm she inflicted remained superficial. The amount of pain he had to be in was unimaginable.

“‘Scuse me,” Zach said, drawing the kid’s attention. “Are you gay?”

Grace imagined her jaw dropped open. Reflexively, she reached up and whacked the back of his head.

“Rude,” she growled under her breath.  

The boy stammered “Um, I’m actually bi sexual,”

Hah!” Grace crowed, her face lighting up as if she’d won the lottery. “Pay up,” she joked, holding out an expectant hand. She knew he wouldn’t be able to. This was a hospital after all, no need for money. “And you said you knew everything.”

Zach shrugged. He hardly seemed to care that he was wrong. “Hey, why don’t you join us in there?”

He followed them back to the chairs that Zach and Grace had seemingly marked as their own. The chairs said nestled in the far back corner between a bookcase and the window.  Zach pulled up a chair and the boy sat down. They sat in silence for a moment while Grace tried to not stare at the gashes in his arms. Zach broke the silence, “So, we know you’re bisexual. What’s your name?”

The dark-haired boy replied, “Its Mitchell.”

Zach followed up with, “How about Mitch? I think it fits you better.”

Mitch nodded giving the nickname his approval. A heavy silence filled the stiff air. Zach seemed to be on a roll, taking on the job of interrogation leader as the other two sat tongue-tied, eyes glued to their laps.

“Mind if you share your story with us?” Mitch looked around in confusion as to why on earth he would be sharing his life with two strangers. He pondered for a while and determined that he was already in a hospital. What more could he lose? Mitch sat up in his chair ever so slightly and surprisingly started to speak.

“Well, I’m not sure exactly where to start--”

Zach had a habit of interrupting. “--Start where you wanna start man.”

Mitch seemed to collect himself, preparing to share his life. He spoke softly, “My birth mother was and is addicted to meth...”

He paused in case Zach wanted to add another interjection. He did not. “The feeling of being high was better than the love of a child, I guess, so she put me up for adoption as soon as i came out.”

He paused for a moment. “My first breath I took was filled with judgement.”

He kept pausing after each section, trying to fend off the tears. “Life didn’t really go to shit until I was in my freshman year of high school. It started off with just names. I could handle the name calling. One day they started to push me to the ground. Hold me down. Kick me in my ribs. Punch me in the face. I would always be held down after I received my beating for the day. I cried. I always cried when it happened. I didn’t cry because of the pain. They would tell me these god awful things.” He paused again to try and collect himself.

He began again. “They would tell me to end my worthless life. They would tell me to cut my  wrists. After one day I took the advice. I sat up in my bathroom late at night and made the first cut that would destroy my life. They saw them--the cuts--they would laugh and say I had to go down the river to end it all.”

Silence now filled the entire room. Not just their cozy little corner, but the entire room fell silent. It was just his voice getting softer and softer after every sentence. He sniffled and continued. “For the longest time I didn’t understand what going down the river meant. I figured it out one night. I was tired of being numb. I was dancing on the edge of the cliff that my life was and I jumped. I went down the river.”

He stopped for what felt like hours before letting out one final sentence. “I went down the river.”

Mitch broke into tears.

Zach placed his hand on Mitch’s and said as clear as water, “Ohana means family. And family never gets left behind.” The room was filled with the sobs of the new comer. Something special happened that Grace did not really understand. Zach got out of his chair and hugged Mitch for a few minutes. As Grace looked around she saw Tonya just watching. Saying nothing and permitting the touch of love that changed Mitch’s life. Ohana ment family, and family never got left behind.

The room remained silent, except for the soft sniffles of Mitch. In seemingly perfect time, Will strolled in and spoke “Alright everyone, time for dinner. Line up and we’ll be on our way”. Everyone proceeded to put on their shoes and line up. As Will scanned his ID card. the door made a click and the patients were on their way. Grace’s mind pondered a way of escape, but quickly realized escape was not an option. She began to ask Zach if the food was any good, but was abruptly instructed no talking was permitted until reaching the dining hall. The silent kids walked until they reached the dining hall and were stopped by Will.

“Just a tip for the newbies, whatever you do refrain from telling the cooks the food is garbage” he joked.

“Is that a joke?” Grace muttered under her breath, craning her head around the cluster of kids in an attempt to sneak a peek at the food.

“No,” Zach replied, looking a little too serious. “the chefs take their cooking very seriously. Offending them is the last thing you want to do.”

Grace made a sound of skepticism but held her tongue as she inched through the line. The food looked bland, and there seemed to be no alternative for vegetarians. Awesome. So when her meals had been brought up yesterday, they had not actually been ignoring her request for vegetables. There simply were not. It was all salisbury steak and and chicken sandwiches. Grace grabbed a cookie with a sigh and took a seat next to Zach, the realisation that she was probably going to be very hungry until she got out of here making her extremely tired.

‘Grace, what do you think you’re doing?” Tonya snapped.

“Um, sitting down?” she retorted with a slight sneer. She was not in the mood for this. “Is that a crime?”

“Nice try,” Tonya growled, pulling the slender girl up by the elbow. “Girls sit with the girls. Boys sit with the boys. Is that too hard to comprehend? Or have you suddenly confused your sexuality?”

In that moment Grace’s glare could freeze hell. Did the walrus realise how incredibly offensive that was? From the looks of it, she guessed not, but as not to cause a scene, she snatched up her tray and made a show of dragging her seat to the other side of the cafeteria and plopping down at the already packed table in the corner furthest from the boys. She sat with her back to them, stared up at a very inspiring painting of a cat holding a fork, and simply listened to the conversation around her. It was all a load of gossip. One girl going on and on about how attractive she thought Will was, and the others tittering as if she had just broken some sacred rule just for voicing an opinion.

Grace kept to herself for the remainder of dinner. When the nurses finally signaled an end to the meal, she was the first out into the hall, desperate to get back to the adolescent unit and shower. She kicked off her shoes and made a quick dash for her room, but was stopped mid-stride by Will. “Sorry, kid. You’re still one One-on-One. You’ll have to wait for Miss Gloria to get here before you can go back to your room.”

She watched on with burning envy as some went to bed while others lingered in the social area. They all spoke so normally as to not be fazed by the simple fact that they were what a rat is to a science lab. Testing medication after the span of a week or so. You could see when Zach received his meds from the nurse that he would not swallow them. Impressively, hiding them in his mouth to only make his way to his bathroom in his room and drop them into the drain, It was ironic in a way. The meds that were supposed to help made life a world of nothing but numbness.

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