With my hands still glued to my cheeks, I shook in my head in horror as Varla’s bony arm wrapped around my waist and pulled. Where was the medical staff? Nurse Kline? Security? Everyone was conveniently missing in action. “No, Varla! We have to help him!” I screamed. Even though we were in a psych ward, my first instinct was to demand for someone to call an ambulance.
“He’s a lost cause, forget about him!” Varla insisted.
I gaped over my shoulder. “Someone needs to call security and 911!”
Varla remained her bubbly self as she reached into her black scrub top and retrieved a stick of gum. “Do you want to half it?” She asked, unphased by the chaos erupting around us.
“What? No!”
“Sorry, Reyes was supposed to get me some more but there was a shortage at the gift shop or something.” She shrugged. “Never send a man to do a woman’s job, right?”
The fight lasted for a total of ten minutes, but it felt like hours. By the time security arrived Peter had been beaten to a pulp, and Laces, Reyes, and Thorne had already tidied themselves up and joined everyone else back in line.
When asked who had wounded him, Peter refused to name the perpetrators, as did everyone else—myself included. I felt bad for Peter. No matter what he did, nothing justified the beating he took that day. Nothing. But at the same time I also couldn’t justify spending the rest of my life eating through a straw all because I took up for Peter.
Nope.
So when my turn rolled around to speak with Winston, I played dumb. Fight? Who? What? When? Laces was watching me the entire time, waiting for me to roll over and tattle, just as I had with the sketch. His blue eyes taunted me, urging me to cross the line just so he could have his shits and giggles again.
I don’t think so, douchebag.
As for my morning meds, Nurse Kline gave me three pills—one blue, one yellow, and one white. I wasn’t told what they were for or their names. All I knew was I had to take those pills or lose a day. So I popped all three into my mouth, took a big sip of water and swallowed.
God help me…
Eight
Gambrielle
I don’t remember much about my first breakfast at the ward. Somewhere between lining up in rows of two and being herded to the cafeteria like sheep, the medication I’d been forced to take kicked in, and boy did it kick in hard.
My nose was on my face, but I couldn’t feel it. At first I chalked it up to fatigue, maybe I was drained from lack of sleep and dealing with the aftermath of everything going on. But then things started moving, like spoons and forks, and I became surprisingly calm for no reason at all.
Where are my teeth?
I glided my tongue in my mouth and tried to feel around.
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll wear off.” Varla assured me. She pushed two trays through the breakfast line, one for me and one for her. I couldn’t feel my fingertips. “If you had been here the first time they made Reyes take his meds, ha!” she threw her head back and laughed, “let’s just say you wouldn’t feel so bad about your current state.” Covering the side of her mouth, she leaned in and whispered, “Reyes thought he was Batman. Car, mansion, women—the whole nine yards. He even demanded to know where Alfred was!”
I craned my neck back and gaped up at her as best I could. Whatttt?
“Oh yesss! He wanted his rich boy keys, a suit—” She paused and gave me a serious look, “—the suit had to be Armani. He said the bat couldn’t wear that cheap off the rack shit.”
I didn’t care about Reyes’ Batman moment. There were more pressing matters to attend to, like my tongue—which had somehow forgotten how to go back in my mouth!
Varla picked out yogurt and some fruit for herself, while I stuck to pancakes and eggs—it seemed like a safe bet given my current state. By the time we reached the table I was starving. And that was a problem, you see, because I couldn’t feel my fingertips. Stupid meds.
I stared at the plate of buttery goodness for two whole minutes before going rogue and dipping my face into the plate like an animal. If I’d been home and acted like this, Joe would’ve tied me up for a week, if not longer, and beat me with a belt.
“You need some help?” Varla offered. She reached for my fork, but I shook my head. No, all I wanted to do was eat so I could regain my strength and concentrate on getting out of Hawthorne.
Five minutes into my “caveman feeding” I heard, rather than saw, someone sit down across from me. “Damnit Varla! What are you staring at—get her face out of her fuckin’ plate!” The man’s voice sounded familiar and pissed. A smooth, warm hand dipped underneath my forehead and quickly pulled my face out of the buttery goo. Chin, cheeks, and nose dripping in syrup, my head fell back, like a rag doll, and I stared up at the man who had rescued me from an almost certain death via affixation by pancake. Well, well, what do we have here? Blue eyes, sunkissed skin, taut features….from upside down my rescuer looked pretty damn fine.
“Hey, I tried!” Varla piped in. “If you had waited another minute to punch Peter, I might’ve had a better opportunity to persuade her to ditch the meds!”
“If you hadn’t been so worried about your clown make-up you would’ve taken care of business!” My rescuer seethed.
Varla’s mouth popped open. She rose from her seat like an exotic bird that had just spotted her next meal. Pointing a sharp red nail in his direction, she demanded. “You take that back right now, Laces!” They were like brother and sister with their feuding. “I worked really hard on contouring my nose today! You keep my face out of this!”
I didn’t have the patience or concentration to be aggravated by his presence. Not when I was high as a kite. Laces could’ve been a serial murderer looking for his next victim, and I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. The power of meds…
Laces picked up a napkin and attempted to dab at my dripping chin. “Just help me fix this before someone sees what’s going on!” He demanded, and Varla folded her arms in defiance. They were at a standoff, neither giving an inch. Then Laces leaned toward her and whispered, “Do you want Dr. Folton getting handsy with your new friend? Hmm?”
“Handsyyyyy?” I slurred, frowning.
Varla’s eyes fell.
“That’s what I thought. Now help me clean her up.” Laces took care of my syrup facial while Varla fixed my hair as best she could. It wasn’t the breakfast I envisioned for myself—the sticky hair, fingers, and face—but at least I didn’t starve. I was still feeling the awful side effects when the cafeteria orderly announced that it was time for community group.
“Nooo.” I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Just take me to my roommm.” Let me sleep it off, I would be as good as new tomorrow.
“Can’t do that, stray.” Laces said, dipping down to eye level. There was a roughness to his voice, but I thought I heard a hint of kindness hidden somewhere between the syllables. Maybe he felt sorry for my struggle? His warm arm wrapped around my back and he carefully started pulling me to my feet. Our bodies were crushed together—his rock-hard chest pressed to mine, our eyes haphazardly observing each other’s every move. His smell was musky and strong, with a pinch of wintergreen and darkness, which seemed to attack my scrub top, burying his scent deep into the fabric.