by Angel Lawson
I shake my head. “No one.”
“Good.” She reaches for the door. “I’m not sure how you’re supposed to handle this either, but maybe we can figure something out.”
“I don’t want to end up back in here again.”
She nods. “Me either.”
Chapter 8
“My bed.”
“Fast food.”
“Soccer.”
“Sex.”
“Weed.”
“Shopping.”
All eyes shift to me. One of our favorite free time activities is a game called, “What do you miss the most?” I run my hand over my buzz cut and say, “My hair.”
“Wow, Connor Jacobs is a little vain,” Charlotte teases.
“Ha! You should see this guy, he spends twenty minutes in the morning shaving and primping,” Max laughs.
“You’re just jealous because you’ve got nothing to shave.” I run my hand over my scratchy chin. I can already feel the stubble growing out and I’d only shaved a couple hours ago.
Charlotte reaches out and touches my chin. I bat her hand away in annoyance.
“What?” she asks. “I like your beard.”
Saturday afternoons have a way of dragging. The best day of the week at home is the worst here. We still have group but no school and an extended free period. I’ve grown tired of Max and Charlotte giggling like a couple of school-girls all afternoon and dodging the occasional flirtatious remark thrown my way by Charlotte.
“I’m going to my room. See you guys later,” I say, leaving them to whatever weird shit they had going on. Seven weeks. That’s all. Seven weeks.
I’ve been in my room for a while, sketching the hundredth black-eyed crow this week, when the loudspeaker crackles and Paul’s voice echoes down the hallway.
“Reflection in five minutes, everyone to your rooms.”
I’d lied earlier about what I missed the most. I miss going to The Ruins. The Ruins is the abandoned water-works property tucked back in the woods near my house. It’s a tagger’s paradise. So quiet. Nothing but the clink of the spray paint cans and the steady hiss of paint combined with the faint tinge of weed. My boys and I spend a huge amount of time down there—I have my own wall just for my work. The best part is that the ghosts don’t bother me there for some reason, but that definitely could have been due to the weed. After getting locked up and medicated, it became pretty clear that something about the meds dull my senses enough to keep the spirits away, which is why I started smoking in the first place. Rebellion hadn’t been the reason I turned into a stoner. I’d turned into a stoner for desperation and relief.
Peace.
Max slips in the room moments after the announcement. I notice his flushed face and a weird expression but don’t say anything. He flops hard on his bed, rattling the springs and turns to face me. I’m focused on my drawing, but his staring gets the best of me and I finally ask, “What?”
“You will not believe what just happened to me.”
“I probably won’t.”
“No really. After you left, Charlotte started acting all weird. So she gets up and whispers something to Paul, I don’t know what, but next thing I know, he’s telling me to go help clean up some kind of mess upstairs.”
My pencil comes to an abrupt stop. I glance up. “Go on.”
“So I go up to the bathroom, the one off the main lounge and stop to get a mop. I open the door and there’s Charlotte. Waiting inside.”
I force a shocked look on my face. “Really? Waiting for you?”
“Yeah man, she pulled me inside and reached down the front of her shirt—“
“Did she have a joint down there?”
“What? No, no man, she pulled that shit off. She took off her shirt in the supply closet!”
My jaw drops, no need to fake being surprised. “Wait, what? She took off her shirt?”
Max’s face almost splits in half, his smile is so big. “Yes! Just like that, man. She was all jacked up. One minute I’m cursing about cleaning up and the next minute we’re going at it in the closet.”
“Was she wearing a bra?” God why am I asking that? Why? Because I’ve been locked up too long that’s why.
“For a minute.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know.”
We sit on our beds, imagining Charlotte just in her bra or less. Or at least I’m imagining it—Max is remembering it. “What then?”
“Well, the closet is pretty small so there wasn’t much room, so she unbuttoned her pants and I just…,” he makes a gesture with his hand and I frown.
“I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“That means I made her happy.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Did she make you happy?”
“Nah, I just took care of that in the bathroom.” He has no shame. “No time or space, but man! We were right all along, that chick is crazy. Crazy hot.”
I lay back on my bed, holding my notebook over my head, looking at my sketch of a black bird, wings spread. “So you guys have been spending a lot of time together. What’s that all about?”
“Boredom? Convenience? I don’t know.” He takes one of my discarded sketches and wads it into a ball. With one hand, he tosses it against the wall. In between catches, he says, “I don’t really care either, you know? What happens in the hospital stays in the hospital.”
“Thank god for that,” I agree.
*
“Why do you take those?” Charlotte asks, following me out of the meds line. I toss my empty cup into the trash and watch her ditch another orange pill in the plant soil. “You like feeling like a zombie?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
“I’m curious.”
“No you’re not,” I tell her. “You’re nosy. And you use information about people against them.”
She appears hurt. “No I don’t.”
I cross the lounge and start toward my dorm. “No? I heard about Bethany.”
She steps in front of me, crossing her tiny arms over her not so tiny chest. “What did you hear, exactly?”
“That you told Dr. Cross you were afraid she’d take your things and you needed a room of your own.”
“Is that so unreasonable?”
“Yes, you told him all that stuff we share in group and went back and used it to make your life better. We all would love a single, I mean, do you think I want to listen to Max snore all night? Or see his ugly face first thing every morning? I don’t, but I’m not about to sell him out to get some alone time. You’re selfish and entitled.”
Charlotte narrows her eyes and clenches her jaw. “That’s not why I told on her! I was worried about her having a relapse and being near all my nice things would be really hard on her.”
I snort and push past her. “You’re un-freaking-believable.”
“You think you know me, Connor Jacobs, but you don’t,” she yells. “I’m not selfish.”
“Sure, Charlotte. Whatever you say,” I reply, walking toward the boys’ hall where she can’t follow me.
*
“I lied the other day,” I tell Vera during activity hour.
“About what?”
“About the crow dream.”
She stops her slow-paced jog. “What? Are you messing with me?”
“No,” I say, hand on her arm. “No. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. I think the crow actually came into my room. I think Jackson was trying to reach me.”
Vera shakes her head. “I knew it. You’re messing with me.”
I swallow and hold her eye. “No. I’m not.”
“So you think Jackson transformed into this bird and came into your locked room?”
“Maybe not Jackson specifically but like…his spirit.”
“To tell you what?”
“That he needed help?” She gives me a side-eye and I’m already regretting confessing this much. “Never mind, okay? I’m just being weird.”
Vera wipes the sweat off her fac
e. “I already told you my story. I’m not judging you one way or the other. Maybe you’re telling the truth. Maybe you’re making it up. We’re in the nut-house, after all. What I can tell you is that I’ve learned to own my…ability. But it took a while and even then, look where I ended up.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eff this up. It’s just really hard—“
“I get it. The whole deal about being here is convincing everyone we are sane and making progress. Anything else is a huge risk.”
“Right.”
“Here’s the thing, Connor. I believe that crow, or something looking like the crow, came into your room.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I can feel them too—the ghosts in this place.” My eyebrows shot up and she shook her head. “Okay, not exactly ghosts but the energy? There’s a ton of bad mojo in that building.”
“Not a huge surprise,” I say. “Considering the fact the building is filled with damaged, hormonal teenagers—some with serious problems.”
“I can feel it and well, maybe it’s not surprising you can see it?”
“Does that mean we’re crazy?” I ask, because honestly, I’d love someone’s opinion.
She picks up her pace and yells over her shoulder, “Probably.”
Not exactly what I wanted to hear.
Chapter 9
Your Life is Your Message to the World, Make Sure it’s Inspiring
No one makes a sound as the group shuffles out, single file, past the blackboard. Max acts out the shape of a halo over his head as he exits, letting me know exactly what he thinks of my behavior. I flip him off and start sweeping again, trying to avoid stepping on any of the glass.
Marcy had kept her emotions in check while everyone was still in the room, or at least the best she could. I over-exaggerate my busyness in an effort to ignore the tears brimming in her eyes and pray she wouldn’t cry in front of me. There is a lot I’m willing to do to get out of this place, but consoling crying counselors doesn’t make the list.
“Thank you, Connor.” She drags the trash can closer to me. “I appreciate you staying behind and cleaning up this mess.”
“No problem.” The mess amounts to a shattered window, bloody glass and an over-turned table. I sweep up the remaining large pieces of glass into the dust pan and dump them into the can with a clatter.
“Transition is hard,” Marcy says, as though that explains everything. I don’t need an explanation. We got a new kid today, Henry, who took Jackson’s place, and he made it more than clear he wasn’t into the program. After flipping the table, he busted the window with one of the chairs. Well, the chair and his fist. That’s where the blood came from. Paul dragged him out of here kicking and punching. On the way out, he spit in Marcy’s face and elbowed Paul in the gut, trying to make a run for it. Out of instinct, I’d jumped up and tackled him, keeping him on the ground until two more workers ran in.
The adrenaline felt like a hit of speed after weeks of numbed-down senses. I volunteered to get the broom from the supply closet and started cleaning up, unsure of what to do with myself.
“I think that’s good enough.” She reaches for the broom.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re doing really well here, Connor. Dr. Cross is pleased with your improvement. Today is the kind of thing that will only help you more. I’ll make sure he knows what a help you were.”
“Thank you.” My eyes dart to the ground. I hadn’t done it as a manipulation but it had been so long since I’d done something genuine for myself or for someone else that the feeling is unfamiliar and strange.
“Will you take the broom back?” she asks, giving me the dustpan and broom.
“Sure.”
I leave the room, feeling better than I had in a while, my mind clearer. Being in the hospital has a way of making us all too self-absorbed. Too much time, I guess, thinking about ourselves and not what it’s like outside, functioning with other people. Content for the first time in months, I swing open the closet and came face to face with Max and Charlotte.
Involved.
“Holy crap!” I shout. The dustpan hits the floor with a loud clang.
Charlotte narrows her eyes but makes no move to cover herself. “Shut the door, perv.”
I slam the door and pick up the dustpan, looking around, trying to figure out where to put them. I can’t take them back to my room, or leave them in the hall. Someone will notice and open the door and see them, and even though I don’t particularly care if Charlotte and Max get caught, they’re pretty much my best friends in here. I really don’t want to break in a new roommate before I leave.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and open the door again. I toss the broom and pan inside, eliciting an, “Ouch,” from Max. I shut the door before they can throw them back at me.
“Jesus,” I say, shaking my head, turning to find myself face to face with Paul, my already-racing heart kick-starting again.
“Just putting up the broom,” I tell him, moving away from the door.
He nods. “Thanks for your help earlier.”
“Sure, yeah, no problem.”
“Dr. Cross is waiting for you. I told him you were cleaning up the mess and would be along shortly.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say, nodding. I move quickly around Paul, hoping to get away from the closet and Max and Charlotte and everything else that had happened today. Paul seems satisfied and walks in the opposite direction. Sighing in relief, I promise myself to look at the calendar in Dr. Cross’s office and confirm the number of days I have left.
I’ve got to get out of this place.
*
Two days later, while I’m carting a load of laundry down the hall with another resident, Carlos, we witnessed Paul dragging Max out of the broom closet. With his pants down.
“Holy crap.” Carlos looks to me for an explanation since Max and I are friends. I shrug but keep my eyes on the closet door, waiting for Charlotte to emerge.
“It was my idea!” Max yells, kicking and acting like a fool. “Blame me!”
“Oh great,” I say, rubbing my hand over my head. “He’s going to go down the hero.”
“A hero?” Carlos asks. “What are you talking about, Jacobs?”
I point to the still-open door as Charlotte emerges, straightening her shirt. She attempts to smooth back her hair, following Paul and a struggling Max down the hall.
Carlos howls so hard with laughter that he bends at the waist. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” I assure him, kicking the bag of laundry with my foot. “More than once. Come on; let’s move this before we get in trouble.”
Paul and Max disappear around the corner with Charlotte following close behind. I stare at her as she walks casually, as though she hadn’t just been busted breaking one of the major rules of the program. Our eyes lock and I pretend it’s just my imagination that she winks before moving out of sight.
*
“What do you mean he’s gone?” I ask Dr. Cross. I had been brought down to a special meeting with my doctor. Apparently ‘special meeting’ is the name they give meetings when they have bad news to tell you. Our Special Meeting is to announce that Max is no longer in the program. “You kicked him out?”
“As you know, Max broke several program rules. There wasn’t much we could do.”
“What about Charlotte?” I ask, even though I have a feeling I knew the answer.
“Ms. Brady has been placed on probation but she’s still a resident and a member of your community.” Dr. Cross notices the frustration on my face. “I know you and Max were friends, but he admitted to coercing Charlotte into that closet. She said she went willingly but he insisted on taking full blame for his actions. He’ll finish the remainder of his time in detention.”
I start to argue about Charlotte and how this was her idea, but I stop short of saying anything that would implicate myself. If Max chose to throw himself under the bus, there wasn’t anything I could do to fix that. And at
this point I only have five weeks before I get out of this nightmare. I’m not compromising myself for an idiot who can’t keep his pants on. Instead, I just mumble, “That sucks.”
Dr. Cross nods and ushers me out of the room. At the door he pauses. “The good news for you is that until we add another resident, you’ll get the room to yourself.”
Chapter 10
I wait a day before I confront her. I need a chance when we have some privacy but aren’t completely alone. I hadn’t trusted her much before, but now I knew my reasons were justified.
In the middle of my kitchen shift, a delivery arrives in the cafeteria. The manager, Martha, asks for a volunteer to take one of the boxes to the nurse’s station. I jump at the chance to get out of the hot, steamy room and possibly talk to Charlotte while she’s working.
“Martha asked me to bring this up,” I tell the nurse on duty. I catch a glimpse of Charlotte’s hair in the back hall.
“Thank you, Connor.”
“Do you want me to unload it in the back?” I offer.
“That would be great. Charlotte can show you where everything goes.”
I carry the box to the back and place it on the table. Inside are general medical supplies like latex gloves, bandages and cotton balls. Nothing dangerous.
“So,” she asks casually. “You here to thank me?”
“Um...what?”
“An offer of Seven Minutes in Heaven would be nice but I’m thinking that would be inappropriate right now. Instead you can stop being a moody, emo bastard and say thanks.”
I carry six boxes of latex gloves over to the cabinet and start stacking them. “What am I thanking you for, exactly?”
“For that single. It took a couple of weeks but I wanted to make sure Paul had enough evidence to kick Max out for real.”
I blink, processing her words, but they honestly make no sense. “What the hell did you just say?”
“I got you a room of your own.”
“So you did get him kicked out on purpose? All that flirting and screwing in the closet, that was just a trap?”