by Krystal Wade
“Did you draw?”
Swallowing hard, Rose said, “Yes.”
Nodding, Dr. Underwood set the book aside and returned to writing in her file. “So what I am to understand from this is that your conscious is still very much afraid to draw, but your subconscious will act if fear is involved, especially fear for people whom you care about. What I’d like to see is you react without being afraid, to get you to realize that there’s nothing to be afraid of except not living up to your full potential.” He stopped and stared at her, taking her in, figuring her out. “You remind me of someone very dear to me, Rose, but you’re better, stronger. You’ll support the people you love, help them where this person would not.” Smiling, he added, “Yes, I’m happy with our current course of treatment and cannot wait to see where it takes us.”
“So you don’t think the medications are too much, that they’re making me see things that don’t exist? Or that maybe some of your employees are abusing me at night because they’re bored?”
Dr. Underwood tossed his head back and laughed. “Is that what you were hoping?”
Rose was embarrassed. Part of her had hoped that, yes, that the realism in the dreams was too much and someone had to be acting out these nightmares, or that the medications were too strong and she would have to come off them. But to be called out on it. He made her feel silly for even worrying. She glanced down at her hands.
He pressed his index finger below her chin and lifted her face. “Ahh, Rose. I know this is difficult for you, but you’re doing so well. You’re talking to me, opening up. Do you think without medications you would do that? No, because you’d be ill. I’m trying to cure you, to remove doubt, to remove fear from your life.”
“I know,” she whispered. Because she did know. When she looked at Dr. Underwood, she felt that he wanted to cure her, to help.
“The dreams will go away eventually. However, there’s a good chance you’ll need to remain on medications even after you return home, but I’d like to prevent that if at all possible.” His usual kindness radiated from him, even brighter than normal with the light shining off his lab coat. “So if you keep being open and honest with me, that will happen much sooner.”
Rose nodded, afraid to speak for fear she’d choke on her shame.
“I’m going to let your lack of using words go this time. I know my point has been made. Now,” he said, returning to his chair, “only a few more questions, and then I’m going to allow you to see your friend . . . What was her name again?”
“Megan?” Rose perked up and glanced out the window, looking for Megan’s red beater. An actual Pinto from like a million years ago, eaten alive by rust and dented because the girl couldn’t drive worth a damn. Rose couldn’t wait to get some answers, where Megan had been, why Operation Rescue Rose had failed.
“Yes, yes. That’s the name. She’s waiting for us now.”
Staying seated proved difficult. Her body hummed with nervous energy, ready to bounce out of this chair and run to wherever she’d get to spend time with her friend.
Dr. Underwood noticed and seemed to slow everything down. He flipped through page after page of her chart, scanning them one by one.
Tiiiiick, tooooock, tiiiiick, tooooock.
“Here we are.” He held her gaze, unwavering, and asked, “Why are you here, Rose?”
“Because I stopped . . . .”
No. Not because of anything she did. Because her parents were cruel. Because her friends played a horrid joke. Rose reacted to them. Not the other way around. Her parents said she couldn’t talk to Megan or Josh ever again. Said if Rose wanted to go to art school, she’d have to pay for it on her own. Which meant she’d have to quit her after school art program to get a job. Which meant she’d lose any chance of interning at the Chicago School of Fine Arts over the summer before college because she wouldn’t have any references.
Dr. Underwood looked up, expectant, waiting. “Yes?”
I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong. “Because people are cruel.”
He frowned. “Why, Rose? When you’re doing so well, why are you afraid to admit the truth to me, to yourself?”
“Afraid? I’m not afraid! There isn’t anything to admit except that I have poor taste in friends and have a stickler for a mother!” Rose jumped to her feet, ready to flee, then thought the better of it and sat back down. This was Dr. Underwood. He didn’t deserve her yelling at him. Especially not with those art supplies sitting behind his desk. “Sorry.”
Frown still on his face, he asked, “Why don’t we try another approach?”
She took a deep breath, fists balled in her lap. Rose couldn’t believe what she’d almost said, that she’d let her guard down so low she almost took the blame. “And that is?”
“What reason do you think your mother would give me for you being here?”
“I’m sure I could list a thousand reasons why she’d want me here.”
The frown morphed back into his radiant smile, his brown eyes twinkling. “I only need one, the most important one you can think of. Take your time, if you need it.”
Rose did need time. She would have to catalog all the reasons her mother hated her guts, why the woman preferred her daughter in a padded cell over the comfort of her own room, why she pushed away Rose’s friends and art and dreams. If anything, her mother was afraid. She was the one with baggage. She was the one who had “all the experience” to warn her daughter against the tragedies of the world. She was the one scared her daughter would wind up just like her best friend.
“Probably a recent reason, Rose,” Dr. Underwood said, urging her to admit to something. “Within the last year.”
She knew what he wanted her to say, but she wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction.
“I’m not saying her reasoning was correct, or her methods in raising you in fear were the smartest approach in rearing a child. But you are ill, Rose, and you are responsible for some of your behavior. Can you at least admit to that?”
Rose nodded absently.
“Okay. So, tell me, why would your mother have put you here?”
She looked Dr. Underwood directly in the eyes, a rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins and giving her the power to say, “Probably because I refused to talk to her.”
Rose clamped her mouth closed before she said anything else.
“Good. We’ll talk about the rest later. But for now—” Dr. Underwood pulled the supplies from the drawer and handed them over “—enjoy these. I really hope you use them soon.”
Hands shaking, Rose took the supplies from him, the smell of the paper emanating from the pad and working its way up to her nose. She inhaled and closed her eyes, calmness flooding her veins from the normalcy of the smell, from how much it reminded her of home and good times and creativity. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you, for being honest with me today.” He shooed her away with his hand. “Now, go. Be an artist. But don’t forget to stop by the visitor’s lounge and see your friend Megan.”
“Thank you,” Rose said again, pulling a charcoal from the plastic case and rolling the pencil between her fingers. She felt a little more like herself. She felt relief.
She felt afraid she might not be able to draw anything.
“But, Rose?”
“Yes?” She turned from the door, gripping tight to the supplies. They were real. They were so, so real and in her arms, hers, and Megan was here. Megan who Rose wasn’t even sure would offer an explanation for not participating in the rescue.
“Don’t take those pencils anywhere but this hall. Not everyone can be trusted with sharp objects.” Dr. Underwood winked.
“I understand.” Rose would never let these things out of her sight for very long. She left the room, envisioning the piece she’d been working on before the Big Fight with her mother a year ago, the girl with the wild eyes and floating hair and a small frown.
Someone gasped, pulling Rose from the trance the gift had placed upon her
.
She looked up and found Phillip sitting at the table, shaking his head and rocking back and forth.
“Rose, no,” he said. “You can’t. You’re like me. Don’t you understand?”
Ignoring his Crazy Repeat mode, she slid the supplies into a drawer in her room, making sure to cover them with her clean scrubs and then took off to meet Megan.
11
Peachy perfume—Megan’s favorite scent—filled the hallway and mingled with the stuffy, chemical smells of antiseptic and medicine. Rose could almost feel her old friend taking up residence in the air and picked up the pace until she arrived at the visitor’s lounge.
Megan sat on the slender gray couch along the wall, an outdated paper in her lap. She licked her long finger and flipped a page, seeming genuinely interested in the printed articles. The headlining story was about a new highway project for the Smoky Mountains, something long since approved. Rose knew about it because her parents desperately wanted the new roadway, it would help grow their business, but she wasn’t sure when she’d picked up this paper to learn about its contents.
“You know that paper is like two years old, right?” Rose asked, not sure what to do with her hands. Prop them on her hips? No, too much like her mother. Clasp them behind her back? Too military. Let them hang at her sides? Would that make her look insane? She opted for holding the back of a sitting chair and leaning forward, a grin on her face as Megan glanced up and squinted, surprised yet wary.
Once she finished a head to toe appraisal, Megan left the couch and tentatively wrapped her arms around Rose, her hug nowhere near as tight as normal. “I’ve missed you so much. Look at you. You look . . . thinner.”
Glancing down at her white scrubs, Rose couldn’t tell much of a difference between last week and this week, and she found it odd that’s what Megan chose to say above all else. Before an I’m sorry. Before an explanation. “Uh, thanks?”
Megan’s eyes were wide, with redness encircling them. And she looked older somehow, rounder, like she’d filled out. Or maybe Rose had seen so many sallow cheeks and ill people that she forgot what normal looked like—or she really had lost weight.
Megan glanced around. “So is this where we have to stay, or can we go outside?”
Rose shrugged. “You’re my first visitor so far.”
“Your first?” Megan wringed her hands. “Ever?”
Nodding, Rose said, “It’s only been a week, and visitors were off-limits before then.”
“A week. Right.” Megan took a seat back on the couch, leaving barely enough room for Rose. Which was fine, because she wasn’t quite sure about occupying that space. After all, this person was responsible for Rose being in the institute. “Tell me about it?”
“No. Not yet.” Rose settled into the chair across from Megan, crossing her legs and rocking one back and forth to the tick tock of the clock. “I have questions for you.”
“I figured you would.”
“Where were you guys?”
Megan cringed. “Can you ask me something else first? Like, how I’m doing or what I’ve been up to. I mean, after you got locked in here, I got to thinking about life. I actually enrolled in community college, and I’m working toward a degree.”
“Wow.” Exactly what Rose wanted to talk about, how wonderful Megan’s life had become in a week, a week where Rose’s life had turned to shit. “That’s great. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know yet.” She smiled, a nervous thing that didn’t quite look real. “But it’s got to be better than serving flapjacks for tourists, right? I figured you’d be happy. You’ve always been so disappointed in my career choices since I graduated. Or lack thereof.”
“I am happy for you.” Rose truly hated that Megan was okay with serving food the rest of her life, at a place she complained about day in and day out, when she had so much potential. Megan graduated the year before, not at the top of her class or anything but with enough honors she could have gone to school wherever she wanted. Instead, she chose to stay close to her parents and throw away everything. And the excuses about how college would get her nowhere were almost endless.
“Thanks.”
“So where’s Josh?”
Megan approached the window, facing away from Rose. “He’s doing great.”
“That’s not what I asked. It’s good he’s doing great. But . . . I mean, why didn’t he come with you today?”
Silence stretched between them as Megan took in the outside world, avoiding eye contact, but Rose could see nervousness in her friend’s reflection. There was something Megan wanted to talk about, but not really, Rose knew, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to press the issue. But she had to find out what happened, why they didn’t come for her, why he wasn’t here now. Rose missed him, his touch, his warmth, the mischievous smiles and kisses.
A crow flew up to the ledge of the window and perched right on the other side, cawing. Megan jumped back, her cheeks void of color. “You remember that time when we were little, I think I was in fifth grade and you were in fourth? We were out on the playground at school, hanging upside down from the monkey bars, and we promised to be best friends forever . . . all starry-eyed and practically in love.”
“Yeah.” Christian Taylor, also formerly known as Pittman Elementary’s biggest bully, thought it would be funny to yank on Megan’s arms and try to make her fall. Rose jumped off as fast as she could and pushed the little miscreant into the dirt. He cried. Everyone laughed. Rose became Megan’s hero. “Megan? What’s wrong? Why are you thinking about that?”
She still wouldn’t meet Rose’s eyes.
“Just talk to me, okay? I get enough silence in this place.”
“That’s ironic.”
“I know.” Rose snorted. “But come on, Megs, you’re my friend. I love you. Just talk to me.”
Megan took a seat next to Rose, trembling. “That’s just it. I’m not sure if you’re still that friend who would save me from Chrissy Pissy Taylor, and if you’re not, after you hear my side of the story you might not love me or want to be my friend because I was jealous and angry and upset and didn’t save you.”
“I’m saying this even after you had me committed with that treacherous picture. What could be worse?”
“I’m sorry about that.” Megan rubbed her palm up and down her arm. “Really. I am. I know at first I didn’t see that we’d done anything wrong. But we knew your mom would lose her shit. That was the whole point. Neither of us had any idea you’d end up here. But you can’t put all the blame on us for that.”
“Yes I can!” Rose bolted to her feet. “I most certainly can.”
“Really? You’re going to stand here and tell me you did nothing wrong for an entire year after that happened?”
Nurse Judy cleared her throat, standing in the hallway with her hands pressed to the back of Rose’s chair. “Is everything all right here, ladies?”
Rose glanced over her shoulder and softened at the concern etched in Judy’s expression, her forehead crinkled as well as her eyes. “I’m okay. Thank you.”
“Sorry,” Megan added, her voice calm and collected. “It was my fault.”
The nurse’s gaze lingered on Rose in a questioning way, one that asked Rose if she were truly okay. The answer to the silent question came from somewhere, because after a few seconds Nurse Judy nodded and then took off down the hall, her heavy steps creaking the hardwood.
“That woman eat doughnuts for breakfast every day or something?”
“Don’t talk about her that way,” Rose said, the protectiveness in her tone raising one of Megan’s eyebrows. “And don’t start siding with my mother. I get enough of that psychoanalysis crap from her. You’re sick, Rose. Are you suicidal, Rose? Do you think of killing yourself, Rose? If something’s bothering you, Rose, you know you can tell me. Rose, Rose, Rose. You and Josh know better than anyone that none of that shit is true. Which brings me back to where is he?”
Megan huffed out a breath, blowing the ban
gs from her forehead. “He didn’t want to come. He was afraid of what you’d say to him.”
“Really?” And what could she possibly have said to him that would scare him? That she blamed him? Didn’t he know how much she needed him? And God did she need him, to kiss him and touch him and make sure he was real. To prove someone was truly on her side.
Megan said, “Yes. I was too, a little. We didn’t go through with that ridiculous rescue plan of Josh’s. Both of us knew you’d be furious, but we couldn’t.”
“Why not? Why weren’t you there? I waited for you. I hopped out of a moving car because you weren’t there. I was injected with drugs and strapped to a bed because you weren’t there.” Rose took a deep breath, not wanting to be so loud that Nurse Judy came back around.
“Your mom knew we had a stupid plan. She was probably spying on you or listening under the door. Whatever. She knew about the plan. And she cornered us separately to ‘set you kids straight’.” Megan sucked in a sharp breath and looked away, bothered, angry, upset. Rose’s mother must have threatened Megan somehow, known something about her that would get her or her family into trouble. Rose almost felt sorry for her, until she remembered she was the one in an asylum.
“And you fell for it? One little chat with the woman and you caved in and switched sides?”
Megan shook her head. “Not at first.”
“So what convinced you?”
She glared at Rose now. “Josh.”
“Josh convinced you to abandon me?”
“Not exactly. I asked him if what she told me was true, and he said yes and apologized profusely and said it wouldn’t happen again. After I heard what your mother threatened him with, I made him promise not to do anything to get himself in trouble. He had to graduate high school. If he got arrested for trying to bust you out, that wouldn’t have happened.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Rose processed through everything Megan dropped on her: the fact Rose’s mother was cutthroat enough to make threats, the fact her friends cared more about protecting themselves than fixing one of their wrongs. “Okay, slow down. You went to Josh and asked him if what was true?”