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Along with her idea of democracy, Tonya gives instructions that are supposed to be liberating—but they’re just kinda vague. She tells us to grab some paper, some crayons, then draw whatever our hearts tell us to. Jeez. Another rookie mistake with a group like ours.
I can already imagine what some of the other patients are gonna draw. She didn’t even reiterate our normal rules about keeping it clean and violence-free.
I didn’t mean to be such a pain before, and I know I’m already walking on thin ice. I’m not about to push any of the staff by drawing something inappropriate. She wants me to let my creativity flow? Okay. I can try.
Today, I grab a sheet of black construction paper. I grab a couple of crayons, then choose the yellow crayon first. Putting the tip to the dark paper, I start to doodle aimlessly. No real direction or anything. In fact, I’m barely even paying attention as the half-hearted, absent strokes start to develop into something very familiar.
Yellow skin, yellow hair, yellow eyes. Without even meaning to, I’ve drawn a caricature of the golden fae from my dream.
When I catch on to what I’ve done, I tear the paper into six equal strips, then start ripping each strip into five pieces. Within seconds, there’s nothing left but thirty black squares, some with an indistinguishable yellow squiggle running through it.
If only I could erase the monster from my mind as easily as that.
At the end of the session, Tonya is disappointed that I have nothing to share. Turns out she doesn’t think that making confetti is constructive or creative so, after Carolina switched just to help me out, I still lose credit for the hour’s session. Amy makes a note on my chart. I’m sure Lorraine or my case manager will ask me about that, too.
Great.
Fucking great.
That night, dinner is brought to my room. I don’t even get the chance to eat with the rest of the group.
I expected it. They think they’re punishing me for my outburst on Tuesday night, but I prefer it—even if it means Nurse Stanley is the one who keeps me company while I eat.
She leaves when I’m finished, taking my tray with her. She isn’t gone long, though. About an hour later, she comes back to do my nighttime vitals, bringing my meds with her. No Duncan tonight, though. Frankie follows her in the room, paying me close attention as if he’s waiting for me to flip out any second now.
Whatever. It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted. When Nurse Stanley places my cups on the dresser, I peek inside just long enough to make sure they’re my regular meds before tossing them back.
Of course, when I want them to, the damn things don’t work.
I lose track of how long I lay awake in my bed, unable to fall asleep. I don’t have a clock in my room. I’ve never needed one. With the techs acting as my alarm clock on the rare occasion that I don’t wake up on my own, it seemed like a waste.
Apart from my dresser with my hoodie folded on top, my bed, and my nightstand, my room is empty. I didn’t bring a book with me tonight and, besides, it’s ‘lights out’. The moon is full, hanging high in the sky. It’s bright, but it’s not bright enough to allow me to read.
Instead, I lay flat on my back, blanket pulled up to my chin, and watch the moon through my barred windows. Dark clouds roll across the sky like liquid ink. Hours pass. I’m still not tired.
I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll be in for another storm tomorrow when I hear the faintest rustle and freeze.
No, I tell myself. It can’t be.
“Riley.”
I immediately close my eyes. A second later, I lift my hands out from under my blanket and clamp them over my ears.
No, no, no.
Not again.
It should have worked. The leather gloves, plus how tightly I’m pressing my palms to my ears… it should have worked. No way I should be able to hear anything other than the frantic drumming of my frightened heart.
But then I hear, almost as if he’s annoyed—
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you’re still awake.”
Of course I am. Who knows how long he was watching me before he made a move? That’s the thing about Nine. He was always so quiet. He could’ve been here for as long as the moon’s been out, I don’t know. I remember that about him. He never let me know he was there until he was ready to announce his presence.
Like the way he whispered my name.
If he’d been watching me, he would’ve seen me with my eyes open, staring out of my window. He would’ve seen my reaction, watched me as I covered my ears and shut my eyes.
