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She shrugs. “You kept repeating the name Damien.” Aurora plops down on her cot. “Who is he?”
I don’t elaborate. “Just some guy I used to know.”
I don’t want to talk about my relationship with Damien with her. For one thing, I barely know her and I don’t know enough about her to trust her. And another thing is, well, it’s just no one’s business who I dream about or talk about in my sleep but my own.
Marjorie is through our door a nanosecond later and after Aurora and I both pretend to take our pills she’s on to the next room. It isn’t until Marjorie is gone and Aurora is handing me her slobbery meds that I notice what she’s wearing. Jeans and a long sleeve black shirt with a boat-neck collar. My eyes sweep over her from the top of her head to the floor. “Where did you get normal clothes?”
A part of me thinks she might have stolen them, but she quickly banishes that thought when she says, “Marjorie.”
“That’s not fair,” I snap. I hate having to walk around in my hospital gown. It makes me feel naked.
“I’ve been on good behavior lately,” Aurora says with a shrug. “You should try it sometime. Good behavior equals rewards.”
I’m desperate to get out of my hospital gown. Maybe I should try to be on my best behavior at least for a little while.
A few hours later, I sit in the rec room.
It’s quiet today. I’m glad. Cynthia and most of her gang are absent. Only two are here and it’s the blonde with the really long hair and the chubby brunette. Without Cynthia, they don’t have too much to say to each other, so they’ve been sitting on the sofa watching television. Aurora is in her usual corner, acting like her crazy/uncrazy self, and I’m sitting in front of the window like I do on most days.
Damien is outside with the boys today, his back resting against the chain link fence. I’ve been staring at him for the last twenty minutes. Closing my eyes, I envision us together minus our clothing. I kiss his shoulder and trace the dip from his left shoulder to his right with my fingertips. He has one hand positioned flat on the small of my bare back. His fingers move slowly and every time a fingertip glides against my skin I feel like there are rockets going off inside me. The feeling is overwhelming. It feels too real and the realness saddens me so much I open my eyes abruptly only to find him staring back at me through the window.
Cool blue eyes penetrate mine. Placing my palm against the glass I mouth, “I love you.”
He mouths the words back then blows me a kiss. The juvenile action hits a nerve and I bite back the tears that spring to my eyes. What’s wrong with me? I know he’s here, so that should be enough right? At least I’m not left wondering what if? So why every time I see h
im do I get so emotional?
“Who are you looking at?”
I jump, clutching my chest as my heartbeat kicks into overdrive when blondie with the long hair appears on my left. Her sudden arrival startles me so much that I’m not sure what to say so I reply with, “Huh?”
She looms closer to the window and stares out the glass into the decayed courtyard. “I said who are you looking at?” Her eyes flit over to me. “You’ve been staring out this window for the last thirty minutes. You’re not just staring at the dead grass, are you?”
“No,” I say coolly. “I’m not just staring at the dead grass.”
“Then who or what were you staring at?”
I’m just about to say, “None of your damn business,” when the lights in the room start flickering.
Silence sweeps over the room and Brunette turns off the television. A loud buzzing rings in the air and I swear it makes the walls in the rec room vibrate.
I hear Aurora in the corner whine, “No! Not again!” Then she hugs her knees and proceeds to rock back and forth. Part of me wonders if she’s faking this time or that she is really that terrified of knowing they have another patient in the basement.
Tortured howls bleed through the thick plaster walls and Blondie scampers over to the sofa, holding on to Brunette for dear life. Me, I just keep my eyes glued to the flickering overhead light as it flashes. Fear lurks around inside of me, waiting to take hold and it doesn’t until the tortured howls turn into muffled screams. My entire body stiffens. The howling and screaming reminds me of an opera and the way the soprano singer begins with a low tone and then her voice builds and builds and builds before it is piercing, high enough to shatter glass. I plug my ears and close my eyes to drown everything out, but just when I bring my fingers to my ears…
Then there is no sound at all.
The lights return to normal.
The walls have stopped vibrating.
Bright light burns in my eyes and I focus on the tan walls for a second, waiting for the tiny white spots in my vision to fade. The screams that disappeared a minute ago still throb in my ears. This place doesn’t seem like the type of place where people are sent to get better anymore. I mean it never really did seem that way, but part of me had hope that no matter what negative rumors I’d heard, I’d make up my own mind on Oak Hill, and form my own opinion of it later.
My opinion of the institution now…
This place does not help people.
It is a fabrication that entices people from the outside with its rose bushes, lush landscaping, massive red-brick building, and fake friendly staff.
