Dreams of 18(120)

Besides, I’m getting out in just four weeks. No matter what my overactive imagination makes me believe. Four short weeks and I’ll be out of here. On the Outside.

Away from this stupid hospital that creaks and shakes at night when the wind blows and the rain batters the roof. Well, what else do you expect from a building that was built in the early 1900s?

In any case, Heartstone is way better than the state hospital where I stayed for forty-eight hours before they transferred me here. The staff over there, the patients, the smell of bleach, everything was the stuff of nightmares.

At least, this facility is pretty to look at.

According to history, this was a house long before it was turned into a hospital. The original owner had it built for his mentally ill wife. He’d loved her more than life itself and he hated the little town of Heartstone that shot his beloved wife wary looks. So he said fuck it, I’m gonna build my wife a castle and he did.

This I’ll admit – without any sort of pain – that I find romantic. Kind of epic, really.

A man who builds castles to keep the woman he loves safe. Whoever she was, she was pretty fucking lucky.

This castle has three levels, sixty-seven rooms that house about forty patients, and two separate wings, east and west. I’ll never understand why they needed so many rooms but whatever.

We live on the second level. It’s a long corridor, running from the east wing to the west, flanked by rooms on either side, with a nurses’ station at the end. It’s simple and straightforward, and very white and beige-y.

The third level is what everyone calls ‘The Batcave.’ They usually put patients who require extensive monitoring up there. I don’t know very many people from the upper level. But every time I see someone from The Batcave with their checked-out looks and almost translucent eyes, I try not to make it obvious that I’m staring.

It’s not polite to stare. Ask me. I’ve been stared at a lot ever since The Incident.

My favorite place – relatively – is the ground level. All the offices, dining hall, rec room, TV room, all sorts of rooms are located on this level. Basically, it’s a hub of activity and is the loudest of all the levels.

It’s where I hear the name Simon Blackwood for the first time.

I’m in the dining hall, waiting in line for a breakfast of watery oatmeal and cut-up fruit when I hear it. The name, I mean.

It comes out of one of the nurses talking and keeping an eye on the long breakfast queue. For some reason, these lines are a breeding ground for meltdowns, so they always have someone watching them. I have yet to see it, though, and I pray that it never changes. Just the thought scares the fucking crap out of me.

“By Blackwood, you mean, The Blackwood?”

“Yup,” says one of the nurses as I trudge my feet past them.

“Oh geez. Like I needed more problems in my life. I bet he’s got a huge ego.”

“I know.”

“Ugh. I don’t wanna deal with him. I was only now getting adjusted to the long hours they put me on two weeks ago. Why’s this Simon Blackwood coming here? Is it permanent?”

“Who knows? Beth is super hush-hush about it. Which I don’t understand, by the way. We’re the ones who have to deal with him, not her. She’s gonna be locked up in that big administrative office of hers, while he’ll be roaming around the floor as if he owns the place.”

“Exactly! Why are the nurses last to know about these things?”

“I don’t know. Like we don’t matter, right?”

Then they start bitching about the fact that they were last to know the changes in their yearly vacation days. As if nurses aren’t overworked as it is.

And just like that, it’s over. The topic of Simon Blackwood.

A little thing about me: I’ve overheard a lot of conversations in my life. During family gatherings and at school. I’m an expert eavesdropper. I don’t do it intentionally. It’s just that I’m kind of invisible and a weirdo, what with my pale, almost translucent skin and silver hair. People don’t notice me or don’t take me seriously if they do notice me.

So they talk and, well, I’ve got ears. So I listen.

Generally, I forget about these conversations as soon as they occur. Not this one, though.

Nope.

It sticks in my head.

Not the conversation itself, but the name.

I don’t know why. I’ve never heard it before. I don’t know who it belongs to, except that whoever he is, he’s coming here. And Beth, the administrator, isn’t telling the nurses about it, and they are pissed.

Whatever.

Time to forget it and move on. So I do. Move on, I mean.

I don’t forget though. I remember the name for some very strange reason.

Floorboards creak under my bunny slippers as I get my breakfast and walk over to the table by the large windows. They overlook the gray skies and the wet grounds.

Ever since I got to this place, it’s been raining every day. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of making me even more miserable.

It’s no secret that I hate the sun; I burn too easily. Rain’s my only respite. I love the rain. I love the water droplets crashing into my body, sliding down, clinging to my skin, washing me clean, making me new.

It’s raining now, more like drizzling, and I wish I could go outside and feel it, but I can’t.