Unravel(23)

I smiled, grasping onto the meaning of his words. The possibilities were endless. “Claire… no, I like Julia. Oh! No!” I excitedly sat up onto my knees. I couldn’t keep up with my brain. It was exhilarating. “I want to change it to Elliot Kid! I like that!”

“Nice,” he said, and then he smiled. It was true and honest. Nothing deceitful about it. I earned that smile and I’d do just about anything to earn another smile from Lachlan Halstead.

He talked to me for hours. Until the sun was up. Until my eyes were threatening to quit on me. Until I absolutely had to leave.

That night, Lachlan Halstead woke me up and pulled my mind into a whole new world. I was way too young to know that at the fresh age of ten, I had willingly handed my heart over to Lachlan Halstead.



9—ROOM 62

“Did you get any sleep?”

I glance at Mary. “I got some.”

She tilts her head, a sympathetic look on her face and I can tell that she knows I’m lying.

We’re close to Dr. Rutledge’s door when a nurse stops in front of Mary and pulls her away. I’ve seen this nurse around. She’s the same age as Mary, but she has a permanent frown on her face and wears scrubs in dark, solid colors to match her rigid personality.

My eyes narrow and I watch the nurse’s lips move rapidly. I can only make out bits and pieces but I watch her form the words, ‘suggests’ and ‘group therapy’.

It suddenly becomes hard for me to breathe.

Group therapy.

No way. No how. I’d rather have a lobotomy than sit in a circle and talk about all my problems.

Mary looks at me over her shoulder. You know it’s going to be bad when your nurse, the sane one, doesn’t look happy. I should’ve run from that look alone.

The uptight nurse walks away, leaving Mary and me in an awkward silence.

“Change of plans,” Mary announces.

“What do you mean?”

She gently grabs my elbows and we do a quick U-turn. “Dr. Rutledge wants you to try group therapy.”

I stop walking and face her.

“I don’t want to do that.”

She tugs on my arm. “Why not?”

“I just… I just don’t want to do that.”

“Group therapy is very effective,” she reasons.

“Maybe for someone else, but not for me.”

Mary doesn’t answer.

“I saw the way you looked at me when the nurse told you! You think it’s a bad idea, too.”

“Give it a shot. You have nothing to lose.”

Translation: Your options are becoming really limited. If you don’t start improving there’s nothing left for you.

I move one foot in front of the other, feeling like I’m walking toward my demise.

“How long is it?” I ask.

“Just an hour.”

We arrive at Room 62. A large open room where most group therapy sessions are held. Blue plastic chairs are in the center of the room. It looks like a cozy little circle, like we’re in kindergarten, getting ready for show and tell.

I stand in the doorway and watch everyone. One girl stares down at the carpet, whispering to herself. Next to her is a middle-aged woman. I’ve seen her a few times during dinner or in the rec room. I call her Pretend Mommy. She wears red silk pajamas, with a fur coat wrapped around her, almost every day. She always has makeup on and smells like lilac. In her arms she rocks a plastic baby back and forth. She stops rocking the baby and sings it a lullaby as if it’s crying.

Clearly she’s crazy.

And clearly I’m on the fast track to following her down that road because her presence is comforting to me. She appears so motherly to me. If I close my eyes and forget, I’m no longer in a mental hospital. Pretend Mommy is a real mom, who’s holding a real baby.

On the opposite side of Pretend Mommy is a skinny girl named Amber. She is the resident anorexic. She sits there, staring at everyone with resentment.

I go to turn around. Mary grips my shoulders and says in a gentle voice, “You will be fine.”

“Can I have your confidence?” I say weakly.

She squeezes my shoulders. “Everything will be okay. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

Mary’s not going to leave until I sit down. I walk into the room. It feels like everyone is looking at me. They have their own problems and issues but I swear they’re whispering to each other, “Do you see her? Look how f*cked up she is. She’ll never be able to leave Fairfax.”

I choose the seat closest to the door. If shit gets weird, I’ll be ready to bolt. But that seat happens to be next to Amber. Her lip curls in disgust.

Fuck you too, skinny bitch.

I cross my arms. My legs bounce up and down. I wait for that nervous feeling in my gut to fade but it gets stronger the longer I sit there.

More people come into the room. The chairs are filled up.

A male doctor and two female nurses walk in. I watch them carefully as they talk quietly near the door.

Get this over with! I want to scream.

I bite down on my lip.

The doctor clears his throat and the room grows quiet. He introduces himself as Dr. Cooper before he goes into this whole spiel of group therapy and its benefits. He says that this is a safe place. An outlet for us to really open up and let everything out.