The Real Definition Of Insanity

Two...

I drive toward my Portland apartment, both comforting Sara and feeling my jaw for the impact bruise. It's on the right side of my chin, fairly close to my mouth. He also split my lip. I can taste the blood both dripping into my mouth and down my chin. Sara's sitting in the front seat, too scared to talk, I guess. I turn on the radio, eager for something to break the silence that deafens me.

"In other news, a local teenage girl has been given admission to the Black View Psychiatric Hospital, a place for those too mentally ill to safely be around society. Normally, anyone under the age of twenty would not be admitted to Black View, but this teenager has terrors while alone and nothing soothes her. This 17-year-old-girl will be committed at the end of October."

I tune the radio elsewhere, and wipe the blood away. Looking over at Sara, I see her expression's as blank as a new memory card. "Sara. Hey, are you okay?" I ask, tapping her on the shoulder. Her blank expression changes, and she begins crying. "I'm sooo sorry, Jake! I didn't mean-" Sara becomes incoherent and hugs my arm, sobbing into my jacket. I manage an awkward, one-armed hug while driving, careful not to veer off the road. We get to my building, and I stop the car, shutting off the engine. Sara wipes her tears away and sighs. "I'm sorry, Jake. I thought he wouldn't hit you." She gathers her stuff and opens the door, walking to my apartment. I follow and open the door with Sara behind me. "Go on ahead and put your stuff in my room. I can live on the couch until you get back on your feet." I tell Sara as I throw a pillow on the couch. "I refuse to remove you from your bed. It's your apartment. You get the bed." Sara tells me. The expression on her face tells me that the bed is mine. "I warn you, Sara. It gets cold out here." I laugh as I place an extra blanket on the back.