The Forest

Break Down

The look on her face is a mix of things, shock mostly. But once her brain catches up, she sighs and slumps into the recliner in defeat. I honestly can't tell if this is a good thing, or something very bad. And I don't know what exactly I want her to say.

"Jesus, Theodosia," he says weakly, suddenly ten years older. "Well, there's no point in beating around the bush, since you already seem to have figured it out. Unfortunately, I was unable to have a child of my own but your father wanted one so badly. SO, we searched everywhere, but we couldn't find a single orphanage that spoke to us. There was always something. Just when we were starting to give up hope, there you were, sitting all by yourself in the middle of the woods in Central Park. You were -you are- our blessing."

I lift my very shaky hands to my face and try to keep myself calm. I'm unsuccessful. That's it, then. I always knew I didn't belong here. Toby was right. I don't know how, but somehow he knew, and he was right.

My heartbeat increases rapidly as burning tears roll down my cheeks. Through the firey blur, red drips over my vision. Why am I so angry? Why do I have any reason to be? Then again, why don't I? I asked and she told me, sure. . . but it took her roughly eleven years to do so. Why hadn't they told me sooner? Why hadn't they told me I didn't belong here?

"Theodosia, sweety, calm down, okay? The doctors said it isn't good for you to be so stressed out." She jumps from the recliner and is instantly at my side, her hands flailing above me as she stresses out about my stress, not knowing how to comfort me.

I take deep breaths and close my eyes as I clutch the railings on my bed tightly. I need to get back under control. These unchecked emotions can't be a good sign. There are zero benefits to staying in this god-forsaken hospital. I need to stop giving them a reason to keep me. Maybe the others are right and I really do have a screw loose. I can't let these people catch any whiff of the severity if it really is that bad, or I'll never get out of here.

With motivation, I am able to calm myself to a sleepy state, making mom relax and feel satisfied enough to go back to the reclining chair in the corner. It isn't long later that the room door opens again and I see Dad holding it for Logan, who nods an appreciative 'thank you.'

With a tray of food and water, Logan sits on the chair at my bedside again and places the tray on the very edge of the bed as to not take up my already limited room.

"Looks yummy," I say. In actuality, it looks like hospital food: not ideal but manageable. He gives a small awkward laugh at my obvious sarcasm.

"Sorry. I tried to find the least unappetizing. I found soup, and I even got them to heat it up," he says, clearly feeling accomplished with himself. A genuine smile twitched at the corners of my lips and I see the sparkle in his eyes.

"Thank you," I say quietly. He drops his head, embarrassed.

"It's not a big deal. Y-you should eat."

"I hope all this extra food is for you," I say, sitting up so he can shift the tray to rest on my lap.

"Er. . . it can be. . . I just figured I'd give you a variety."

I push a sandwich toward him, my intentions obvious. He sighs and picks it up as if I were the only person in the world who could make him do so. I'm at the very least satisfied when he eats half, and I can tell he knows. Considering he hasn't eaten much ever since I went missing, I'm proud of the progress. Baby steps.

A few minutes after Logan finishes that half in question, I realize Mom and Dad have been silent since the boy walked into the room. I look up at them too quickly, giving them no time to put their phones away.