Studio 22 | Mary-Kate Olsen

Chapter Six

 January 28th 2022 - New York City - The Sinclair Brownstone

I was hiding away in my cocoon of blankets like I do every day. It's quiet here and no one bothers me because they think I'm sleeping. I like not being bothered, I didn't have to look at their concerned faces if they didn't 'wake' me from my mid-day slumber. It was just me and the darkness, sometimes my spiralling thoughts interrupted the quiet but I had gotten pretty good at making them quiet too. Emptying my brain completely of everything. The only things it was doing were the subconscious acts like breathing and making my heart pump the warm blood around my body, I couldn't stop those functions of my brain. The blankets held me in a warm hug and my parents often left me like this, convinced I needed to rest. Maybe they believed if I rested enough I'd emerge from the cocoon a beautiful butterfly.

Today was different though. My door opened and I heard my mum walking around my room, which was normal. She checked in on me every day. She'd walk in, tuck my hair behind my ear, stroke the side of my face, before collecting the empty glass of water on my bedside and replacing it with a fresh one she had brought in with her. But the difference was she put something heavy on my desk, something way heavier than a glass of water. I tried not to move to give her no indication that I was awake. Because being awake meant talking and I didn't want to talk about what happened anymore. I've been over it with her, I've been over it with Sage and Dad too I didn't need to go through it again. It was enough, so I laid as still as I possibly could. What made it worse was hearing my curtains opening, she never opened my curtains whilst I was sleeping. She had been leaving me to sleep. The only day she'd wake me was when I had the group on Monday mornings. I was pretty sure today wasn't Monday. In fact, I was certain it wasn't because I went to the group just yesterday. I knew I hadn't slept an entire week away. I wasn't that lucky, so today couldn't have been Monday. Therefore, there was no reason for her to wake me up. No support group means no reason for me to move from my very comfortable position on my bed. I had been to the group three times now, it hadn't helped me much, and I mostly sat and listened as I tried to avoid eye contact with Will. He'd probably encourage me to share if I did.

It's to make my mum happy. That's what I told myself when I was debating running away from the building after she dropped me off. She smiled every time she picked me up from the group. I kind of felt like a little kid being picked up from school but I liked seeing her smile, I haven't seen it so much since Atlas passed away. "Blue," Don't pull my blankets back, please don't pull my blankets back. I prayed, still trying to stay as still as I possibly could, hiding from the daylight that I now knew was flooding my room. "Bluey, it's time to wake up, darling." Mum sang sweetly. I didn't budge. I continued to lay as still as a plank of wood. "Bluey." She sang again. Not happening, I'm not getting up today. Mondays are exhausting, having to get ready to leave the house and face people. Communicate, look at them knowing what they have been through and try to fight the violent flashbacks as I did this. It was tiring, so Tuesdays I was extra stubborn when it came to leaving my cocoon of blankets.

She started to peel back the blankets, and I moaned as I pushed my face into my pillow to shield my eyes from the bright light invading my room. "Come on, honey. It's 4 in the afternoon." Is that all? It's only 4. The days seem to drag. Before I didn't have enough hours in my days. Talking with friends and family, training, doing school, designing and sewing. Then, when I went to Iraq it was the same thing, not enough time. I was constantly scrabbling for more seconds in a day. But now... Now there are far too many hours in the day. There's too much time to think and dwell, to remember, to long for those I miss. There are too many seconds to fill and it's all so exhausting.

"I was thinking maybe we could make something today." I rolled onto my back and used my cast to shield my eyes. My other hand went to pull my blanket back over my body, but mum had hold of it so I couldn't. I admitted defeat and lay there as the cool air brushed against my skin. "Make what?" I asked confused, not following her thought process in the slightest. "I don't know, let's be creative. We could make a dress. Or a top or a pair of trousers. Whatever you want." I frowned, and moved my arm away from my eyes to look at her. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Blue." I continued to look at her like that. "You loved doing this stuff. I even brought your sewing machine up." She pointed to my desk. So that's what she put on my desk. "I don't sew anymore, Mamì," I reminded her, she looked at me with sad eyes, enough with those eyes already. "You were so good at it. You went to school for it. It's a shame that it goes to waste." "I also went to school to do maths but you don't see me walking around with a calculator trying to do people's taxes." A small smile broke out on her face and she chuckled at my attempt at a joke.