Harrison Woods is a 17-year-old girl attending Arbor Coast High, a boarding school in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Her dark past including her rocky relationship with her parents and her esteemed older brother's suicide are the reasons she landed herself at...
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Thursday was pancake day in the commons, and I fucking loved pancakes.
The nurses that took care of me came into my room to get me at around 8 this morning, which was earlier than usual. On a typical day, they would arrive at my room around 9:30, knowing that I didn't enjoy having breakfast with any of the other residents. I liked to keep to myself and stay out of the way of the other crazies in the facility I got the pleasure of staying in.
Instead of getting to stay in the safehouse with West and Harrison, I was forced to stay in the rehabilitation center in the gated neighborhood. This meant that I was with all of the people with disabilities, severe mental disorders, and drug addictions. They had put me under the category of people with disabilities. I cringed at that word. I didn't want to think of myself as disabled, and I had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I could no longer walk. I was also partially categorized under the severe mental disorder category due to my bipolar. It felt really good to be considered disabled and a crazy person.
The reason the nurses got me earlier than usual was because West was coming to visit me and have breakfast. He always visited Thursday morning to enjoy the pancakes with me. West visited me as much as he could, which was four times a week since we were in the same neighborhood, but the rules still applied: he could only stay for two hours at a time. I wished he could stay longer. I would give anything to be able to spend just a minute more with West.
I was helped down the stairs with one nurse by my side holding onto my arm, and the other nurse in front of me, walking backwards descending the stairs so that she could make sure I didn't fall. I had just recently started pushing myself to take the stairs rather than the elevator, and not because my physical therapist said to do so, but just because I was tired of having to take the elevator with all of the other residents who couldn't walk. I wanted to get better, and taking the elevator made me feel especially useless.
West was already sitting at a small round table when I got downstairs, and he had two plates with pancakes stacked high (he knew I liked to consume an unhealthy amount of pancakes). The nurses helped me over to the table, letting me sit before unlatching the forearm crutches I had to wear in order to keep my balance. I didn't even hesitate before digging into the plate full of pancakes in front of me. They were plain pancakes today with nothing fancy or extra added. My favorite was when the kitchen staff made cinnamon roll pancakes. The taste of those luscious cinnamon pancakes (topped with that gooey, white icing that was so addictive) hitting my taste buds were the closest I could get to an orgasm lately.
"How are you?" West asked, and as I looked up into his eyes, I noticed just how bloodshot they were. There were bags under his eyes that sat extremely heavy, and his stubble had grown even more. West was never one to leave facial hair, but lately he hadn't been bothered to shave, which was new for him. He had always put so much effort into his appearance, but lately he seemed not to care one bit.
"I'm fine. Things are getting better by the day," I informed him, then taking a big gulp of orange juice (heavy pulp, of course). "I think the real question is how are you?"
