Lost in July

XLIII

Collin
~
I wish there were some way the universe could warn you before it decides to slap you in the face with misery.

The last two days have been... exhausting, to say the least. I've hardly slept and my new medication has done nothing to ease the dark, suicidal thoughts that linger.

Margo's reading beside me on the bean bag chair while I sit comfortably on the floor beside her. We're both reading, or pretending to, but it's not enough to quiet our overactive minds.

We've been spending most of our time in the secret library, hiding away from other patients and nurses.

I feel like I can hear Margo's thoughts sometimes, especially when we're in this room. I wonder if she feels the same about me.

"I'm not even reading this," I admit, closing the book and tossing it to the floor. I decide to lay down on the floor now, spreading out with a long sigh.

Margo laughs at me, closing her book and laying down next to me.

We told Penny we'd leave the secret library in an hour, but we lost track of the time hours ago. It's definitely late afternoon now, but no one has come for us, so here we are.

"What's on your mind?" Margo asks. I turn and watch her. She's mesmerizing. I analyze her side profile, her long lashes fluttering as she blinks. Her pale skin is free of blemishes, the only mark on her skin being the scar above her eyebrow.

"You," I answer honestly.

Margo bites her lip, fighting a laugh. "Me?" She turns to face me now. Her eyes have always held so much sadness that I couldn't really see anything else. Now? They look amused. "Why?"

I smirk. "Why not?"

She rolls her eyes, facing the ceiling again. "I have to tell you something."

My skin gets a chill at her words. Those aren't the best words to hear from a girl.

"Oh, God." I mumble.

"It's not bad," she sighs. She sits up, sitting crisscrossed and staring at me. "Well, I hope it's not."

I follow her lead, sitting crisscrossed in front of her. "That's not reassuring."

Margo's eyes avoid mine, focusing on the floor or her fingers or whatever interests her more than me.

"They want me to come to the police station to write about X's..."

"Abuse," I finish for her.

"Um— yeah." I watch her carefully as she picks at her nails. I can't stop myself from pulling her hands into my lap, halting her anxious movements. The soft upturn of her lips melts my heart.

"Anyway, I'm supposed to go tomorrow. They're letting me out with supervision. I chose Nurse Penny to be my 'chaperone.'" She rolls her eyes at the word chaperone as if it's insulting.

"You'll do great. I'm proud of you." The words slipped out before I could think about them, but I don't regret saying them. I am proud of her. I'm proud of her every time she chooses to wake up and live with her illness rather than give up like I know she wants to.