𝘿𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙡 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩 - 𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 ✓

7.

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"Hold this so I can hang this end up," Nurse Bridget grunts as she leans over, tucking the end of the glittery, silver tinsel over one of the psych ward's window's curtain rods. She wraps the tinsel around the rod tightly as she leans from her side of her ladder, passing the other side to me as I wrap the other side and tuck it in securely.

From my experience, the holiday season within psych wards can either be very fun, or very messy. Usually, it's the latter. Even so, it's within our duty to at least try to make it as joyous as possible for the patients, hanging decorations, holding celebratory activities, everything you can think of. 

I never minded the holiday season personally when it comes to working within the psych wards, I always found them to be a little fun to work during. Watch the blinding, sterile halls turn into colourful, decorated tributes of hard work is always a genuinely fulfilling sight. The staff spend their morning's beginning to hang up tinsel and floral decorations, red ribbons and glittery light's, preparing for this season's large Christmas party. 

It's not within many of the patient's power to exit the facility and celebrate with their family, so it's not mentally easy for many of them. Some don't bother to celebrate, some just downright hate the season altogether, which I can respect. It's definitely not the best place to celebrate such a holiday, but I do what I can. 

I pin patient's Christmas art to the art boards which are displayed in the halls, admiring their creativity. Some have delicate, careful drawings of snowflakes and Christmas trees, some have just smeared glitter glue and crayons across there pages. The variety is pretty heartwarming, in a genuine way. At least they had fun making their artworks. 

Nurse Bridget approaches me, handing me a sheet of paper as I stand in front of the art board. "Family celebrations art next week, on Friday. Make sure you write that on your schedule, and all of the decorations are up." I nod in acknowledgement to her explanation, watching her let out a tired sigh.

"How are Christmases here, may I ask?" I question, twisting my head to face her. She turns to me also, her blonde curls bouncing against her shoulders as she faces me. "Well, usually they can be pretty fun. Patient's families come and visit the patients, gift them presents and eat with one-another, it's quite sweet to see. You just have to be pulling your weight, it gets busy, and patients can get rowdy and emotional very easily."

She laughs as she speaks, seeming to find humour in the emotional effects this time of season causes. I turn to face the art board, rolling my eyes to her chuckle before sighing and just trying to not let it get to me. "c'mon, I don't blame them, it's not easy being in a place like this," I express in defence as she only faces me with a condescending smile. 

"Yeah, I guess," Another small chuckle leaves her before I speak once more. "I'm heading to the lounge hall," I state quietly, already turning my heel and making my way down. I hear her steps grow louder and louder, my face slightly twitching to the approaching sound. "I'm coming with you," She leeches onto me, basically shoving her whole-body weight against me as she slides her arm around mine. 

I feel bad for sort of wishing she didn't follow me. 

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A large, full Christmas tree sits in the end corner of the lounge hall, decorated with time and care by the patients themselves. Glistening baubles and tinsel line the tree, with a bright, gold star on top. Wrapped presents are already beginning to bustle under the tree, with more tinsel and glittery, red bows lining the top trim of the lounge hall. 

Patients sit together, speaking and laughing as the art group cut out snowflakes at a table together, a Christmas movie playing on the TV for everyone to enjoy. I enter the lounge hall and take my usual seat, enjoying the sight of the happy patients and the movie playing. 

I lean against the armrest of the couch, my head turning in the sheer slightest to view Stanislav's chair. What I wasn't ready for was for it to actually be occupied. 

My gut shifts when I meet the same deafening gaze as I did a while back. I didn't know he was out of his room; I didn't even know he was sitting there, staring. The distance makes no difference to the intensity of his gaze, his chair even slightly shifted to face the direction of the couch I'm sitting on. He is slouching as usual but facing me. His head is low, tilted a little. He doesn't move. 

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, I want to look away, but knowing that I'm being perceived so intensely makes it so hard to break my gaze. Overly paranoid with pursed lips and furrowed brows, I try to turn back to face the TV, averting my gaze and crossing my arms over myself in a protective, vulnerable manner. I have cottonmouth. What's even more uncomfortable, is that Nurse Bridget has caught onto this situation.

She turns from the TV slightly, her usual plastered grin and her lips parted to speak, but her jaw shuts and her face softens in curiosity as she meets my uncomfortable demeanour. Her eyes move from me to the area around me, analysing the patients and the overall space. She pauses when she meets Stanislav's view, glancing back to me repetitively in not what seems to be concern, but odd suspicion. 

"What's going on with you?" She investigates with little to no concern, only suspicious attitude. I glance back to her from the TV, taking the way she's perceiving this situation a little personally. It irks me, making the tight ball in my stomach tighter. "It's nothing, okay?" I answer with the same attitude, her face contorting in slight shock as I mock her tone. She doesn't answer, just turning back to the TV and ignoring my state. 

As she watches the TV for the moment, I slowly my head a little, my hair making a thin wall from my perception and Stanislav's. I can see through the thin partings of my hair that he's still staring, his finger's clicking rhythmically against his metal armrest in the distance. His head rests in his palm, with a stare so intense and tightly held that it could burn through me. I swallow anxiously, my mind beginning to run in circles once more. 

I question how long he's been eyeing me, from when I entered? when I sat down? Did he ever stop? I know they'll be left unanswered, but I feel like nobody could help me with the dreadful feeling he's filling me with. It's like he's dug a pit inside my gut, and began to pour anxiety and nausea inside. But the thing is, I don't even know why I feel like this. 

Yes, he can be initially a little off-putting in the way he speaks to me and interacts at those rare occasions, but other than that, he's never been enough of a threat to make me bothered or have a genuine reason to be scared. I feel bad for feeling this way, like I'm stupid or wrong for it. For being scared of him without any real reason to be. 

Maybe he knows that. 

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