Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
PENNHURST ASYLUM CAME INTO VIEW like an eroded mansion from Amara's nightmares. From the outside, it gave off the impression of a nursing home, not unlike the one her paternal grandfather had been transferred to after losing his wife, but Amara knew that the interior possessed none of the warmth. This was where people like her went to rot, people with untapped potential no one bothered to see because they didn't communicate in words or were too lost in thought to respond to their name, people deemed unable to fit in with society because society couldn't bother to make room for them. This was where Victor Creel, an innocent man, had been wasting away for the past twenty-seven years.
Sensing Amara's anxiety, Robin squeezed her hand tightly as they crossed through the parking lot. Neither of them had requested shotgun, preferring to sit next to each other while Nancy drove, hoping that she would pass off their silence as worry for Max's wellbeing. Because they were worried about her, but they were also venturing into the very place Amara had been told all her life she should be confined to. Both of those things could be true.
Robin stumbled comically on her feet upon disembarking Nancy's station wagon, clasping Amara's shoulder for support. The aforementioned girl wasn't faring any better, wishing Nancy had flats her size she could have borrowed instead. As a child she'd always disliked dressing up for family dinners and bar mitzvahs, especially when her Grandma Marjorie had gifted her the itchiest outfits possible. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and she'd contend with blistered heels and abraded flesh if they could save Max.
"I can't breathe in this thing," Robin bemoaned, twitching with her lace top, which was a size too small for her. "And I'm itchy. I'm itching all over," she added for effect.
"I'm really sorry. I wish I had something more comfortable," Nancy expressed sincerely. "But it's not all about comfort. We're academics."
"Yeah, and we're evidently coming from an Easter brunch," Amara sighed, nearly tripping for the fifth time that day. "My family hasn't celebrated Easter in years."
"Also, this bra that you gave me is really pinching my boobs," Robin complained, wondering how Nancy had overlooked the fact that the two of them didn't have the same bra size. The outfit she was forced to wear was her own personal hell, and she almost wished she'd stayed behind with the others. "Wouldn't you agree, 'Mara?"
"I don't think anything I say would be helpful at this point," Amara giggled nervously, fighting the urge to inform Nancy that like Robin, the bra she had given her wasn't... crafted to accommodate her needs, so to speak. She was surprised that Nancy hadn't looked deeper into how not only did they both struggle with social cues, but they also had similar sensory issues. "But let's not mention that in front of Dr. Hatch, okay? I doubt it would help our case."
"Honestly, the odds of me not saying something stupid aren't only possible, they're inevitable," Robin replied sardonically as they neared the entrance. "Because shortly, I'll be dead from strangulation."
