Thursday (Sequel to 'From Eden')

six

**IMPORTANT: chloe pov still! 😄*
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About a week after Thanksgiving, I got a letter back from Monroeville. I was in class when my professor handed back the notes that had returned, never expecting to have gotten one back. I was weak in the knees and in the heart as I read the scratchy pen handwriting that listed my name on the envelope.

I didn't want to wait to get home to read it. The remaining forty minutes of class was torture, and my leg wouldn't stop bouncing. I tried my best to drink water and breathe, but my fingers itched to tear open the note and hear what Paige had to say to me.

Hypothetical situations crossed my mind where it wasn't even her who replied; maybe I would be exempt from the project, because she had refused to reply. Or maybe I would have been assigned to another patient. My heart beat louder with every tick of the clock.

When class was finished, I left the room and tore open the envelope like there was a rare antidote to a sickness I had been suffering from for months inside. With a final deep breath, I hoped it would cure me.

It was her. The first thing I realized was it was Paige writing. I could tell by the neat, organized print on the page. It didn't seem angry handwriting; more like it was overly neat, like this was the second copy she had written.

I read it from top to bottom, and felt my heart only twist with its speed. My eyes teared, and I shut them forcefully, reminding myself I was in public, and that I must not be so obvious. I collected myself briefly before finding my car in the parking lot, and then allowed myself to break down.

- -

After a very long cry in the parking lot and then at home, I thought a lot about what I had done to Paige yet again, and how much her words stung in that letter. I knew I deserved it, and nothing I did could be justified. How would I even incorporate that into my report, let alone have her forgive me?

I felt my hand reach for my cell phone like it was an out of body experience. Would she hate me for calling? Should I call at all? The whole fucking facility probably knows about me and hates me for the way I treated her.

But I needed to talk to her.

I took a breath, hand shaking, and dialed the number for the rehabilitation center. Thoughts of regret spun inside my head, but they all fell to the ground when I heard the receptionist say, "Hello, this is Olivia with Monroeville Rehabilitation Center! How many I help you?"

"Um, I..." I mentally slapped myself. How was I suddenly so unable to speak? "Do you...do the patients—are they able to accept outside phone calls?"

"Sure, with the patient's approval. Usually we have people schedule designated phone times, but we've been slow with them today, so I could most likely get a moderator for you both." I fell silent as Olivia typed loudly on her keyboard. "What was your name again, sweetie?"

I hestitated. Maybe this was a big mistake. Like everything else. I felt myself tear up again, my chest tight. My brain yelled, when will you take accountability and stop calling everything a mistake?

"Chloe," I breathed, "Um..Chloe Lukasiak."

Olivia clicked some more on her keyboard, and then continued, "And who did you want to speak to? I'll have to page someone to take them out of whatever activity or group they're in, so it may be a moment. Is it an emergency?"