Second Chance

Chapter 2

Demi's P.O.V.

It was hard to get comfortable enough to sleep that first night in treatment. Maybe it was the whole sleeping in a new place situation, or the fear of the unknown, or the fact that my mind was racing. But I just agreed on the uncomfortableness of the bed. Whatever it was, it was normal. The insomnia was normal. No wonder I was always so tired.

"Hey," Sarah opened the door, her eyes shining in the dim light created by my lamp. "Lights were supposed to be out at ten. That was an hour and a half ago. Turn 'em off."

I exhaled deeply and leaned over to shut my light off. "Sorry. I wasn't aware that there was a rule."

She stepped into my room and closed the door, which caused me to freeze. I left the light on so I could see her face in the darkness of night. I sat up straighter, leaning against my pillows, and she crept closer to prop herself on the edge of my bed.

"Funny, I told you at nine thirty." Her arms crossed over her chest.

My eyes rolled in their sockets. "Well, I wasn't listening."

She glanced down for a moment, but she wasn't offended; she was simply exhausted, ready for her workday to end. Sure, she didn't want to be stuck with me at half past eleven at night, but, to be fair, I didn't want to be here, either. And I didn't just mean the treatment center.

"Just as I had expected. Either way, you need to go to sleep." She looked over at me.

I shifted uncomfortably. "I can't."

She sighed. "Why not?"

"Because this bed is fucking uncomfortable," I replied, smiling through the lie.

"Mhmm." She grimaced, her eyes drifting away from me.

"It is!" I insisted.

She scoffed. "Really? It seems awfully comfortable to me."

It was comfortable. Almost as comfortable as the one back at home. But at the same time, no position I could lay in would make me feel any better. Before I was aware that I had an illness, I thought it was normal to always feel like shit, but now I knew that such thoughts could land you in a mental hospital. My bad.

"Well, you're not the one with your entire body on it, now are you? Maybe you should lay on it and see for yourself," I suggested, having nothing better to say.

She almost smiled, but she quickly pushed it away, resuming her resting-bitch-face that she formed so well. She reminded me a lot of what I was like: the attitude, the eye rolling and grimacing, the pursed lips and annoyed facial expression all the time. I wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but whatever it was, I admired it.

"Wow, what an invitation. No thanks. I A. have other things to do and B. don't really care to lay on a patient's bed. Your attitude and potty mouth are astounding. You might want to park the sass outside. This is the second time I've had to tell you and you've been here for only five and a half hours." She finally stood from the bed, turning toward me with her hands in the pockets of her scrubs.

Was she serious? There was no way in Hell that I could avoid the comeback that was about to leave my lips. "I'm just learning from you. Aren't you the sane one here?"

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" She nearly laughed, but she held it in.

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I stayed quiet, staring in the direction of the window.

There were no mirrors, nothing that I could see my reflection in except the window. Loophole. Not that I wanted to see myself, I just didn't want to let myself get fat without knowing, then leave treatment and realize how crappy I looked.