stars shine brightest in room 93 (halren/halsren/lausey?)

iii

tune: the neighbourhood-afraid

As I walk into the hospital I'm encompassed in a sickening nostalgia. I'm nothing but tired of this place. I was practically living in it as a child.

Having a sick mom, a sick brother, and construction worker for a dad didn't really help me avoid having to be in a hospital. I was kind of just always in one.

Chris would get check ups, he'd get new prescriptions. Mom would be hauled up in a hospital bed for weeks and she knew it took a toll on the whole family. But it wasn't her fault―it wasn't anyone's.

When it came to my dad he was just always hurting himself. Falling down at work, punching walls at home. Something of his was always broken, and not just his spirit.

"I'm looking for a Miss Nicolette Frangipane," I say to the man at the front desk of the hospital. He looks tired and bored and everything about hospitals is just depressing to me.

I never actually wanted to be a doctor, but I did want to help people. I started to get really into psychology and ultimately majored in it at SFS. There I met Ally and Normani who had both also been majoring in psychology along with their other minors. I had learned Mani minored in Literature and Ally minored in Biology.

After getting my diploma in psychology, I aimed to get my Doctorate in Adolescent Psychology specifically.

I had done that at Cornell and learned two key things that have made my job now as a parent and a psychiatrist so much easier. I learned about music and color and how those two things affect an adolescent's brain. Colors make things clear and songs make information easier to memorize.

These two things make the idea of mental illness and emotion so much easier to grasp.

In Ally and I's office, we make sure to have every inch of it drenched with color and health. Flowers, paintings, anything vibrant, it's there. And the kids love it. It's a good foundation for recovery, something better.

When they revealed more to me about Nicole's state and observations they've made I came to the conclusion that this woman takes the saying 'child at heart' to a whole new meaning. She's a broken child at heart, a frustrated child at heart, and a traumatized child at heart. And she needs help. That's for sure.

"Nicolette, N. Frangipane, F." The man mumbles to himself, staring intently at his computer's screen. "She's in room ninety-three, seventeenth floor."

"Okay, thank you so much." I thank him as I walk off swiftly towards the elevator.

Getting to the seventeenth floor was no problem, but weaving through the rushing wheelchairs and nurses was. Finally arriving I see a tall blonde woman standing by ninety-three I assume she's Nicole's nurse and walk up to her.

"Excuse me is this Nicolette Frangipane's room," I ask, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Oh yeah," She says brightly, spinning around. "You must be Dr. Jauregui. I talked to you on the phone earlier today."

"You know you look oddly familiar." I observe, my eyes scanning over her face.

"Yeah, you too." She muses, a frown gracing her lips. There's just something about her face. I can't quite put my finger on it. "Do you know anyone by the name of Masi Hansen?" She asks, and my eyebrows shoot up.

"Normani's boyfriend?" I ask, tilting my head.

"Yep, that's my cousin. I went to their Fourth of July party earlier in the summer. You were there huh?" She asks a friendly smile taking place of her confused frown.

"Yeah, I was," I admit. It was a pretty wild party. But what should I have expected from Normani? She was the queen of house parties in college. I still don't know how she got into all those people's houses. But the girl has a lot of family, with a lot of Californian summer homes.

"Dinah Jane," She holds her hand out for me to shake.

"Lauren Jauregui," I take her hand in mine shaking it firmly for a moment before releasing.

"Well, let me just go check on Nic. Then you can go right in."

"Alright, thank you."

"Nicole, Dr. Jauregui is here to see you," Dinah says from the doorway, her head peeking in just a bit. "Nic, it's okay you don't have to be afraid she's just here to talk to you."

"Is everything alright?" I ask, adjusting my pencil skirt a bit lower.

"Yeah, she's just a little shy," Dinah explains. "Nic, I'm going to let her in now."

Dinah opens the door fully, stretching the hinges and letting me in.

I walk fully into the room, observing various beeping machines and feeling an uncomfortable cold temperature. Off white walls, off white bed covered with a Pepto-pink bed spread. Everything about the room screams depressing and it makes my heart ache.

My eyes then fall on Nicole. Sickly grayish skin contrasts greatly with various long, red scratches down her eyes. She looks skinny and frail. No better way to describe her than broken, she's bruised all over. Purple and yellow travels up her arm, an IV stuck to her like a second skin.

Broken. Extremely broken.

"Hi Nicole, I'm Dr. Jauregui. I'll be hanging out with you for a bit today." I walk slowly over to her bed proceeding to sit on the end of it before she jolts. I instantly hop up and move to pull up a chair instead, sensing her discomfort.

"Okay Nicole, I'm truly sorry if I've made you uncomfortable. It was not my intention. Please forgive me." I apologize gently, keeping my distance.

She doesn't respond and I sigh, feeling as if it'll be a little harder to break into an adult. Adults are a lot more guarded than children and tend to see the worst first. And no matter how vulnerable or socially impaired this girl is I can still sense she has her own sort of maturity.

"How do you usually communicate with your doctors, sweetheart?" I ask, my eyes falling over her slumped, rolled up form. Her head is down and her knees are to her chest, flexing the tube of the IV.

"Sweetie, you're going to hurt yourself like that." I warn, but she just looks up for a second and puts her head back down. I sigh once again and run a hand through my hair.

"You don't have to be scared I'm only here to help you." As I say this she starts to pull out a small square piece of cardboard, which I now realize is a whiteboard. She scribbles on it quickly before holding it up to me. Hands shaking as she does.

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" I ask, not grasping why this girl wouldn't want help.

"Can't help. Too bad." She explains further.

A little switch goes off in my head that she has the same worry as I do. That she's too broken to help.

"Anyone can be helped Nicole, I say. "Just depends on who's doing the helping."

I just sit and study her for a while after that. One particular question on my mind.

"What happened to your eyes?" I ask, looking over the injury.

"Scratch away." She writes.

"Why would you want to scratch away your eyes?" I question further, curious.

She doesn't respond after that so I sigh and look down at my phone, as I answer a few parent emails. I look up again to see Nicole has written something on her board once again. Something I don't quite understand.

"No eyes to close, no Sandman to come and get me."

a/n (dated): i'm cryin' fuckin zorba's pizza.