My eyes try to open past the daylight creeping through the crooks in mine and Helena's blinds. Shivering from the cold air, I sit up and adjust to the early morning atmosphere. As usual, I'm always up before the sun at about 6:30 a.m. Without fail and instinctively. Not wanting to sit in complete silence or read another page of a Shakespeare novel, I hang my legs off the side of my bed and slide my feet into a pair of fluffy white slippers. It's to early to change and I don't want to wake Helena by showering, so I drape a plain white robe over my long grey sleep shirt.
Before leaving the room, I flick the switch of the desk lamp resting on a giant pine wood vanity. I take a look at my pale, freckled face. I pull up my white blonde hair and tie it off into a loose bun, letting some shorter pieces run loose down my temples. I leave Helena a note before leaving.
Headed to Mikey's. Look for us for breakfast when you wake up. xx
--
I walk down the empty corridor, door after door of the girls bedrooms. Near each door are small, dim lights on the walls. The heater turns on for a second round of the morning as I reach to the small library with a fireplace tucked in the corner, already lit and keeping things cozy. As far as a mental health clinic goes, we actually have it really nice here. If it wasn't for people reminding me I was a lost cause maybe I would actually find myself proud of my 'retardation.' I use that word loosely.
I'm about to turn the corner when it comes to my realization that someone is sitting in the recliner in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket. Soon after seeing the soft light brown curls on top of the persons head, I know its Mikey. I sigh with tension in my lungs, walking up next to the chair to see his shaking, anxious body. His eyes reflect tears and he's pressing his hands to either side of his head.
According to rules, when seeing this happen I should get help immediately, but this is my best friend, not a burden. Helena and I have dealt with Mikey's panic attacks for years. News flash, you don't need medication every time your mind trips over something.
"Hey," I put my hand on his shoulder, startling him to sit up and cough up some more tears. "Hey, its me, its just Aspen." I crouch down in front of him, tilting his head up for him so he can see its me, hushing him. His eyes become clear of glossy tears and his breathing steadies.
"Aspen?" his voice shakes and cracks saying my name in reassurance. "Yeah. You're okay." I nod, standing up but not moving away from Mikey. He tugs my wrist to make sure I'm not leaving and looks at me with pleading eyes not to leave him sitting alone. I sigh, hugging his head gently to my stomach, continuing to calm him down.
We stay like that for a couple minutes until he's stable. "Did something happen?" I ask after a moment of silence, examining the bookshelves and running my fingers along the edges of the old hardcover books with yellowed pages, scouting for new ones, although I always preferred the way the old pages smell when you flip them.
He fiddles with his ring, not looking up. "No. I was just thinking. As usual." I turn away from the shelf, giving up on my search and slump into the recliner by Mikey's.
"You wanna talk about it?" I ask softly. He takes a moment to nod in response, but his face says the opposite. What he really means is no. I don't know whats gotten into his head but I haven't made plans to put him in therapy. Further therapy. We're all already in it.
I sigh and scoot up further on the chair. "Mikey I'm not gonna force you to tell me anything, but you're like my brother and I care about you. Don't let yourself suffer, okay?" I say softly, leaning forward to ensure he hears my whisper. He does, because when he looks up his expression switches from lost to relieved.
