Hall 12

White Walls (REVISED)

My room turns out to be not much of a room at all. Four white walls, a small mattress and a wooden desk don't make up much of a living space. Honestly, it feels more like a prison cell.

"You can pick up your pillows and sheets from the service desk down the hall. There's a spare change of clothes under your bed, I'll be back to discuss your prescriptions when you get settled."

The nurse (her name is Joslyn, and she was considerably more kind than Kathy) walks out of the small bedroom and I realize that for the first time in 2 hours, I'm alone.

If I were at the orphanage, I would pop a couple Xanax and go to Honey Land, where everything is smooth like syrup and feels like a warm blanket, where I wasn't a human but a colorful butterfly that soared open, blue skies, with not a single care in the world.

Sady though, I'm not at the orphanage. I'm at a mental illness and addiction "healing center". I'm a sick kid, not a butterfly, and the world isn't made of honey and warm blankets. It's a place full of my worst fears and anxieties. And for the next year, it's one I'll have to go through sober.

The spare change of clothes turns out to be a white v-neck and gray sweat pants that are two sizes too big. I quickly undress and slip them on regardless, admiring the feeling of new clothes. I haven't had any in years.

There's two knocks at my door before Smokey walks in, her own pair of sweats hanging low on her hips, and her shirt pulled up so it resembles more of a crop top. She waves, dropping a small plastic baggie on my bed.

"For your toothbrush. I don't think you'll want to leave it out in the open for too long."

"Thank you."

She grins at me. "You know, I saw your boyfriend drop you off. Older guys, huh?"

"Oh. That's my foster parent. He tries to-"

I stop when I hear the voices in my head telling me to shut up. You're boring, she doesn't care about your stupid life story. I smile, apologizing quietly.

Smokey cocks an eyebrow. "...Alright. Lunch is served in a half hour. You friends with Ana?"

"Ana?"

"Anorexia. Do you eat?"

"Oh," I bite my lip, not knowing what to say. "I...um. No, I don't. Not a lot, anyway."

Smokey shrugs. "Okie dokie. Well, how about you tag along and I'll introduce you to my friends? I call them the misfit toys. You know, 'cause they're a bunch of addicts and weirdos. But it's cool, I am too. Sound cool?"

"Sounds great," I lie. It sounds horrible. I hate meeting new people. Anxiety ruined that for me, along with everything else that involves social interaction. My brain hurts just thinking about it.

Smokey rambles about the usual daily schedule for Hall 12, how we'll eat lunch after everyone else because some girls get their eating habits monitored, how we'll only ever be able to shave if a nurse watches us because someone might try to slit their wrists. She tells me about the harsh monitoring that Hall 12 has, and how anyone caught sneaking in or out can be sent to Hall 20.

"I've never seen anyone come out of there," she mumbles, body splayed across my bed. "Some say it's a separate building. Most of us think it's where you get sent out. Personally, I think it's a hypnosis room, where they brainwash you into thinking clean thoughts." She pulls out half a cigarette and a match. "Put your foot up here, Shakey."

"Shakey?"

"You have anxiety. You shake a lot. It's your nickname."

I nod, blushing to myself. I've never gotten a nickname before. I put my foot up to the bed and Smokey strikes the match against it, causing it to light.

She starts smoking the last of her cig, groaning softly. "That's the shit I always miss. Marlboro Reds, my one true love."

I don't say a word. She sits up and stretches out her hand to help me up. "Lunch is starting soon. It's better to get there early, they won't suspect you're Ana."

I stand up and my stomach flips, vision blurring. I usually have a few almonds to keep my hunger at bay but now...well. I can't.

Smokey grabs my wrist and pulls me out of my room, shutting the door quietly. She takes off running immediately.

"Where are we going?" I whisper, jogging to keep up.

"I already told you where," she replies, opening the door to the stair case. She turns and grins slyly at me. "The island of misfit toys."