Cleo Hart: Intelligence by Default

Little window

I wiped the tiny window, trying to lean away from it slightly so that my breath stopped fogging it, but struggling whilst balanced on the side of the bed frame. My toes slipped from the metal as I flopped back down on the bed, and sat facing the wall. My default position for the last month or so. The door clicked open behind me. I studied the same four smudges on the wall that I had stared at every single day; I could see them just as well with my eyes closed.

"Cleo?"

The only voice I ever had the fortune to hear, Dr Tom.

I swivelled around reluctantly, glaring savagely at him as he sat by my side. My entire life was scheduled. Dr Tom was here, which meant it was 11am. I was told I was in this suffocating room to 'figure things out', and that I could return home soon... although 'soon' seemed to keep changing date. I looked away from Dr. Tom to the reflective glass, left of the door. I never saw the people looking in at me, but the grinding of chairs I heard every few hours told me I was under constant observation, which made me feel even more trapped than I already did, if that was possible.

"How're you feeling Cleo?" He said, plastering a smile onto his face and placing a hand cautiously on my shoulder.

"Fine, as always, thanks." My eyes wandered to the ceiling as the word 'lie' passed through my head. I ignored it, leaning against the wall behind me.

"Cleo," He began, sitting up to reach the journal sat on the bed. He flicked through the pages. "You haven't written anything."

His lips were in a tight line, his brow furrowed with something that almost looked like concern. I toyed with my fingernails.
"I have nothing to write."
Every day since I woke up here he had asked the same questions, waiting patiently for me to open up for him. I had nothing to give to him.

"How're you feeling?" 

Nothing, I felt nothing. "I already told you, I'm fine." 

"Did you mean it?" I saw him stand in my peripheral vision, rolling my eyes up to look at him.

"Not really."

He turned around, looking slightly shocked, but pleased. I winced as an image of Jason passed through my mind, and dropped my head back, resuming my previous position.

"Would you like to try and talk about it?"

I dug around my mind, finding nothing but grey numbness. All I could feel was my fear of vulnerability and weakness, protecting my emotions from the outside world. Shaking my head, I pulled my knees up and buried my head in them, waiting to hear the click of the door closing as Dr. Tom left, for about the hundredth time.

What was I meant to say? 

I felt guilty, guilty that when the hospital had called, I had felt a pit in my stomach that felt like the end of the world, like everything that once mattered was nothing, like i was imploding, and it was not from fear for jason, but from fear for Luke. I felt physically shattered, half-living, because the only friend I had was dead. I felt every shitty emotion under the sun, and as much as Dr. Tom wished I was going to spill it out to him, I didn't feel like pouring my heart out to anyone, no matter how qualified.

There was muttering coming from outside my door, a rare occasion to say the least. I pulled my pillow over my ears and imagined the four smudges on the wall, which I knew I would find if i turned around.

"Cleo..." Came a muffled voice from outside my pillow. I stuck my middle finger up and continued humming. That is, until I realised I wasn't hearing Dr. Tom's voice.