Through the Wringer

tredecim

    three days later~

    I was being discharged from the hospital into the custody of a family by the surname Lane. So far, it was just the wife, Jocelyn, the husband, Corbin, and their 6 year old daughter, Marcy. Marcy wouldn't stop screaming, and Jocelyn was way too cheery for me. Corbin was pretty silent, except for the occasional, "shh, Marceline. People are sleeping." I just wanted to run and hide, but right now I was sitting in a wheelchair with a nurse pushing me down the hall, so, I really couldn't. I just shut my eyes and leaned my head back. "Accept, adapt, act," a quote from my favorite book series, The Darkest Minds, was all I could come up with for this situation.

    We went into a room, where a medical official told the family I'd need to go weekly for a counseling session at the nearest hospital. I acted like I was entirely out of it, but I heard every word. You'd be surprised what people say about you when you aren't listening.

    "He just needs time. The stress of his family's death took a toll on him, and there isn't really any telling what's going on with the boy right now. If he displays any suicidal tendencies, or traits, bring him to the hospital. They'll decide whether they want to keep him there longer or if it's okay. If he has any violent outbreaks, same thing." The official handed Jocelyn two bottles of medication, "This one is an anti-depressant," the official gestured to the bigger bottle. "that one is a sleep sedative," they gestured to the other. Then, they handed Corbin one more. "And this one is pain killers. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to call."

    We left after that. The Lanes drove a red truck similar to the one I'd stolen, same make and model. We were going all the way to my house, because I needed to gather my things. I dreaded it mostly because that meant I would feel the heavy depression of death. I'd see the "For Sale" sign, and my old neighborhood, and all my friends would see me in the condition I was in. They'd already seen me on the news. After people weren't looking for me, the cops finally said I was a runaway a day after the lie aired. After that, we'd have to take a seven hour drive all the way to Branson, Missouri, where the Lanes lived. Why did they take me all the way back to Illinois if the family lived where I'd drove myself?

    It sucked, going back. I grabbed all my clothes and stuff that I wanted, and they loaded it into the trunk. I wanted to cry walking into the door. Jocelyn just kept saying, "It's okay, Dalton." I wanted to tell her to stop, but firstly, my voice wasn't working, and secondly, I didn't want to talk to her. She would never be my mom, Corbin would never be my dad, and Marcy would never be my sister.

     When we were driving back to Branson, I looked down at the floor. Tears were falling from my eyes, but I wasn't about to let anyone know that.