Just Breathe (IN EDITING)

Anger

"Phil we can't keep doing this," this room is different. There's three Windows and only one bed. They all have curtains and there's a painting on the wall. This one is dripping with color. The doctor sits in a chair across from me. There's only one bed.

"We will never make any progress if you don't let us." My head nods. It's been three days. The glass is probably cleaned up by now. No noise from the common room reaches this room.

"We've decided to extend your stay." My hands twist in the blanket. The doctor has on a thin pair of glasses. His hair is grey at the ends and lies like he just woke up. His eyes are kind but he doesn't smile. I wonder why he doesn't smile. Evan never smiled very much. Lilah smiled all the time.

"Phil I need you to pay attention for a moment," the curtians are open on one window. I hate how loud the wind is. His watch ticks. There's no clock in this room.

"I have to say this has become a serious issue Phil. When you were first checked into this hospital you were very underweight do you remember that?" I nod because if I don't he will get mad. The wind whistles louder and the rain starts to sprinkle from the sky. It was raining the day he gave up. My fingers twitch.

"Well we presumed it to be a stress thing and it very well could have been, but with your lack of progress and weight gain we're beginning to assume that this is a relapse," my eyes fall to my lap, "And Phil I know that sounds serious and maybe a little scary but we're here to guide you through it" The blanket is white and wrapped around my cold legs. I know he's patronizing me. They're only here to taunt me. They don't care all that much about the patients. The wind blows harder and I can barely hear my thoughts.

"We've created a stricter meal plan that Ms.Nellie your nurse will walk you-"

"Will you just shut the god damn window!" My voice is loud. When he looks at me his eyes aren't as kind. There still is no smile on his face. He doesn't move to shut the window, but he does stand from his seat. His hand tugs on his tie. He turns away from me. There are raindrops falling on the window pane.

"Your meals will now be supervised. You may gather your things and return to your own bedroom. Group therapy has been moved to two o'clock and you're expected to attend. Goodbye Phil." His movements are swift. The door shuts quickly and harshly. I throw the blankets from my body and hurl myself across the room, the window closing with a bang. I'm on the ground and my knees are pulled to my chest. The tear drops are warms against the grey joggers that match my skin tone.

It's a short walk to my room. A pile of clothing rests in my arms and I drop it onto my small bed. Nothing has changed about the room. There's one window, two beds, a bathroom without a lock, no painting on the wall. My feet kick the bed frame.

The doctors words run through my head. It's the word "relapse" that gets caught on my tongue. Evan called it that once. When I had been a year out of the clinic and started losing weight. He told me it was a relapse. His words didn't make me so angry. I cried into his chest that night. He kissed my forehead.

My fist bunches at my side at the thought of him. I don't want to think about him. I don't want to think about that word because this isn't a relapse.

"Phil" When I turn Archer is standing at the doorway. His eyes are tired and hair frizzy. Before I can respond he steps forward and raps his arms around me. His hand pats against my back

"I've missed you buddy it's been a few days" He withdraws from the hug. His brown eyes scan over me, analyzing if anything is different. Nothing's different. He strides towards his bed and sinks to the floor against it. I do the same against mine, my legs crossing on the cool ground. We're about six feet away from each other.