Closed Eyes

Chapter 1, Part 1

We build too many walls and not enough bridges.

- Isaac Newton

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Chapter 1

I hear footsteps, getting louder and louder, and as they grow, I shrink in my tiny bed, already knowing they are coming my direction. I was relocated into a new set of rooms, so there's no one even near me, not at least three rooms apart.

I find it really strange how no one knocks in here, they just open the door, not even caring if you're decent or not, and just barge into your room. I wish they'd just give me a key, so I could at least prepare myself for what's to come.

Sometimes all I want to do is sit on my bed, stare at the wall and just think, but they lock me out of my room every chance they get, because apparently I'm also here to learn how to interact with people again, like if I didn't know how to smile and pretend that I'm OK. I even think about running away, but my thoughts are always interrupted by this volunteer, who seems to make me forget everything. And speak of the devil, he's the one who comes in my room, with more politeness than I've ever seen in this place.

The dim light roughly suits his tall figure, his hazel curly hair is cut short, and I can see a little glimpse of a shine in his ocean eyes when he sees me, but he quickly shrugs it away.

"I brought you a new book." He holds it up to my eyes, walking in the almost empty room. The room has only a hospital bed, a big golden window near it, a simple white wardrobe and another door that leads to the bathroom. Everything is new looking due to the recent renovation of this ward.

I was relocated so they could renovate my old room. The weird part is that the aspects that matter to us, who live in these rooms, they don't change. Simple things. A more comfortable mattress, blankets with something on them, not just the white, plain, boring ones. The only thing that gives color to my room despite the golden window is a big fluffy blue blanket, brought by my mom the last time she was here, allowing me to feel a little more like at home. My parents house is enormous, with three bedrooms for us and two more for visitors.

The bedroom that I used to call mine was at least three times bigger than the one I'm in now, with a desk and shelves filled with books. I even had a reading corner, with a chair made of braided wood, hanging above the floor. He brings me books sometimes, some with plain covers, and others more colorful than I've ever seen before. This one has a red, plain cover, with golden lines on it's brochure, giving it a richer look. "I think you might like it."

"Thanks. I finished the last one you brought me yesterday." I always think about hugging him, so he could see how thankful I am for the books, they make me feel at home more than anything.

"Did you like it?" I can see a little smile on his face.

And even though I loved the book, all I say is "Yeah", and with that, he leaves. I watch his shadow grow smaller, then disappear.

I don't know why I don't let him know my real feelings. Sometimes I have the urge to hide everything, even when there is trust, and I don't have to. I learned a while ago who I can and can't trust in here, but often I can't talk about my feelings, I just stare at the person, not knowing what else I should say.

I used to be the kind of girl who would walk up to just about anyone and say a piece of my mind, and now I just think of myself as anti-social, I could feel everyone staring, not knowing what to do either. And if there's one thing that I hate, it's pity.

Julie used to be my rock, my safety spot, and I lost that too. Why would she bail on me like that? I've known her my entire life. True friends don't do that.

And as I hear the loud, deafening sound echoing through the walls, I march out of my little room, trying to find my way to the cafeteria. It's lunch time.

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