The Rushing of the Water.

Hayley sat there; on the cold bed, day in, day out. Hands clasped in her lap, and her back as straight as a ruler. Her hair was in clumps, the red strands straggly, and full of split ends. Her normally short fringe wasn’t there any more, instead the shortest strands being a few inches past her chin. It was dirty, and felt like chalk.

Her room was always quiet; so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Until she screamed. She screamed about many things. Her clothes; which were a white long sleeved shirt with equally as bright slacks, and run of the mill trainers. Her family and how they had left her here. How her meals were infrequent and always cold, when in reality she had little sense of time and ate only when her mind caught up with the world around her.

The subject she screamed about the most though, was a boy. He had been down the hall from her. Just a few rooms had separated them. She had only ever seen him once, on her entry to this foul place. Names were written on the outside of doors, and his had caught her eye. Oliver. Hayley had committed it to memory. He had walked out his room a few moments later, glancing in her direction. With a wry smile he was off down the hall, back where she had just walked. A few days later, and the nurses had heard her screams.

“Oliver,” the word escapes her lips, a single cry, “Oliver, please.”

A nurse is standing outside the door, loose fist raised to knock. She knows she needs to stop Hayley, before she injures herself, but she can’t bring herself to calm the erratic girl. Just another patient with problems. Just another soothing lullaby to say with no reaction.

“Oliver, please.” She’s shouting now, her voice echoing back to her, resonating in her brain. She is sick of her voice, she wants it to stop. “Oliver, get me out of here!”

The nurse can hear every word perfectly, each syllable is uttered clearly. Then, an animalistic scream. It sounds like Hayley’s ripping her vocal cords out from the inside. The nurse knocks on the door, and feigns politeness as she steps in.

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?” She asks, voice small compared to Hayley’s outburst.

“Oliver.” Hayley replies. She’s strewn across the hard bed, one hand curled around the frame and the other tugging at the sheet. She turns her head into the pillow, “Oliver!”, and starts thrashing, legs kicking wildly. “Save me!” Her breathing is short, coming out in gasps.

The nurse rushes over, kneeling at the side of the deranged girl. “Calm down, shh, it’s going to be okay,” she says in a low, calming tone. Hayley’s still convulsing, oblivious to the gentle hand on her back.

“Oliver,” her voice cracks, broken. She bolts upright, startling the nurse. There are traces of tears in her eyes, and a single track marks her dirty face. “Where is Oliver?”

Hayley blinks, turning her head to look at the door. She heard it creak a moment ago, a sign that someone was coming into the room. “Who’s there?” The room collapses into a heavy silence following her brief words. Upon hearing no reply, she tries again. “Come in, who’s there? Macy, is that you?” The name of her nurse slips off her tongue easily. Who else would come and see her?

“Extraordinary.” A male voice breaks through Hayley’s worry. She turns, heart hammering, shrieking when she lays eyes on the middle-aged man sitting on the bed beside her. She scrambles backwards, once again shouting.

“Macy!” Her back hits the concrete wall and her eyes widen.

“Hayley, calm down, it’s okay. You’re safe,” Macy walks the few steps from the opposite wall to Hayley, extending her hand. Hayley clutches her safety net, their appearances differing extensively. Hayley, with her pale, sallow skin and bitten, chipped nails. Palm rough with callouses from slamming her hands against the wall numerous times. Macy, with healthy tan skin and manicured nails. Hands delicate and extremely soft from extensive cleaning.