Tortured Soul Asylum

Chapters 13-15

Chapter Thirteen

            When it’s lunch time they put new bandages on the wounds on my face, and fix a plate of food for me, not trusting that I’d pick the ‘right, healthy’ food. I sit with my new friend, Claire.

            First thing she says is, “So, how are you, today?” just like we’re not even in a mental hospital right now. Thinking of that, I ask, “How long have you been here?”

            Her eyes glaze over as she says, probably remembering, “Since I was eleven. Everyone always said I had some kind of personality disorder…”

            So they let little kids in this place, too…sick fuckers.

            I stare at my plate of spinach, corn, fried chicken, and bread with a sickened look on my face. Despite how dizzy and light-headed I am, and the painful gnawing in my stomach, my body does not crave this dump.

            It is then that Claire asks, “They force fed you, didn’t they?” I nod. She looks at me with questioning eyes.

            “They said if I don’t eat this, I’ll get a feeding tube in my stomach,” I say. She grimaces.

            “And you want me to eat it for you.”

            I give her a pleading look with my eyes.

            “Okay.” Claire sneaks in bites when nurses aren’t looking.

            “You’re so dependent on others,” Sam says, frowning. “I always hated that about you.” The insult brings tears stinging to my eyes.

            “We used to be like sisters,” I whisper to her snickering face.

            “That was,” she says, “until you killed me.” A single tear rolls down my check, drips off. I look to see that it’s red.

            “Amber?” Claire asks, staring at me. Sam has left again. “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” I lie. She questions me no further.

            A bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. As the nurses and security officers hoard us up and out of the cafeteria, I let myself fade out, and join my best friend back to the last day she was alive…

…It was a Monday and we were back at school. For the whole day, Sam avoided me, which made me feel like shit. Around those days, I was feeling completely lost. I cut my day away and ignored the foolish tears forming in my eyes. I texted Sam, ‘I should die,’ and got no response.

            In the afternoon, I sat with her on the bus as usual. Today I showed her my new “tattoo,” MIDIAN. When I rolled my sleeve back up, she began to cry.

            “I’m sorry, Amber,” she had said, “for being such a horrible person. I hope you’re okay.” I hugged her, saying, You are a beautiful and wonderful person, the only reason I’m still alive.” Sam shook her head.

            “And I hope you’re okay,” I continued. “Tell me, what happened?”

            After a few seconds she answered, “My mom found I was cutting and my dad hit me. He said they’re going to take me to a mental institute if I do anything else.”

            “Your parents are bitches! Come live with me,” I said. She shook her head again.

            “My mom said I can’t talk to you anymore. She might take me out of school.” I felt my heart go ice cold.