Escaping Pink

Echo 2

"Bruised ribs," I murmured.

A doctor is a person who heals people. With medicine and um, diagnosis. You know, finding out what's wrong. I'd read medical dictionaries, for the years 1989 through 1992. Although, it didn't take that much the know a bruised rib from a cracked one. It was all based on feeling.

"How would you know?" Ava asked shakily.

I tensed to keep from jumping. I didn't think she was awake. Meeting her eyes I told her, "Don't feel that way."

I moved my hand from her ribs and reached up to feel her forehead. She flinched, and I pulled my hand back. I opened my mouth to tell her that I meant her no harm, I just wanted to help, that I'm not Father, but the words are stuck in my throat. I look away from her.

"Who are you?" Ava asks. I glance up to see her eyes half closed, but looking at me. Taking in the tightness in the corners of her mouth and the creases on her forehead, I'd say she was in a great deal of pain. I looked away again.

"Baby Doll," I whispered.

"Who are you?" She asked again.

I looked up, and locked eyes with her. If she was going to be here long, it would be nice if she trusted me. She looks like a mother, a small part of me thought.

"Candace Patricia Lawrence. My mommy's name is Amber Lawrence. We..." I may have been five when I was brought here, but I remembered. In the memory I couldn't see my mother's face, but I heard her.

"You say 'My name is Candace Patricia Lawrence. My mommy's name is Amber Lawrence. We live in Seymour, Texas. That's see-more. Repeat it Candace."

Ava stared at me, as if waiting for me to continue, but I couldn't. I stood to get a glass of water so she could take the painkillers.

"How long have you been here?"

"Three thousand, six hundred, seventy-two days. Fa-," I take a deep breath and continue. "That's over 10 years. Because there are three hundred sixty-five days in a year, three hundred sixty-six if it's a leap year. And I keep count..."

I trail off to stop rambling. Nervous people ramble, Father said. Smart asses ramble. There's silence. I fill the glass at the sink with water. For some reason, I'm walking lightly. Nimbly. As if on thin ice. I sit on the edge of the bed closer to her head. "Do you need help sitting up?" I ask cautiously. Ava simply glares at me and slowly pulls herself into a sitting position.

I fidget uncomfortably. She doesn't seem to like me, and I'm just trying to help her. I hand her the glass, careful to make sure she has it in her firmly in her hands before letting go.

"How old are you?" She finally asks after taking the pills and drinking half of the water.

"I'm fifteen. Almost sixteen," I tell her.

"Oh my god," she says. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she dropped the glass, which promptly put water on my right leg and crashed to the floor.