Are We Human?

Chapter 3

I got out of the padded white room a little over a week after Phil was taken away from me. I didn't know the specific date or time any more, and I honestly had no reason to. The only reason I had to stay in there for so long was because I refused to eat, sleep, or even talk. I walked out of the hospital wing with angry red marks littering my skin from the slaps of frustrated mental health doctors and nurses who were unfortunately forced to attend to me. I couldn't help but think that the nurses in the physical department of our hospital were so much nicer. My heart hurt worse than any pain they could ever inflict upon me. 

I trudged slowly back to my dorm on the morning of my release, feet scuffing the dirt between the broken buildings of the camp. My eyes fluttered rapidly between the places, the ground, the people. I probably looked insane. I felt insane. My mind couldn't think straight, but I was perfectly content with that. 

When I finally arrived at my dorm, I froze completely. I stared at the creaky wooden door from the outside, a new and thick layer of dust coating the brown beneath. I sat there, just simply watching the wood, for at least five minutes before I stretched out a bony finger and let it trail along the lines, then pushed gently for it to finally open. 

It worked willingly to my command, opening wide for my sunken eyes to gaze upon the dreaded room behind it. The almost barren dorm looked completely untouched and seemed exactly how I had left it. 

I stepped tentatively inside, the door swinging shut behind me with a loud creak. The slam of the wood on frame made me flinch and jump away from it, but I quickly turned all of my attention back to what laid in front of me. 

I looked solemnly out the tiny window, the view calming me only the slightest bit. Phil loved to stand at that window and gaze at the world beyond. He'd dreamily share his thoughts of how the real world was like with me, a lazy smile planted on his lips. I looked away. 

I looked at the shelf holding my little notebook and fresh new clothes. Phil loved it when I read to him, his eyelids creeping slowly down his bright blue orbs and hands lazily trailing over my body as he got drunk in my words. I looked away. 

I looked at the thin mattress and itchy blanket spread out across it. Phil loved to curl up with me there, my head placed firmly on his chest and his fingers slotted in my hair. I looked away. 

I plopped down on to the cold concrete floor beneath me with a heavy breath. The coolness of the ground came through my small clothing and chilled my bones, stained my skin. But I couldn't bring myself to move to the slightly warmer bed next to me in fear of remembering his hands, his lips, his words, his gentle touch. I didn't need another break down at the moment. 

My nimble arms found their way around my waist in a form of wimpy self hug. I closed my eyes to try and steady my scrambling mind. I began to tune into my surroundings and finally relax when a dark thought crossed my mind. 

Phil loved to hold me like this. 

My touch suddenly burned, the familiarity of the action just becoming too much in the moment. I looked down at my tanned hands, soft and dainty. Phil loved to place his calloused hands in mine, fitting the spaces between our fingers together like two pieces of a puzzle finally falling into place. I looked away. 

I decided right then and there, hands held in fists and shaking on the dusty ground, that I would get him back. I would find Phil and get him back to me. No matter what I had to do.