Battle Scars

twenty nine

Our bodies both spin, and we enter therapy.

A huge smirk plasters on my face as I take another look at Ethan. I hide the smile with my sleeve.

His facial expression erupts with jealousy. His eyes scream from the core of his heart. He suddenly looks down, away from me. Away from us.

This emotion is new to me. It's intense. What do they call it, ego? Success?

Being jealous is one thing, but being the one making someone else jealous is different.

Pettiness. I came to that conclusion. Not something to be proud of, but its's fun to feel.

But why must Ethan stare at me like a shocked pigeon when he literally has Emily right next to him? He has his person, so why can't I pick out mine too?

Every second a nurse turns around, Emily doesn't hesitate to leech off her man; tracing his jaw or ruffling his hair. Hasn't this chick ever heard of boundaries?

Anyways.

.          .          .

Walking to lunch, I make sure to stay in front of everybody. Avoid the eye of humanity for a short period of time. 

The gross feeling in my stomach feels weaker. Not as intense, as if the fire inside me has finally settled into a single flame. 

I feel a rough texture collide with my right palm. Another hand. I turn my head and there's Blaine. A small dorky smile sits on his face as he moves closer. 

I smile back. We begin to walk beside each other to the cafeteria.

His hand is sweaty.

.      .      .

"Amber Collins!" Michelle dramatically announces as she enters my room. I slightly choke on the water I'm sipping on and sit up in my bed. "Careful." She pulls a napkin out of her back pocket and hands it to me.  "How's my favorite patient doing?"

I take the napkin and wipe my drooling mouth. "I've been here for over a week, Michelle. Am I really still your patient?"

She gives me a weak smile and sits down on the end of my bed. Something feels off, but I ignore it and think of something to discuss.

"So, I'm getting out of here pretty soon, yeah?"

Michelle's returning expression seems discouraging. 

"What?" I say. 

"Amber.. you know there are cameras that surround this place, right?" She adjusts her glasses. "Well, besides the bathroom."

Cameras? Okay? What does she mean? Was that secret spot Ethan took me off-limits? "Michelle, I admit I kissed a few guys, but I'm not a trouble maker-"

"Amber, you have made so much progress here so far. I can tell you're improving every day..."

Oh, God. What is she about to dump onto me? Should I hold my breath?

"What I'm worried about, and what our staff are worried about is your choice of support. You don't talk to a trusted person when you feel down, you seem to just keep everything bottled up inside your head."

I exhale slowly, expecting worse than that. Tell me something I don't know, lady.

"We believe you should stay with us for a little while longer."

My stomach turns.

"No more than a week, but long enough for us to work with you about developing better coping skills."

I look away in disbelief. After everything that's happened, I'm stuck here for a longer period of time? With Emily. With Ethan.

I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed with my own clothes and go back to my shitty school and continue to live my shitty life to get it over with. 

I stand up and excuse myself from Michelle's vision.

"Amber!" 

I shut the door behind me to the unlocked bathroom.

"This is a perfect example! Talk to me!" Michelle's voice echoes from the neighboring room.

I rest my head between my legs and hug my knees, crying softly to myself.

.     .     .

I barely slept that night, my thoughts refusing to press the off switch and letting my brain dissolve into a big black blob of nothing.

Some friend Michelle is. Ratting me out like that. I wonder if the whole Westman Psych team knows about Ethan and I, as well.

I count the tiles on the ceiling for hours and hours, losing count every time. Brains can be incredibly rude at times, especially when irrational thoughts inturrupt focus.

The ceiling starts to lighen as the sun comes out. Have I really been awake that long?

I count a tad past 47 before Robin starts to snore. I groan quietly and lose count a bit after 54. Forget it. I tuck myself into my plain white sheet as I roll over. The clock reads 3AM before my brain decides to shut up and eyes finally decide to rest.