Dancing with Demons [Sebastian Stan]

Solicitude

Buzz

I study the lines of reinforcement wire in the glass panel, tracing slowly down each one with my pinkie finger. 33 lines down, 57 cutting across. 1,792 full squares in total, ignoring the partial open-ended boxes at each end. Someone did a terrible job fitting the glass into the door and the lines aren't parallel to the frame. One of the many things about this sterile room that makes me want to scream.

Sometimes I wonder about shattering the glass and slicing myself with it. Sure the reinforcement is good for preventing escape, but the glass would probably still fracture with some good sharp edges. At least it might get me out for a bit. Of course, then I'd be back for even longer. I doubt I'd be able to slit my own wrists effectively before someone arrived, even if I did it during shift change or dinner break. The frosted glass distorts the hallway so that I have to strain my eyes to make out what's going on, but the old building lets the sound travel easily around the ill-fitted doors. Either way I'd know nurse Ruby, short and a little round, black skin making an easily-identified contrast with her pale blue scrubs, the beads in her braids clacking together soothingly as she moves down the hall from door to identical door.

Why do psychiatric nurses wear scrubs? I asked her once. She shrugged and handed me a cup of meds - candy pink, bright blue, and a boring white. I wonder if they make them bright colours to appeal to paediatric patients like me, or if it's just so they stand out against your tongue. Come to think of it, I wonder if the blue one makes my tongue blue like those lollipops do? I'm not allowed a mirror and I doubt my window would reflect colour well enough to see. Perhaps I'll still have them when I go home and I can find out. 

"Same reason you do, honey. Easier to wash."

"It's not like you're in a surgical environment and going to get covered in blood, though," I challenged, looking down at my own white pajama-like ensemble. Better than a hospital gown, at least.

"No." She laughed. "I'm in a psychiatric environment where I get every bodily fluid you can imagine. You name it, child, I had it sprayed on me, smeared on me, spat on me."

Gross. Ruby pulled out a clipboard and pen, making a few marks before studying my face.

"And how is miss Jubilee feeling today?"

"Never been better."

"Mmm hm. Lemme check the 'will lie to go home' box. You're up, used the bathroom, seem lucid enough. Any thoughts of self harm or suicide?"

"Nope."

"Did you sleep?"

"Like a sedated baby."

"Open," she said as I washed down the tablets, inspecting my mouth. "Good girl. Doc will be seeing you this afternoon." She used the key attached to her waistband to unlock the door. 

"Ruby?" I asked, waiting until she turned back to me. "Can I call my mom?"

"Buzz, we've been over this. They surrendered you. This is where you live, now."

"No... no, please."

Suddenly mom, dad, and my brother Dax stood just outside the door as it started to close. 

"We're sorry, honey. It's just... You're not worth it. You can't expect us to love you, can you? Deep down you know you're nothing. Worthless. Just break the glass and be done with it."

"Please... I'll be better. I'll take the medicine and I won't hurt myself. I'll go back to school, just... NO!" I pounded on the door as it closed, again and again until my knuckles bled. The three of them linked arms as their distorted silhouettes disappeared around the corner.