Envy

CHAPTER 6: Kim (November)

I would do anything to get out of here. I haven’t said much sense the day I arrived. I figured, the less I talk the less they can write down on their damn little clip boards of theirs, and the sooner I could haul ass out of here. I’m guessing I was wrong. It’s been five months. 

I guess you could say that it’s not the fact that I’ve been here for almost half a year, but the depressing truth that my family hasn’t come visited me. Not once. Their betrayal stings more than I could ever imagine, red and hot on my cheeks when the councilor asks me if I’ve had an visitors lately, even though he knows the answer. Their betrayal stings more than the taser I had jabbed into my side when I coiled my fingers around a nurses neck the night I stepped foot in this place. As you can tell, I’ve been doing a lot of guessing. I don’t know much of anything anymore. 

I thought my family loved me enough not to throw me to the dogs. I thought hell only came after I died. And once again, I guess I was wrong. 

“Kimberly, stay away from Owen please,” orders a chubby female nurse from behind her bifocals. She’s older, maybe in her later sixties, early seventies, and less hair than a newborn baby. Wrinkles coat her face, making her face seem to droop. “At least six inches between you two.” She reminded me of a bulldog. I stifled a laugh. 

“Is something funny, Ms. Vine?”

I cocked a sweet, innocent smile. “No no, nothing. My apologies, Lora.” The look on her face tells me she didn’t buy it. 

God, did I hate the day nurses. They were so prude. I hate everything about this place. I hate the day nurses. I hate the bars over every window in this wing of the hospital. I hate the crisp corners of my sheets every time I crawl into bed at night. I hate the nasty, packaged food we get. I hate the wall-paper plastered poorly in the Day Room, trying to force “happy thoughts” into our heads. I hate this place. And much as I hate it, I can’t say it hasn’t grown on me. That’s what I hate the most. It’s my home now. 

My everyday counseling session starts at two. I have fifteen minuets. I watch the clock, counting every tick in perfect harmony with my broken heart. They could never take away the pain. The only thing they could do was push pills in my direction, hoping that I would sort through the pieces of my heart alone. They were hoping I could put myself back together again, and their meds were the glue that would hold me together. 

“Kimberly Vine, Dr. Tiu is ready to see you now.” 

I stand, my legs shaking with anticipation. I don’t know when I’m getting out of here, none of us do, but I can tell by the encouraging smiles, the extra apples at lunch, and the lower dosages of my pills that my time here is almost to an end. But whether they were going to let me go, or keep me, I wish they’d tell me. If it’s going to rain, I’d rather know than be caught blind in the middle of the storm.

I shuffle out the the big oak doors that seal this wing of the hospital off from the rest of humanity; the Gates of Hell, I call it. And quite frankly, I couldn’t think it fits it any better. Thirty-six paces is all it takes to get from the safety of the old worn down, rotting couch in the Day Room, to the stuffy office of Dr. Tiu. He’s Chinese. Or at least, was until he moved here to the states. I think.

I have two officers flanking me, anticipating my every move, waiting for me to bolt. And for a very scary second, I consider it. Do they have gun’s tucked under their belts? I wonder. My hand encloses around the doorknob. The metal is cool and slick under my palm, but my hands are so sweaty that when I try to turn it, flesh slides against metal. I wipe my hands on my grey scrubs, and try again. This time, the door opens with a squeak. 

“Ah! Ms. Vine! What a pleasure to see you today!” Mr. Tiu’s accent hits me at full force, even before I open the door all the way. He’s sitting at his desk, pen in hand, ready to write. Always ready to write. His thick glasses hang by a chain around his neck, and his suit is smooth and crisp. The ‘U’ shaped bald spot on the top of his head, starting from his forehead, ending at the back of his skull, shines from the overhead lights. 

I glower at him. “Please, please, sit!” He prances out from behind his desk, pulling out a chair for me not six feet across from him. I take it.

Mr. Tiu balances his glasses on the bridge of his nose, bringing the clip board close to his face. “Hmm, it looks like you’ve been doing exceptionally well...” He trails off, dragging the pen along his lower lips. A habit of his. “But....”

I creep to the edge of my chair, “But what?”

“But it looks like your parents have finally contacted us. You should be able to go home any day now.”

A sigh escapes my lips from long anticipation. Finally.  “Is that all? Can I go now?”

Abruptly, he laughs, and shakes his head. “No, no no. I still need to check your mental stability before you go, and give you the okay.” He pauses. “But if I feel like there’s anything wrong, or if your mental state isn’t stable enough, you’ll stay here.” 

I feel like he just slapped me. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, making them turn beat red. I can feel the tingle in my fingertips, the rush in my skull. My mental stability? What did he thinks, that I was some murderous psychopath that was going to do a drive by on a home full of orphans? No, but you did beat your sister, just to make her miserable. 

I close my eyes, and briefly images of Alysa flashed through my head. I imagine my foot, connecting with her jaw, nose, ribs, legs.... I remember the flashes of red, and later my mother trying to scrub stains out of the carpet. I remember snooping through her room, and finding a little metal container, full of blades, covered in dried blood.... I remember pulling so hard on her hair, clumps would get stuck in my fingers... I remember pushing her down the stairs, and watching as she hobbled around the house with a neck brace, and crutches. I remember everything.. There was no way I could ever forget, now matter how many pills they force fed me. 

But honestly, I don’t know if I want to forget. 

Sometimes, right when I wake up, and the sun shines through the window warming my face and shining through my eye lids, waking me up; I forget. I don’t remember where I am, what I’ve done. My mind just simply processes, I’m awake. 

But then, the weight on my chest slowly swallows me up, making my tummy twist and turn into knots. Not the knots you get when you’re about to get on a roller coaster; excited. But the kind you get when you hear a relative just passed away. The kind that feel like pythons twisting in your gut.

I have that feeling in my gut now. The twisting. I feel like I’m going to throw up my the chips and apple I had for lunch. When I open my eyes, Mr. Tui is staring at me with accusing eyes.

“Kim, the more you think about it, the more it’s going to hurt.” He pauses, sucking in a breath. “And I didn’t mean you were a nutcase,” he read my mind. “I was saying that if you’re still having troubles with your anger and depression, I can’t send you home with Alysa there.” 

I flinch at his words, noticing the sympathy laced in them. They still don’t think I can control myself around her. 

And neither do I.