Weightless

34) Storm Before The Calm

(His first day) 8th of July 2017

Morning comes as it relentlessly does. It's unfortunate, but it's something to rely on, at least. A regular in a world full of circumstances changing too often. Ethan is relieved to have the familiarity of something that will never go, as it is hardly scientifically possible for it to go away.

In a new bed, room and place, Ethan sits with the woven bed sheet (made of white material and blue... string?) kicked off. Sweat layers his skin; it's sticky like sun lotion. He breathes like he's burning and jostles his leg. A glaring part of his mind worries so much that it upsets his stomach, and he knows that this is going to wholly affect his chances of even potentially eating today.

In a poor attempt at distraction, he focuses his eyes through the gap between the curtains. His arms cradle the pillow he was given. It's an unremarkable view from where he's sitting. Even with glasses propped on the edge of his nose, it's difficult to see through blurs of green dotted with presumed flowers. Evidently the place is pleasant despite an uncomfortable blanket; even more evidently, he's scared of being here.

The door handle rattles.

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"Sleep well?"

Yes. Looking past the nightmares, cold sweats, tightened chest and eventual insomnia, he did. The late hours of the night hadn't made him feel so much on top of the world, more under it, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Yes, thank you," he says to the lady he is forced to stalk.

Agnes - the said lady who seems to rule the roost around here - doesn't nod or pretend with him. "Lying," she says with a tut, "we'll shake that out of you." She turns and gives him a smile so he knows she's joking. As she faces ahead again, her face continues to be stern with lowered eyebrows.

To everyone else they pass, her smiles don't make appearances. A distinct headteacher vibe surrounds her, from her impressive posture and constantly stiff expression. Fittingly, it's as though everyone else is her students. Agnes seems about the age where people listen to her without question; her skin is dark and her lips are painted red, her hair twisted into a tight blob, and the wearing of age doesn't apply to her seemingly. She must be over forty yet she carries herself as though age hasn't done a thing. Regardless of respect he is accumulating about her, Ethan prefers it when she smiles; maybe it's a prize for doing something right. It makes him more at ease.

Agnes leads him down a hallway. It's plain and shiny. There's one cupboard, bolted up, and slats in the wood show blankets. Another room is locked with a keycode pressed into the wall. The door reads 'Pharmacy'. They pass it, footsteps echoing down the hall. Agnes unlocks a door and they walk though it. There's no noise. Ethan can hear his own little breaths.

"I was wondering," he says, jogging a little to keep up. He swallows his fear and manages to ask: "Would I be able to call my brother?"

Agnes looks at him and he feels like he's been told off. Then she changes tact. "Let's get some appointments out of the way first."

"Oh."

"It'll feel full-on at first," she says in response to a question he didn't ask. "But you'll get used to it."

"But after? Maybe after?" He's aware it sounds ridiculous, like he's a toddler clamouring for a turn to wash the dishes (something kids always find enjoyable, for some reason). Yet he's unwilling to give up until he can tell himself that he's had a good go of it.

"We'll see."

Ethan hangs back, unhappy with the condescending approach. He knows she's just trying to avoid trampling on his feelings but he doesn't want to lose this one, so he continues. "It's not that I'm being childish," he says. "It's a long journey home, and I was worried he hadn't made it back."