Asleep or Dead

Chapter 7

- Frank's POV -

We waited patiently in the waiting room of the psychiatric hospital that Clare is currently in. I twiddled with my thumbs as I sat next to Helena.

When I stepped in, I took in my surroundings. There were seats lined up around the room and in rows, which I guess are for friends and relatives to stay. Two people occupied two seats, but other than that, it was pretty empty. There as a big circular desk in the middle of the room with two hallways on either side of it. Nurses were coming and going, flashing us a smile before rushing into another room. 

The receptionists were busy filling out papers and typing things into their computers that they hardly even registered our presence.

Mom was speaking to them about who knows what. Helena and I were awkwardly sat in two chairs that were backed up against the wall. Two rows in front of us sat a nervous looking couple, whom I'm presuming is visiting their child. 

The woman was dabbing her eyes lightly with a tissue, sniffles heard throughout the quiet room.  Her husband had his arm around her bony shoulders, rubbing circles on her back. He looked pretty young. Thirty years old at the most. The woman; maybe around twenty eight. 

I wonder what happened to cause these two to be here. 

Mom stode back to us, beaming. With the way she walked, it was like she was bouncing with joy.

"Come on." she said, taking my wrist and pulling me up. 

I stumbled forward, taking a minute to regain my balance. The lady behind the counter led us down a hall with a lot of posters about mental illnesses. 

'It's Okay To Ask For Help'

'SURVIVING OR THRIVING?'

'Are You Aware?'

I shook my head at the stupid unhelpful leaflets that surrounded us. We passed a couple of patients, to which I avoided all eye contact. It makes me nervous.

Mom was up ahead speaking to the lady, asking questions and telling life stories. I couldn't catch what they were saying, but I don't really want to know.

Helena had her hood up, hiding her face entirely. She actually looked like some sort of drug dealer. Not that I know what they look like. For all I know, my teachers could be selling drugs. How weird it is that we don't know the people around us as much as we though the did. 

I glanced at Helena, who has started to chew her nails. A bad habit of hers. 

Slowly, I swung my arm around her, hugging her close. She didn't flinch or take any action. She allowed me, which was a good sign, and cuddled into my chest. I heard muffled sniffles, but decided to ignore them.

Helena is the type of person to hide her emotions and was everyone's rock. But who knew that the person who tried to fix everyone needed to be fixed too. 

She clutched the rim of my shirt as if holding onto dear life. She didn't speak, look up or do anything more. Instead, I hugged her tighter. 

My eyes started to fill with tears; the sight of Helena crying broke me. She never cried, even on the day of the car accident ten years ago.

We crashed into Mom who had stopped walking. I realised that we were standing outside a white door with a small hatch at the bottom. There weren't any windows for us to be able to look inside, nor were there any signs outside. 

The lady knocked lightly, pressing her ear against the door. 

"Clare? Honey, it's Mrs. Harlem. You have visitors."