Normally, discharges make me jealous. The girls who get to go home gather their belongings at the desk, lace up their shoes, wave the staff goodbye, and skip next to their relieved - and often broke - parents on the way out the door.
This time, Talia is one of the lucky ones. We cling to each other and sob openly. I tearfully hand her a series of sketches I did of her when I was supposed to be studying. She laughs and reaches out to wipe my face with the back of her hand. "I wish I had something to give you," she says.
"You kept me from withering away," I tell her. "If I'd stayed alone, I wouldn't have made it this far. Thanks to you, I'm still here."
She holds my hand and gently turns it over to expose my palm. She snags a pen from the nurse's station and scrawls her phone number on my skin. "Call me whenever."
"Don't forget about me," I say as her father leads her away.
"I won't!" she cries back.
I watch through a thick layer of tears as they disappear into the white. Jenny wipes down the countertop with hospital-grade disinfectant and tosses Talia's bracelet in the shredder next to her chair. She tears the ID sticker off of what had been Talia's chart mere minutes ago and stuffs it into the shredder as well.
The sweat on my palm causes Talia's number to bleed. I quickly write it down on a sheet of paper on my nightstand, but somehow I know I'll never call her. I can't attach myself to someone or something associated with this place.
I will never see her again.
YOU ARE READING
Freedom of Sketch
Teen Fiction-Completed- After seventeen-year-old artist Shiloh Mackenzie is accused of assaulting her classmate and setting her school on fire, her dark and graphic portfolio catches the principal's attention. Suspended pending a psychiatric evaluation, Shiloh...
