Molly's bed remains empty. I stare at the stillness surrounding it for so long, that it flattens and begins blending into the wall behind it, like a painting. Molly is on Stalker Status and has to be in a private room - the Aquarium - so a tech can watch her at all hours of the night. I've peered through the room's extra-large windows to see someone sitting at her bedside in the dark, clipboard in their lap, waiting for Molly to try and make a noose from her sheets. A closer look reveals that the tech is playing games on their cellphone.
They watch her 24/7, even in the shower. Especially in the shower. Our bedding is shaken out and flipped off our beds as they dismantle our mattresses once a day, hers twice, sometimes three times. Gloved hands feel around the tiny shelves the door frames create, seek out our weapons of mass destruction. The rituals stir the smiling ghosts and bad dreams from the nests we make, but they float down with the dust to settle again. Staff try to fluff explanations for our behavior out of the blankets, but are unsuccessful.
It took twenty-nine staples to put Molly's arms back together. I want to see, but I don't ask. She can show her war wounds when she's ready.
I'm caught between Molly's reappearance and Lizzie's food fiascoes, in a place where I bounce back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth, between cutting and starving.
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...
