d e r e k
Jake wasn't at the clinic Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday.
The days, for the most part, were uneventful. Besides Sam getting a new roommate- Sydney- therapeutic sessions and boring activities, things were low key. I've been feeling pretty okay- I only had a mini meltdown when I was alone in my room Friday night after someone had gossiped about Andrew at the dinner table. The only thing keeping me from feeling good this week, however, is the fact that every passing day means Wednesday is getting closer- the day Danny is due to leave.
Sam isn't taking the news lightly either. She's been spending a lot more time with Danny than usual, and is even keeping up conversations with him right in front of me. It makes me feel special to be one of the few people she can talk to. She isn't keen on keeping up full conversations, but a couple of words is good enough for me.
Right now, I'm sitting in my room after therapy. Danny opens the door coming back from pottery. He gives me a small smile, saying, "How are you feeling?"
I shrug. "I'm alright. How does it feel to be out in three days?"
"Terrifying," Danny admits. "It's like that transfer from middle school to high school. Except, like, twenty times worse."
"Makes sense."
Danny continues, "I feel like the sun will make me melt. I haven't been outside for more than hour for four months, man. That's crazy."
I think about the night Jake took me up to the rooftop and how good it felt to be outside. From what I know, though, people aren't allowed out. "You get to go out?"
Danny shrugs one shoulder. "Sure. I mean, they can't keep us holed up in here for that long. That's, like, animal cruelty."
I snort. "Animal cruelty?"
"What else do you think these damned doctors see us as?"
I go quiet because Danny's about to get in one of his moods and I know better than talking to Danny when he starts to hate everything. I avert my gaze, tugging on a thread poking out of the pillow in my lap. I give it a weak punch, just for the hell of it, and stand up. Danny gives me a questioning look. "I'm going to try and find Sam," I tell him.
"She's at therapy," Danny says.
"Well, I'm going to try and find Jake then."
"I doubt he's in today."
I huff, "I'm going on a walk. Is there anything you'd like to say about that?"
Danny narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's with you?"
"Nothing," I grunt, getting ready to walk out the door, but before I can, Danny whirls me around to face him.
"I'm fine," I tell him.
"Bullshit," Danny says. "What happened? Is it Jake being gone? Is it therapy? Don't say you're fine. You haven't cracked anything remotely close to a smile this whole time."
"I wonder why," I snap. "Maybe it's because I'm fucking depressed!"
Danny's mouth snaps shut. For a second, I think he's gone silent, but then in quiet, sincere voice that hurts so much goddamn more than his furious yelling, he says, "You're not even trying."
I've been hanging on by a thread for a while. Ever since I've gotten admitted to the clinic, that thread has become more and more frayed and becoming more and more thinner. My grip has loosened, barely clawing my way up with bloody and bruised fingers.
