The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

THIRTEEN | Trust

They put him to bed without restraints this time. Soto came in later—he knew it was her by her voice, not just her gloves—and tucked the blanket around him until he was wrapped tightly in white sheets, his head fuzzy from the drugs, his eyelids drooping uncontrollably.

"...told Pete that...not to dose you so high next time..." Soto mumbled, her voice barely audible through the haze in his head. "...no need for that."

E7 watched her, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. His eyes flickered, unable to hold a steady gaze on her as she moved around the room. Finally, he gave up and looked at the ceiling instead. He tried to count the tiles but couldn't remember the order of the numbers. The realization made him feel afraid, even though it was hard to feel anything at all. He didn't want this fog in his head, pushing out all the things he knew. All the things he worked so hard to remember, even after the tests. Some memories never came back.

What else was he forgetting?

His arms twitched as his head turned, shifting the blanket. If Soto was leaving, did that mean that she would come back?

The girl.

The face under the mask. The one who didn't look like the others, who didn't look like him...the person who had spoken to him and...touched him...

His body shifted under the blanket as he looked for her, no longer afraid of what he might see. Or the rules he was breaking. The covering slid over the side of the bed and onto the floor. The fluttering noise caught Soto's attention at the door, causing her to turn back. Suddenly, her hands were on his shoulders, pressing him down again as he tried to get up. He hadn't even seen her walk over.

"Stay down," she ordered firmly. "You could hurt yourself."

He fought hard against her, needing to move, hoping that the blood rushing to his head would wash the numbness away even as it made him dizzy. The room was starting to spin, turning his stomach. E7 mumbled incoherently, trying to speak but finding it impossible to get the words out of his head. His tongue was sludge in his mouth. The girl, he tried to say. Who is she? What is she? Will she come back? Can I see her again? Just to talk, just to touch her hand...just to...to...

Soto sighed in frustration. "What is it?" she asked, allowing him to brace himself against her hands. He was wobbly, his body shaking from the effort, but he managed to sit up and stare at her, jaw a little slack, eyes unfocused. One slow hand reached out to tug on her mask, to tell her what he wanted without the words that were failing him so miserably. Soto gasped and wrenched her head back, out of his reach. "No," she barked, swatting his hand away.

Hurt by the sharpness in her voice, he grunted and jerked, his movements erratic. Soto fought against him, snapping orders at him, telling him to lie down. She didn't understand. His face contorted with frustration. He didn't know what to do with his hands, grasping momentarily at the air before they plopped onto his lap. He finally settled his palms on the edge of his t-shirt, his fingers finding the small knot in the hem to fidget and tug on nervously. Unfocused, babbling, he tried to say he was sorry. To explain. To ask about the girl again.

"Calm down," she spoke in a gentler tone.

It didn't change the surge of emotion contorting his mouth. A soft, waning moan came out. Raw, innocent. He didn't know what he had done wrong.

"You don't touch us. Not me, not the orderlies, no one. It's against the rules. You know that." As she spoke, the blankness momentarily returned to his face.

His body shuddered.

Lunging forward, E7 vomited over the side of the bed. Soto jumped back automatically, no longer bracing him up. He fell to the floor with a dull thud, catching his upper body with his elbows before falling face-first into the puddle of stomach bile.