Obscurity

Chapter 14: Naivety

Sierra

Alma stands at the window in our room. I pause at the doorway weighing my decision to intrude. She doesn't acknowledge my entrance. She stares out the window, her arms folded across her chest. I climb onto my bed without a word. I watch her. Her head dips and her shoulders begin to tremble. I want to know why she's crying. I clear my throat, "Are you okay?" I ask, my voice low, concerned.

She doesn't respond. I wonder if she didn't hear me. I sit and wait to see if she's going to respond to my question. She stands there, her back to me. I see the occasional shuddering of her shoulders, and I know she's still crying. She isn't making any noise, but I can tell she's still crying by the way she crumbles whenever another wave of emotion washes over her.

I glance around the room trying to come up with a way to get her to talk. That's when I see the tissues. I reach over to the nightstand and grab the box of tissues. I get up and slowly walk over to her. I'm mindful to keep enough distance between us, arms length, so that she can't sock me again. I offer her the box from her peripheral.

She looks down at the box of tissues and then at me, she doesn't say a word. She stares back out the window at nothing in particular.

"Alma, just take the tissues. Please?"

It seems like she ignores me. After a few moments she takes the box from me and tosses it onto the window sill. I deflate a little bit. So much for that idea. I'm about to give up on dragging the story out of her when she reaches over and takes a tissue from the box. She wipes her red puffy eyes, still not looking at me, still staring out the window.

I wait to see if she'll say something. Anything.

"I'll be fine." She says as her shoulders shudder again and tears stream down her cheeks. She catches them with the tissue and lets out a huff of air. It seems like she's coming back around now. She's wiping her face and trying to stop crying.

"What's wrong?" I ask, stepping a little closer to her. I want to put my hand on her back to comfort her, but I decide against the gesture.

Looking out at the sky, she says, "They won't let me leave."

I'm at a loss on what to say to her because all I keep thinking is I told her that the first day. I told her they weren't letting her out right away. But if I say that out loud to her, it'll sound like an 'I told you so' and I don't want to go there. Instead, I whisper "I'm sorry."

I stop studying the side of her face and look out the window trying to follow her line of sight to see what she's staring at. I quickly find she isn't looking or staring at anything. She must be lost in thought.

"If you want to talk about it, I'm here." I say as I turn back to my bed and sit on the end of it.

She turns half way around and looks at me. She looks pitiful. It kind of makes my heart hurt a little for her. She had every hope riding on the idea she was getting out of here today and now she's crushed. I sometimes wish I had that kind of naivety. Other times, like right now, are times when I'm glad I don't have it.

Alma trudges over and sits on her own bed. At least she's facing me now. I crease my brows in concern as she picks at a loose string on her sock. It's as though she doesn't have anything to say or doesn't want to say anything. I haven't decided.

"Did the doc say why you can't go home?" I ask gently.

Her shoulders go to slump again, but she sits back up straight and fights the urge to burst into tears again.

"He said he thought that I'm playing him, basically." She wipes her eyes again with a crumpled mess of tissue.

"They all think that. They all think we're lying and trying to manipulate them. I'm surprised he admitted it, though." I say, unsure of how she may take my statement.

Her bloodshot brown eyes look up at me, "he also said I haven't been here long enough. Something about the seventy-two-hour thing." Now, she looks at me accusingly. I know what she's thinking. She's thinking about our first interaction when I told her that rule had been changed.

"Look, I was talking shit that first day. The rule is still seventy-two. I just wanted to see how you'd react if I fibbed a little." I confide."It was childish. Sorry." I avert my eyes.

Her look goes from severe to mildly understanding. She isn't screaming at me or throwing blows so maybe I'll be okay.

"But I wasn't lying about the fact no one leaves here that quickly." I add. I just can't help myself.

She quickly looks up at me. I realize I probably should have held that last comment back.

"I need to get home. I do not belong here. I can't even wrap my head around all of this." Disbelief stringing her sentences together.

"I get it." I say as another thought crosses my mind. "Who's your doctor?"

"Summers."

"Oh..."

"What?"

"Nothing." I say quickly.

"No, you were about to say something." She insists.

"You'll probably see him tomorrow." I offer.

"I know. But why do I get the impression that wasn't what you were going to say?"

I shrug. I'm on the fence with whether to say much more.

She gives up on pressing me for a moment. Going back to pulling on that damned loose string on her sock. Watching her makes me feel sorry for her. She doesn't have a clue how this place works. This place is going to chew her up and spit her out. I shake my head slightly and sigh.

I relent on withholding what I was going to say, "Listen. About doctor Summers..." I begin.

She looks up at me, then over my shoulder. That's when I realize we have company. I turn around and see Chris standing in the threshold to our room. I immediately abandon what I'd planned on saying.

"Hey ladies." He says. I watch as he does a double take when he sees my face. "What the hell, Sierra?"

"It's nothing. Just being clumsy." I say as I bound up off my bed. I head for the door.

Alma looks at me, "What were you about to say, Sierra?" She says, her eyes still puffy and voice slightly broken from the crying earlier.

"Nothing. I was just going to say good luck tomorrow." I smile weakly as I turn to leave the room.