Out of This World

Chapter Four

"Marina, it's med time."

I heard him coming from down the hall, but I was still surprised when I heard his voice. Rolling over in bed, I saw a short, pudgy man with blonde hair and glasses staring at me from the hallway. The scrubs and tray of medication clued me in that he was a nurse.

"Too early," I mumbled, pulling the blanket over my head.

It never worked, but a part of me was convinced that was all it would take to make him leave me alone.

"Marina, come on," the nurse said, walking into the room and holding the tray out to me, "take them and you can go back to sleep...or you can come to one of my groups. Today it's on communication with families."

"Pass."

I took the meds though, grimacing as I felt the pills slide down my throat. I was trying, at least. If only my mother could see me now.

"Hey, it could be fun," the nurse said. He didn't know me yet - he didn't know that I wasn't a group kind of girl.

"Unlikely."

"I met your mother when she dropped you off."

I looked over at him. He was definitely older than me, but still young. He couldn't have been more than thirty. His glasses made him look dorkier than he was, and the middle part of his hair wasn't helping.

"What does that matter?" I asked, unsure of what he was trying to get at.

"Nothing," he replied, "just that she doesn't seem like an easy person to communicate with."

I laughed harshly. That was the understatement of the century.

"It's easier to talk to a freaking squash," I said.

"Have you really tried, though?" he asked gently.

"Of course I have."

"Really? Like, really tried?"

I didn't know who this guy thought he was. Usually nurses pressed me to take my meds, reminded me not to off myself, and left me alone.

My face must have expressed that, because he held out his hand - what was it with people doing that around here?

"I'm sorry," he said, "we haven't officially met. I'm Duncan, I'm a nurse here - and you're actually on my caseload, so you'll be seeing a lot of me.
"We'll see about that." I stared at his hand. I was sure I was expected to shake it, but that wasn't happening. I didn't do it for Toby, and I wasn't doing it for Duncan - no matter how well-meaning he seemed to be.

Just like Toby, after a minute Duncan dropped his hand down.

"No worries," he said cheerfully, as if I was concerned about how he felt, "I'm

usually not people's favorite person when they come here. Not at first anyways.
"Huh. Wonder why."

"It's probably the hair," he joked, "scares people off."

I laughed before I could stop myself. Duncan knew what he was doing, I gave him that.

"So." I questioned, "Why are you still here? I took my meds. Your job's done."

"I wouldn't say that," he said, "my job isn't done until you get to go home. And like I said, I want you to come to communications group today. It's starting in a few minutes, but I can wait for you to get ready."

He didn't seem to understand. "I'm not going," I repeated, "I don't need to. My communication skills are fine. More than fine, actually. They're pristine."

Duncan just looked at me.

"Then why won't you talk to your mother? She's called multiple times since you've been here."

Shit. I was hoping Dr. Watts wouldn't tell anyone that.

"Because she doesn't get it," I replied.

"Why don't you explain it to her then?" Duncan asked, reaching his hand out to put on my shoulder. At once, I pulled away. He was about to learn some hard boundaries.

"You don't just tell people when it's bad again, because it's hard watching them lose faith. It's hard watching them stand in your doorway and pretend like they know what you're doing through, like they know what to do. Because then you end up pretending like you're fine, so they feel a little bit better about themselves, and you end up places like this."

"I never said I know what you're going through," Duncan said, looking at me with a serious face. For the first time during our whole conversation, for just a moment I respected him.

But of course, he lost it.

"What about the therapy here so far," he asked, "has that been helping?"

"I don't want to spend my days sitting in offices talking to people about how sad I am, watching them take notes on a clipboard that's only going to keep me here longer. I don't want to be told to 'get honest' when people ask how I'm doing and I don't reply. I don't want to get vulnerable for an hour a day, then again in group, and then again during meds. I don't want the fluorescent lights and beige walls and inspirational bullshit that only makes the staff feel better about keeping us locked up here like caged animals. But apart from all that," I said, "therapy has been very helpful."

"Well, Marina," Duncan said, ignoring my pettiness and sarcasm, "today's a new day, and you never know what'll happen - or who will happen."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked, suspicious of the small smile on Duncan's face.

"Nothing," he insisted, "just that there's some friendly people around here, and I'd be surprised if at least one of them didn't take to your liking."

I knew he was talking about the boy out there. Toby. I refused to play into it though - for all I knew him and Toby were in cahoots and ran the place.

"I'm a goddamn ray of sunshine," I replied, rolling my eyes and turning back over in bed.

Duncan got the memo, and from under my blanket I heard him walk away and leave the room. Thank god.