Till Next Time | completed | currently under re-edit

35

35
I graciously accept when Mr. Collins invites me to get coffee with him, despite my teeth chattering at the degrees to which he keeps stalling the something-I-deserve-to-know.

I refrain from objecting. I do not want to be unkind to him.

"Do you want some coffee?" he asks. We stood in the middle of the hospital cafeteria. 

"No." I shake my head. 

"Food?" He persists. 

"No," I say, finally my impatience peeking through. 

"Okay." He nods. "Okay." And continues to nod absentmindedly. 

An awful concern grips me. It hadn't hit me as strongly that the girl is his daughter.

Mr. Collins leads the way to a table at the very corner of the large hall with high whitewashed ceilings.

"Alright." He sits down on the low stool with a huff and a strained expression on his face. "How are you doing?" he asks me, something I should be asking him. 

"You were going to tell me something," I remind him. I can't wait any longer.
Helplessness crosses over his face. "How do I tell you that?" he mutters to himself.
I hold on.

"Do you know why Anastasia was in Behavioral Modification?" he finally asks.
I shake my head. 

"Did you ever wonder?"

I did.
Everyone there has some long-outstanding damage, some problems they absolutely needed help with and it was visible.
The deeply sunken eyes, thick strips of dark circles, scars along arms, all of it testifying to the dark times. 

Anastasia, by those standards, was unscathed.
With her bright and full eyes, lips always curled away in a subtle smile, her aura flooding everywhere she went.
The only time I saw her dulled down was when I visited her at her home. Before she ended up here.

"Yes," I say slowly.
"Why do you think she was there?"
I shake my head again. "I don't know. I can't guess."
I really couldn't. My head was pulsating way too hard for me to focus anywhere else.

"She has had a long history of eating disorders." The loss and tiredness in him are replaced by a grave resolution. "This isn't her first hospital trip. I insisted on her getting some help around her peers, understand that there are others like her, maybe even worse off than her." 

"I - I have a busy life," he says apologetically, "I wish I had more of my time to give her. But I really don't. Especially with the medical bills piling up..."
"I understand," I interject in between to relieve him of his humiliating agony.

"She is a smart girl," he says, "I guess she understood my reasons for doing what I did. But she misunderstood my motive behind it."
He stops, maybe expecting a reaction from me. He picks his coffee cup and takes a smooth sip.
"She thought I was trying to invalidate her feelings." He scoffs. "She had experienced enough of that after the accident."

"How so?" I ask.

He shifts in his unsteady seat.

"My mother is a very religious person. Spiritual, to be more precise. Anastasia has always resented her. After she came home from the hospital, after losing her-" He pats his thigh.
"My mother told her that it will be okay, there's a plan for everyone."

My face contorts in a scowl.

"She gave her a hard time. I could tell. But she was the only one present to raise her."
"I have never seen her mother around, " I say.
He smiles. "She was shocked you never asked."
I shrug. I did not want to snoop on her.