annihilated. /mcr fanfic (pt. 2 of resurrected, completed)

chapter seven

I've never felt so at home as I did walking back into the behavioral center this time around. there were two miserable women lazing on the couch, their souls and energy totally absent. a young man was laying in the middle of the floor with a nurse standing above him, calmly carrying a conversation. it seemed like everyone else was in their rooms or the day room. the nurse leading me around took me to one of the bed rooms, where a young woman was reading in her bed. it was a thin poetry book by Sylvia Plath.

she was a medium height and build, dangling somewhere between healthy and fat. for me, the line is blurred and it's hard to tell the difference between the two. her long purple hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her brown eyes ignore me for all but ten seconds. she smiles and says a quiet, "hi."

I'm still wearing a hospital gown and the socks that everybody loves, but I hate them. the feeling of walking with them touching the linoleum feels so wrong.

the nurse leaves us to our devices. I sit on the edge of the bed with nothing but the clothes I died in, clumped together in a plastic bag, still damp. I had to wait for my mom to drop off some fresh clothes- she said she would do it later today. she didn't visit me during my short stay in the ER, and when I received a phone call, it was from Rob. he calmly told me that she was having a hard time with this situation and she would need a little while to calm down before seeing me again.

"I'm sorry," he said with a break in his voice. "I wish I had known what to do sooner."

I held my head in one hand, the other pressing the clunky bedside phone to my ear. "I don't want you to worry about that," I said hoarsely and coughed a bit.

he was silent for a moment. "The hospital informed us they were sending you to Helping Hands tonight. we can come over tomorrow with some clothes, is there anything else you want us to bring?"

that must have been the most rob had said to me since I'd moved in, all in one sentence.

I asked him just to bring a sketch book and a few sweaters. he agreed to, apologized again, and even said, "Annie, I love you."

I was quiet for a moment, blinking and thinking of how to react. I think I thanked him. I don't even remember.

I awkwardly perched myself on the side of my bed. it was freezing in our room.

"why is it so fucking cold in here," I grumbled, shuffling around in my bed, trying to wrap the covers around myself.

she glanced up at me and shrugged. "it's always cold."

the blankets weren't moving the way I physically demanded them to, it was igniting a short spark of anger within me. i gave up and threw the blanket back down on the bed. my bed neighbor looked up at me again, put off by my impatience. I ignored her and walked over to the bathroom. I yanked the curtain-door closed and pulled the shower knob all the way left in the hot water direction. I pulled my socks off and slipped out of the hospital gown. in the mirror, a nearly blue girl stares back into herself. her chest is bruised and her scars are purple.

there is so much relief in the heat of the shower. I stood beneath the stream of water for what may have been twenty minutes before a nurse from the other side of the curtain asked if I was okay. i answered with a short, "yep."

the shower dimmed and was getting darker. I sat myself under the water on the floor. still, my vision remained dark. I coughed a bit, trying to clear my hoarse throat. one cough turned into a fit, getting stronger and more rib-shaking until I was on my hands and knees, heaving and retching as red-hot water rained down on my back. after a few minutes of this, the water stopped pouring down and a towel was laid across my back. I dry heaved, my back lurching and my stomach clenching, trying to empty itself of every last molecule. but there was nothing to offer in that organ.