Broken Minds and Broken Bottles

A Surprise Hero

One week later, I was finally ready to be put off of bedrest and was allowed to move into my new room. My mom had brought in a lot of outfits for me to wear, not that I needed to look fancy in a psych ward, anyway. When Nurse JoAnne brought me my clothes, I picked out my usual: a black hoodie over a long sleeve short (purple tie-dye this time-- fancy, I know) and some skinny jeans (today I chose my favorite ones, faded blue with rips) and frantically dug my hand into the pockets for my "emergency razor".

"We've taken all of your razors and disposed of them," Jo said. "We can't take any chances. You won't be needing them anymore, believe me."

I groaned and took the rest of my clothes up to the room that the nurse told me I'd be staying in. I was still a little bit wobbly on my feet, and by the time I'd gotten to the second floor, I was already feeling a little bit dizzy and lightheaded and then proceeded to fall over. However, before I could hit the ground, a pair of strong, muscular arms caught me.

"Woah, easy there," a deep, masculine voice said gently. "I turn around to see a tall boy, about 15 or 16 years old, with deep brown eyes that gave him a bit of a sad, masked look. He had slightly tanned skin, and brown hair that swooped across his forehead and hung slightly over his eyes, making him look mysterious. He had on Beats headphones, and I could hear rock music blasting through them.

I gazed up in amazement at the striking figure before me. "S-sorry... I-" I muttered.

The boy laughed. "Don't worry, it's no big deal. In fact, I should consider myself lucky; it's not every day that a pretty girl like you falls into my arms."

I blushed. "I'm not pretty."

"How could you ever even think that, let alone say it? In fact, you're not just pretty; you're beautiful." He said fondly.

I blushed and smiled slightly, then turned on my heel to leave. "Wait!" the boy called out. "What's your name?"

"Eleanor", I said. "Eleanor Davison, but everybody calls me Leora. What's yours?"

He smiled shyly. "I'm Benji Cadwell, Ben for short."

He looked me over, thinking intently, which made me shift nervously on my feet. Finally, he spoke. "What are you in here for?"

I tried to answer, but I couldn't. How could I explain my anorexia, how I'd starve myself for days, eat as little as I possibly could for weeks, until I had to be forced with a feeding tube? Or the cutting, or the suicide attempts, or the anxiety attacks, feeling like I was worthless, not wanting to live anymore, wishing my life was over so that I could finally be at peace in heaven (but honestly, at this rate, I deserved to go to hell, I'm so worthless)... but how could I explain all that in a few sentences at most...?

Ben touched me softly, his expression uncomfortable. "Sorry", he said. "I shouldn't have asked. That was rude of me."

I shook my head quickly. "No. It's ok. It's just... I kind of don't know if I want to tell you just yet."

He nodded. "It's okay, I understand; don't worry about it."

I smiled gratefully. "Thanks. So, what do you do around here? For fun, I mean."

He responded, "Well, this isn't exactly fun, but we have to go to group therapy three times a day; in the morning, afternoon, and after dinner. It's starting pretty soon. After you finish what you're doing," he gestured towards the clothes in my hands, "then we'll probably have to go."

I brought the clothes up, and then he took my arm and brought me to the therapy session. As we entered, a dozen or so heads turned to look at us, people looking quizzically at me, the quiet stranger.
"Good afternoon," a lady in her 20s or so said (she must be the therapist), "I'm glad you could fit therapy into your busy schedules." She glared at us meaningfully.

"Sorry, Ms. J. Eleanor just got here a little while ago, earlier today."

The lady nodded curtly and the motioned for us to sit down.

"Oooh, a newbie," a slim boy in the corner snickered, looking over at me.

A small girl with a brown bob did the crazy sign next to her head, motioning at him.

I smiled and said, "Me too."

She laughed. "All of us are, TBH..." she admitted.

I giggled. "I mean, obviously, to be if we're stuck in here."

The therapist-lady gave us a look. "Well, Eleanor, introduce yourself."