I drop my face into my hands and try to just be. That's what Emmett would do. When his name comes to mind, I smile. He's something to look forward to, that's for sure. If he wasn't waiting at the other end of this tunnel for me, I'd be a wreck right now.
I focus my gaze out the window and think about the tree house and the decorations we filled it with. I cannot even wait to get up there again, gaze out the window at the setting sun, lie in Emmett's strong arms, kiss his lips. My breath fogs against the glass, and as I reach up to wipe it away, a thought strikes me. It's small, hardly noticeable, just a little niggle of information that leaps up from the cosmic soup of my thoughts and teases me with its presence.
I decide to take the bait.
I press the tip of my finger against the glass, and I start to draw, using the edge of my nail like the sharp end of a pencil. A bodice goes up first, laced up in the front like a corset but not as tight. My design is organic, comfortable. It's something that sits on the body, that highlights and protects it, not defines it. I pause. I've always defined myself by my fashion and now I'm creating something that defies that very idea? I keep drawing, but I let that thought simmer in my mind. Should we shape our bodies to clothes or shape clothes to our bodies? I don't know what I believe, but in my drawing, I go with the latter giving window-girl a flowing skirt that dances above her knees and swirls around her like petals on a flower. I even draw her face in, make her smile. I give her breasts and hips, and when I'm finished, I actually like the way she looks.
I can do this, I think as I admire my work, take it in with an artist's eye. That's when I notice that the nurse is staring at me, examining me critically. I don't like the look in his face, so I reach up and I destroy my picture with a simple swipe of the hand. She was for me and nobody else anyway. I make a mental painting of her in my mind for safekeeping.
For awhile there, I'm feeling good.
And then we arrive at Crescent Springs, pulling into the parking lot and maneuvering under the awning up front. The place looks an awful lot like a hotel, only some of the rooms have bars on the windows … My heart leaps into my chest. If they try to trap me in there, they'll regret it. I can't even imagine the feeling of true incarceration. At least at the hospital, there was some semblance of freedom, like if I really, really wanted to, I could get up and walk out the door. If I see iron covering my window, I may actually have a mental breakdown.
Sweat starts to pour down my back and soaks into the gray fabric of the seat cushion. Meanwhile, the male nurse climbs out and disappears, leaving me alone with the driver for a few minutes. When he comes back, there's a woman with a clipboard (no iPad this time?) who shows me inside and makes me run through some paperwork. To be honest with you, I don't understand any of it and end up just giving her a blank stare. My signature goes where she tells me she needs it. I probably should read all the fine print, but I'm just not up to it. If I have to, I'll break the fuck out of this place and disappear. People have run away for less. As long as I take Emmett with me. Without him, running would be pointless because then I'd never be able to find my way home.
After we're finished, the woman leads me to my room, blonde ponytail bouncing cheerfully behind her, swinging like a horse's tail, as she proceeds to explain the rules to me. No locks on the door, regular and random check-ins, no electronics, etc., etc., and so on and so forth. Basically, every cliché that ever existed all rolled into one. I'm actually surprised when there aren't any straps or chains on the bed. The room really does look like a hotel (no bars on my windows), and it's even got its own bathroom – which of course, does not lock. It's such an anticlimactic moment that I just stand there in the center of the pale, pink bedroom and stare out the window at the slightly damp surface of the parking lot.
The woman yammers on for a little while longer, hands me a brochure and then just leaves.
Silence descends on the room, thick and cloying, forcing me to switch on the piece of shit TV, so I can have some company. I miss Emmett so terribly that it hurts inside. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I shuffle over to the bed and plop down on the itchy comforter.
When I glance at the brochure, I see that there's a schedule tucked inside, one that has my name scrawled across the top of it. I'm sure the woman explained it to me, but I wasn't really listening. Why should I? I'm being held here against my will, and I refuse to be happy about it.
There are meal times, of course, which make my stomach knot with dread, along with some mandatory group counseling sessions. Two a day for the next three days. The first one starts in an hour. I crumple the page up in my hand and lay back, doing my best to breathe through my mouth. The whole place smells a little like iodine and antiseptic, and it's kind of making me sick.
I lay there for awhile before realizing what I saw when I walked in here: a phone. My cell is gone, have no clue where it went. I'm guessing my parents took that, too. It's crossed my mind briefly that I may not be able to get my stuff back. If they're as mad at me as it seems, then they could refuse to give me back my clothes and furniture as a punishment. I mean, my dad is the one that paid for them. God, can this get any worse? Probably. But it can also get better.
I slide along the edge of the bed and pause next to the nightstand. The phone is super old school, like decades behind schedule. It's probably older than me. I stare at it for awhile, take a deep breath and then pick it up, twirling the curly cord around one finger while I dial Emmett's number. It's kind of impressive that I even remember it. My memory of the last few weeks is a little spotty and unclear. Maybe it's a sign? I read once that the mind only remembers things that we deem important, that we want to keep. I mean, I don't think that's necessarily true, but it's a pleasant thought.
“Hello?” Even the sound of his voice makes me smile.
“Emmett.” That's the only word I can get out. I want him so bad right now, it's becoming a physical ache inside my chest. I want to cook an omelet with him and drink juice from his recycled cups and sleep in his bed … Comforting, that's what Emmett is to me. But not just that. He's … electrifying. He makes me want to be a better person. He is an integral part of my rebirth and any future success I might have.
“Hi, Claire,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his words. “How are you doing?”
“Alright,” I tell him, glancing at the door suspiciously. If somebody is spying in on me, fuck them. I won't give them any reason to suspect me of doing anything wrong. “They took me to Crescent Springs. The drive was pretty boring.” I shrug and take a deep breath. “I have to go to two group counseling sessions today.”
“Ah, that's rough,” he says, sounding genuinely sorry for me. “I never liked those things.” My turn to pause.
“You've been to counseling?”
“Yeah, a couple of times actually. They never helped. Pain isn't something that everyone wants to share. Some people do, yeah, but for others, it's something we have to come to terms with on our own.”
“Or with a partner,” I blurt out of nowhere. Emmett chuckles and I swear, I can feel his fingers through the phone, brushing against my ear, teasing the edges of my scalp. “You'll come pick me up on my last day?” I ask. He said I could move in with him, but he never specifically said he'd come and get me. I guess I just sort of assumed.
“Claire, I would go anywhere for you.” Tears sting my eyes again, but I'm not sure why. I'm still acting like an infant, newly thrust into the world, crying whenever I'm uncomfortable. I hope this stops soon.
“Why?” I ask him, trying to understand. Maybe if I can find out why Emmett likes me, I can learn to like myself. Emmett doesn't answer right away, but that's okay. I know he's thinking about what he's going to say, taking the opportunity to be the world's only human being that doesn't shove their foot in their own mouth.
“Because you're interesting. You're passionate. I want to know more.” Emmett pauses, and in my head, I see him wetting his lips, tugging his beanie down with long fingers. “No, I need to know more. Yo
u're one of a kind, Claire.”
“One of a kind crazy,” I say, touching my forehead and glancing over at the clock that hangs above a small bistro table in the corner. It's almost time for my group session. Exciting.
“Not crazy, focused. Determined. Don't sell yourself short, Claire. You made a few mistakes, but who doesn't? It happens to all of us.”
“But … ” I think of my image in the mirror, how skinny she looked, like a ghoul risen from the grave. I could've been cast in a zombie movie and not had to borrow any makeup. “Emmett, I'm … too skinny.” The words ring false, echoing around in my shaky voice, a lie that isn't really a lie at all. My heart starts to pump.
“But I love you anyway,” Emmett tells me, and then the phone clicks off. I pull it away from my ear suddenly and stare at the receiver. No. No. No. I hang up and try again – no dial tone. Shit. I can't just end things there. Love? Did Emmett seriously just say love? How could he? Why would he? I mean, he told me before that he thought he might, but this is different … This is … real.
I get up and race into the hallway, grab the first person I see with a name tag.
“My phone's not working,” I say, and I must look terrifying because the employee's eyes get real big and she backs up a step, removing my fingers from her arm. I take a breath and try to sound like I actually have an intact mind. “My boyfriend just told me he loves me. I have to talk to him.”
“But you only get fifteen minutes a day,” she responds, like I should've known better. She starts to walk away, carrying an armful of white towels, and I don't stop her. Bitch.
I seriously consider breaking into someone else's room and stealing their phone time, but I'm afraid that if I get caught, I'll be stuck here longer. In which case I really will need the psych help and the supervision because I'll lose it. I stand on my tiptoes and stare down the hallway, towards the elevators. There's a rec room; I saw it on the map the woman gave me earlier. I could go down there, see if they have anything interesting to do, but then I start getting flashes of Girl, Interrupted, and I change my mind.
Back in my room, I lay on the bed and I think of Emmett.
I don't know if he did it on purpose, but now I can't think of anything but his words and what they could mean for us. My mind is completely and utterly distracted from ED's and depression and counseling. So much so that when the time rolls around, I completely forget about the group thing and end up with someone rapping on my door.
I get up, feeling irritated, and wrench it open.
There's a girl standing in front of me with dark eyes and bandages on her arms, twin to mine. She smiles at me; I don't smile back. She's way prettier than me, with long, honey colored curls and a soft mouth that's pink and moist. Mine, on the other hand, is dry as the desert. First thing I do when I leave here is get some lipstick.
“Hi there,” she says as I examine her from head to toe. She's got round, green eyes and skin the color of fresh cream. This is not someone who shares my … afflictions. She's got problems of her own, but at least they haven't turned her into a walking corpse.
“Hi.” That's all she's getting out of me. I cross my arms over my chest and wait. I'm not here to make friends with crazy people. This isn't a fucking hollywood film; this is my life. I shift a bit, feeling uncomfortable in my baggy tee and sweats. I don't even have a bra on. Don't need one, I guess. With all the weight I've lost, I've gone from wearing a size C to being unable to fit an A cup. Pathetic. I feel so ugly right now …
“You must be Claire Simone?” she asks as I continue to stare. I can't help but notice that she's got on a pair of Jimmy Choo flats and a Diane von Furstenberg lace skirt. And here I stand in hand-me-downs. I cross my arms over my chest.
“Yeah, so?”
“So, Dr. Hial asked me to come up and check on you.” The girl shrugs, but keeps smiling. “You're missing group. If you don't come, the state can decide to increase your evaluation time.” She holds out her hand to me. “I'm Kylie North. Nice to meet you.”
Reluctantly, I reach out and take her hand.
“So which one are you?” I ask as I follow her out and close my door behind me.
“Hmm?” she asks as she leads me down the hallway and towards the elevators. When she walks, her curls bounce like crazy. Standing next to her, I feel like a golem or something. I mean, Kylie's maybe five five and I'm just a hair over six feet. She's so tiny and cute and feminine, and I'm … I'm just not. I don't even feel like a girl right now. I feel like an it. A big, spindly, balding it.
“You know, in books and movies, there are always the specific archetypes that the main character meets in the crazy house.” I start to tick them off on my fingers. “The mean girl, the childlike character, the brownnoser, and the rebel. Which one are you?” Kylie pauses at the elevator and selects a floor. When she looks over at me, her smile's turned into a grin.
“I think you've got it all mixed up,” she says, and I raise my brows. “I'm the heroine, the one who really isn't crazy and was placed here with the most corrupt intentions imaginable.” She chuckles and points at my flat chest. “And you're the rebel, I can tell right away.” When Kylie steps into the elevator, I follow. As cheesy as it sounds, I feel a little bit less lonely all of a sudden. God, I wish I had girlfriends again. Jenn and Leanne and me … we've had our problems. Mostly because of me, I think. I need to call them, make up. Having those few extra shoulders to cry on couldn't hurt, right? I wonder what they think of all this, if they knew all along.
“I'm hardly a rebel,” I tell her as I lean against the handrail and avoid looking into the mirrors that line the walls. “Just a girl who wanted something so bad, she let it blind her.”
“At least you can admit that,” Kylie says, touching her bandaged wrists reverently. “That takes guts.”
“It takes rebirth,” I tell her.
“I know.”
We become friends immediately.
If you've ever met someone you connect with, you don't need time to get to know them. You just … you just know. It's like that with me and Emmett, too. As of right now, I'd have to consider him my best friend. As far as love goes, I can't lay claim to that. If I can't love myself, what gives me the right to pledge my love for someone else? They're mutually exclusive. There's no way in hell those two things can happen at the same time.
“I cut myself with a piece of glass to feel things. I didn't mean to die.”
“I cut myself with a knife to feel things. I meant to die.” Kylie adjusts the high-necked lace shirt she's wearing and shows me the bandages on her throat. Wow. “My boyfriend's brother came over to pick up his cat.” She pauses. “Ex-boyfriend, sorry. If I'd known he was coming, I would've waited.” She turns to look at me with massive green eyes, as big as mine but nowhere near as out of place. “But don't tell anybody that. I just said it was a cry for attention, that I had no idea cutting the carotid artery could kill you so fast.” Kylie sighs. “I can't wait to get the hell out of here.” She looks me up and down and smiles. “I'm on a state hold, too, but I skipped group the first three days of mine, so now I'm here for the week.”
“You're wrong,” I tell her and she gives me a quizzical look. “You're the rebel. I'm the heroine, the one who isn't really crazy.” Kylie laughs and takes my hand. We walk all the way down the hall with our fingers entwined.
The group therapy session is exactly what I thought it would be – long, drawn out, and boring. Nobody has any breakthroughs or life altering revelations. I mean, from what I can tell, we're all there against our will and none of us are crazy, just people with problems who are being bossed around by other people who probably have their own hidden issues. One girl cries, but I think that's because she wants the whole thing to end and knows that Dr. Hial won't let us go until progress has been made.
The man sits on a chair on one side of the circle and just keeps smiling and smiling and smiling, just like Donald from the hospital. I thought shrinks were supposed to be depressed, beaten down by all the
terrible shit they have to listen to. Instead, all the ones I keep encountering seem kind of excited to be there. Maybe they're living vicariously through all of us; maybe their life is all sunshine and rainbows. I mean, pain is its own kind of pleasure in a way. I can't imagine anyone turning into a well-rounded human being without experiencing at least a little bit of it.
Kylie and I sit next to each other, opposite Dr. Hial, and only speak when our turns roll around. I tell the truth about the glass, but I say nothing about the anorexia or the bulimia or any of that. Those are my crosses to bear; I'd rather not hand one out to every Tom, Dick, and Harry. People stare at me, and I know they know, but they keep quiet. Nobody wants to pry into me for fear I'll do the same to them.
Kylie briefly mentions her ex, says she wanted to keep him and thought it would be easy to trick him into getting back together with her by shedding a little blood. The circle moves on, but I think a lot about what she said. There's so much more to her story than she's letting on. I wish I knew all her secrets.
The second we walk out of that room, I blurt out what Emmett said. I don't know why, really; it just happens.
“My boyfriend just told me he loves me.”
“Bummer,” Kylie says, taking me towards a set of doors with an ominous smell leaking from them. Food. Fuck. I have to eat in the cafeteria and have an orderly sign off to say they saw me. How screwed up is that? Shouldn't it be my choice if I want to eat or not? I mean, I'd do it anyway because I want to get better, but I don't want to do it while somebody watches. I'm not ready for that. I can't even imagine how bad things would be if I'd actually been enrolled in their ED program. As things stand, I'm getting off terribly light. I wonder if I could purge tonight? The fantasy's appealing – losing all those calories to the toilet – but the reality is harsh. If I get caught, I'm basically screwed. Besides, I want to get better, right? Right? “How long have you been together?” Eons, I wish I could say, but instead the answer is much less compelling.
Color Me Pretty Page 4
