by A.R. Rivera
54
-Angel
From my plastic chair, I pretend not to see Avery walking in circles around the common room and rolling her eyes at the conversations some of the other patients are having.
Avery. Bane of my existence. Just thinking her name makes my face hot. She seems so sure of herself as she strolls around, eyeing everyone but me. Does she even care that I am the one everyone sees-the one with the body?
My shrink says that she has no more power than what I give to her. I control myself, not her.
They changed my meds, I think, because I've leveled out. I've had a whole week of continuity, where I can think through the haze. I can even make Avery keep her mouth shut for a few hours at a stretch. Sometimes. Even with the clarity, though, I still feel like the retarded second-cousin of a drooling monkey. Inside the haze is non-existent, but on the outside my reactions are delayed. I stumble around like a drunk after they dose me.
I wonder if she feels the mental clarity and the sluggishness like I do as the plastic spoon I'm holding dribbles pudding down my shirt. My hands feel so alien, I'm not sure it's actually me holding the spoon. I let the little cup of brown goo fall onto the table and leave the blob of chocolate to dribble down my chest. I was just going to puke it up later anyway.
I'm a filthy, useless invalid.
Avery takes a seat in a far corner of the cafeteria. When her hands perch over her growling stomach, I find encouragement. Keeping my determined gaze on her, I wait for her to turn and meet my stare.
It's a risk, but I'm feeling lucky.
I can't actually talk to her without anyone noticing and so speak the threat with my eyes.
I am going to kill you.
