Whispers
"We love you, Ally. Always remember that."
It's slightly windy in Miami for once, a rare feat. It's nice. The breeze tosses my hair around my face, brushes against my cheeks. I chew at my bottom lip just to feel a sensation, any sensation thats real , thats not just in my head.
Lester and Penney smile warmly at me, hoping their smiles will provoke mine. I clutch the handle of the suitcase in my right hand tighter, my face stays blank.
"You have a great way of showing it."
As I say the words, I turn to look at the huge grey building behind me, the words Miami Mental Institution plastered across the long glass door.
"We want you to get better." Penny's voice cracks and I know she's about to turn on the waterworks.
Translation: they couldn't handle my shit anymore so they're going to see if a specialist might be able to.
"This place... It'll help you." Lester adds, rubbing her back soothingly. Fury rises in me. I'm about to be locked away in the wacky shack for six months and she's the one crying?
"I don't need your help," I spit, turning away, marching towards the door, dragging my suitcase behind me.
"We'll come visit-"
"Please don't," are my last words to them.
XxX
"Allyson Dawson,"
"Ally," I correct her. By 'her', I mean the woman in the flared jeans and tee shirt that's standing by my bed in the room I've been assigned to, trying to get me to talk about my feelings.
"Right. Ally. So... you say you've been hearing voices?" Her voice is very gentle, and I have to give her points for being upfront about my being an apparent psycho.
My lips twitch, and I almost smile.
"Just one."
As I speak, I look around my room. It's very plain, the floor is tiled white, the walls are white, the sheets on the bed and white - and the curtains are a blood red.
"And... These voices... You started to hear them after the death of your boyfriend?"
"Fiancée."
She blinks. "What?"
"He wasn't my boyfriend. He was my fiancée. I loved him. We were supposed to be getting married in two months. No one knew. We were only eighteen. We were gonna elope." I shrugged.
"Oh." She's scribbling frantically in her files. I know that I should be upset that she's taking all this down, I know that I should be upset that this could be used against me, that I could be kept in here longer, but I don't care. I'm in a mental institution. What else have I got to lose?
"And he didn't just die," I scoff, wriggling around on the the mattress, crossing my legs. "He killed himself."
She nods. "I understand that you may be upset-"
"I think we're done here," I say, kicking off my shoes and climbing under the blankets fully clothed. "I'm going to sleep."
She looks at me worryingly. "It's only four pm, Ally. Are you sure you don't want to meet some of the other-"
"Do me a favour and switch off the light on your way out? Thanks."
She waits for a few seconds before getting the message and leaving.
I lie down, curled up into a ball, bracing myself.
He's angry tonight.
He's telling me it's my fault, telling me all the things I could have done to keep him happy, keep him alive, letting me see glimpses of what could've been, glimpses of our non-existent future.
He tells me I deserve to be here. He tells me I may never get out. He tells me the only escape is to join him. I agree whole heartedly.
XxX
When I wake up, my face is stiff with tears, and getting wetter every second. I haven't moved out of the position I slept in yesterday, and I'm stiff, too.
He's gone now, and I don't know if that makes me happy or sad. I'm scared that he'll come back, I'm scared that he won't.
There's a knock on my door.
"Hey, newbie, it's time for breakfast."
I bury my head under the blankets and try to go back to sleep. The person continues pounding on the door, and, in anger, I eventually going the blankets off and march towards the door, throwing it open.
"I'm trying to sleep," I hiss, hating that I have to look up to talk to him.
He blinks, staring at me. And when he speaks, it's obvious that he's a charmer.
"You look terrible."
"You don't look so fantastic yourself."
I'm not lying. His hair looks like it hasn't seen a comb in months.
"Yes, but this is by choice." He points to his head.
"And this," I gesture to the general area of my face. "is by choice, too." I attempt to shut the door but he holds it open.
"Look, you have to eat. It's breakfast time. Everyone has to eat."
"Everyone except me," I try to close the door again. He actually steps into my room. I resist the urge to tell him to get the fuck out or beat him down or something. I don't need 'anger problems' added to my long list of other problems.
"Everyone eats at meal times here. If you constantly skip meals, they start to mark you down as an ED patient. And trust me, you don't want that."
"ED?"
"Eating Disorder." He explains, looking at me like I'm stupid. "And, if you're marked down as an ED patient, it's in their power to knock you out on anaesthetic and feed you through a tube stuck in your arm. Not a pleasant experience." He starts to walk back towards the door. "So clean yourself up and come down to breakfast. Okay?"
I pause, jaw clenched, and give him one stiff nod.
"Good." He nods, and then before turning away, he adds, "I'm Austin, by the way. Welcome to hell." He salutes me, and then walks away.