Diary of a Mad Woman.
There's something special about silence. The world can be so quiet you can hear the wind singing in your ears. So quiet that you're afraid to break that.
Silence can be anything and everything. Silence can be comforting, relaxing, and warm. However silence can be cold, deadly, and deceiving. Unnerving and yet so soothing. Calculated and thoughtful. Life and death.
Silence is so beautiful.
I lay on my bed in the darkness and stare up at the pale ceiling. I travel my wayward gaze across the walls of my bare room. It has only the essentials, a bed, a dresser, a nightstand with a lamp and clock, and a desk with a chair. The desk, bed, nightstand and dresser were all made from the same type of oak wood painted so heavily it could have been mistaken for plastic. The lamp was made of stainless steel with a light blue shade. The walls of my room, shielded by the night, were painted the same shade of blue, connected to a shaggy grey carpet. My alarm clock was the only light penetrating the darkness, it's large digital red lights flashing 10:30.
I stare at the clock, mesmerized by the light. I roll only my stomach and succumb to the silence.
Click.
The door opens pouring light into the sparse bedroom. I groan at the sudden brightness and pull my hands above my eyes, shielding me from the rays. I roll over to glare at my alarm clock.
7:00 AM
I groan and pull my blanket covers over my head and roll over facing the wall. There was not a snowball's chance in hell I was getting up this early. I still had an hour left of sleep.
My silence is interrupted by the inevitable tapping of someone walking into my room. I slowly adjust my eyes to the blinding light and roll over to face my visitor.
He was tall, somewhere around six feet. Dark hair and brown eyes nearly hidden by glasses. He had broad shoulders masked by the white coat that they all wear. However he looked different from the rest of them. He didn't carry the air of contempt that the others did. He looked, almost human.
"Good evening Ms. Bleachwater." He says to me in a cool, deep voice.
In another time, with another me, I would have fallen head over heels in love with a voice like that. A voice that broke the silence. A voice that calmed the winds of war. A voice you can follow to the heavens and back.
However this voice conjured up another time. When the voice was muffled, never to be heard again…
Don't do this to yourself I thought. That part of you is gone, don't bring the past into this.
He gazes at me with his piercing eyes until I uncomfortably shift into a sitting position on my bed. He notes the change and gently tugs on the chair until it pulls out from under my desk. He sits down in reverse on the chair and leans against the backing so it pushes against his broad chest. I note the Christmas socks and tie. A festive kind of guy.
Silence engulfs the room. He continues to stare at me. Sizing me up or studying me? I shudder at his gaze, it's unnerving.
Time passes. A quiet anger is brewing in me. Why is he staring at me like that?
"What?" I snap.
He softly clears his throat and finally removes his gaze from my eyes. He looks nervous, like someone who had never done this before. Now, as he contemplated his words, I found myself realizing this man must be straight out of Uni with how he looked. Suddenly it seemed as he shrunk a foot and lost his confidence.
Am I so hopeless they have to weed out their recruits on me?
"Well," he clears his throat again and nervously scratches the back of his head.
Is that what I am to these pricks? Some sort of guinea pig everyone is allowed to hold?
I look back up at him and take on the offensive, staring deep into his eyes. The tables are turning. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair, losing ground.
"Well?" I ask sarcastically. "Are you going to leave me in suspense?"
He clears his throat for the third time and narrows his eyes at me. I meet his glare with my own blue eyes. Like a water meeting a cliff.
Suddenly he chuckles and looks away.
Oh? So now I've humored him. Great.
"I apologize Ms. Bleachwater." He extends his right hand toward me. "My name is Doctor Carlos Martinez, I just transferred here from Mercy Hospital."
I don't take his hand.
So I am just some guinea pig for their recruits to hold.
He awkwardly draws his hand back in and pushes the stray hairs away from his face and cleared his throat.
How many times is that now? Five?
"Well Ms. Bleachwater I was wondering if you would tell me a bit about yourself."
I didn't even bother to contain my snort. What are we on a crappy rerun of The Bachelor? Are we speed dating? Yes I'll take awkward encounters for $500 Alex.
My thoughts darkened. Alex… That was so long ago…
I snapped up, desparately trying to avoid the thoughts to come and glared at Martinez.
Who does he think he is? Waking me up at seven AM to ask useless questions about me.
"You can't be serious."
His reply wasn't necessary, I could see it in his eyes.
Oh my god. He is serious
"I am a very serious man Ms. Bleachwater." He said flatly. "I want you to tell me about yourself."
My glare strengthened. My heart raced. So many memories at once flowed out of the gates of hell to meet me. Birth, death, marriage, illness, health, divorce, all flooding into me. I run from the past but it always catches up to me. Always faster. The thoughts trip me and I fall, silently drowning in the horrors of yesteryear.
"Ms. Bleachwater?"
A single tear rolls down my pale cheeks. I turn my gaze to Martinez.
"You have a chart of me, yes?"
Martinez looked taken aback by the unusual question.
"Yes we have a file of you."
"Then use it."
I roll back over on my bed and face the wall. I didn't care what he said. I was tired. Tired of life, responsibilities, tired of death, and most importantly, I was tired of stupid trivial questions.
Martinez gets up and resets the chair where it belongs under the desk. He sighs and mutters something unintelligible under his breath. I hear my door shut and the deadbolt click back into place. I buried my face deep into my pillow and let out a long awaited sob.
Tired, I closed my eyes and let the darkness and silence flow freely again.
"Mommy help!"
I bolt upright on my bed and wildly look around. My eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. It took me a few seconds to realize there was smoke throughout the house.
The fire alarm was screaming. The unmistakeable beeps echoing throughout the mansion, hopefully waking everyone up.
"Mommy!" The cry came again and like a shot I was out of the bed. I ran out of the adjacent hallway connecting my bedroom to the foyer and paused to wait for the sound again.
"Call me baby" I cry out to him. "Where are you?"
"Mommy!"
I break into a sprint towards his voice, my lungs screaming for air. I inhale deeply and instead of being rewarded with fresh oxygen, I sputter and cough. I stop running and pull off my nightshirt, tying it around my mouth. The mouthguard helped slightly, filtering the air that entered my lungs.
I dash down the stairs and make a hard right for his bedroom when I run smack into Daniel from around the corner.
"Mom!" He sputters and breaks into a coughing fit. I pull off my shirt and use it to cover his mouth.
"Outside. NOW!" I shove him towards the stairs in the direction of the front door.
"But Andre-"
"I'll worry about Andre! GO!" I shout and give one final push.
He listens, thankfully, and bolts down the stairs I watch him out the door and am momentarily blinded by flashing lights.
Firemen are here, please help.
I take off down the hall towards Andre's room. From the end of the hallway I could tell that his door was shut. I slam my fists on the door, pounding on it and screaming his name.
No response, the door won't budge. I try the handle but recoil back when I felt the heat coming off of it.
Need something stronger…
I turn away from the door and run back down the hall into the foyer.
Need something to break down the door…
I look wildly around the room until my eyes fall on a Medusa Victim statue in the left hand corner of the room.
That will work, I think?
Using both hands and forcing against the wall, I push the statue over. Upon connecting with the ground the statue cracks and shatters. I grab the head of the statue and tear off back to his room.
The ceiling groans, bits and pieces of the third floor begin falling onto the second. I have to dodge the raining flames. I try one final slam on the door, it doesn't budge.
"Andre?"
"Mommy!" He screams from the other side of the door.
I get to work, nailing blow after blow on the door with the statue head.
"Hang on!" I shout to keep him calm.
My arm is throbbing, but I don't falter. The door is beginning to cave in. I move my hands deftly to pick out the splintering pieces of the door until I make a small hole, Not large enough to be child-sized, but not too small that I can't fit my arm in the door.
"Andre?" I call as I push my face to the hole.
I cant see him anywhere…
I grab the statue head and continue raining blows on the door.
I need to get in.
I need to save him.
My work is interrupted by an agonizing scream coming from the other side of the door. The ceiling cracks again and bits of plaster and wood fall to the floor. The floor feels as if it is going to cave in from under me.
I need to work fast.
My hands are raw and bloody from the statue, and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. I cough and continue bashing on the door.
More screams, voices from the first floor shouting for me to come down. Firemen are making their way up the stairs to the second floor.
"Ma'am you have to get out of here!" One of them calls to me.
I ignore him and continue raining shots on the door. Piece by piece it splinters and cracks away. I can hear the firemen coming down the hallway.
I'm not stopping. I'm so goddamn close…
Three more hits and the hole is almost big enough for me to fit through. I call his name but the only response I get is the sound of the ceiling caving in.
"Andre!" I call out one final time before the ceiling falls.
Silence…
I wake up in a cold sweat to my alarm clock blaring. Tears don my eyes as I struggle to catch my breath. I count numbers in my head as the PA system begins its morning routine.
"Good morning Bridgeport residents! At this time you may make your way down to the breakfast hall. Todays specials are-"
I tune out the prerecorded message and groggily roll out of bed. My day clothes are neatly folded on top of my dresser. White shirt, grey sweatpants, white tennis shoes that were way too clean, and a thin grey jacket.
Same outfit, every day.
I ignore the jacket and wait patiently for the deadbolt on my room to automatically unlock at exactly 8:15 AM. I glance over at my clock.
8:09 AM.
I sit back down on my bed and stare at the bare light blue walls surrounding me.
Theres a certain level of tranquility you can receive from staring at a wall. The ability to fully embrace the silence and drown myself in nothingness. A wall can be decorated, vandalized, torn down, and rebuilt. Walls hold everything up.
I sigh and continue my stare, allowing myself to be lost in my thoughts.
The big man laughs really loud.
I cover my ears. Papa laughs along with him. I clutch my odeyalo and run to hide behind Mama in the kitchen. She smiles warmly down at me while she cooks dinner, and slips me a small bite of a warm biscuit.
I like biscuits, it's warm and soft in my mouth. It tastes so good. I pad on back into the living room where Papa and the loud man are joking together. Papa picks me up and gently plants me on his lap. I like sitting on Papa's lap. I snuggle next to him.
Papa is talking to the loud man about his company. The loud man wants Papa to open a branch of his company here. They laugh and joke like old friends who have known each other for a long time.
Papa speaks to the man in a language I can't understand. I hear the words "conference, construction, and train" I don't know what these words mean, but Papa seems to understand.
I stretch and yawn, nuzzling my head against Papa's big chest. He takes ahold of me and stands up. He tells the loud man something and nuzzles me.
"It is time for bed detka, tell Mr. Gallagher goodnight."
The loud man has a funny name, I try it out, sounding it out slowly. I've never heard of a funny name like that before. Papa carries me out of the living room and up the stairs. The loud man smiles at me and waves to me before we leave his view. I wave back.
Papa sets me down on my bed and kisses me on the forehead.
"Goodnight detka."
"Goodnight Papa."
I curl up under my blankets with my odeyalo and quickly fall asleep.
"Attention Bridgeport residents, the doors are now opening-"
I tune out the intercom and shake the memory from my mind. Standing up, I stretch and make my way to the cafeteria.
It doesn't matter what you're in here for, murder, arson, schizophrenia, it doesn't matter because after a month or so we all walk the same way, a half-dead shuffle. The kind of walk that shows the world you're worthless. People are free to look down on you as if you were less than human.
I slowly shuffle my way down the corridor, keeping my eyes downcast. Two burly nurses are stationed on either side of the double doors opening to the cafeteria. They closely watch every resident. I lower my head and stick close to the group entering the cafeteria.
Almost…
Suddenly a hand reaches in and catches my by the bicep. I feel myself forcefully tugged back to the left hand side of the door.
"Forgetting something?"
God damnit
"Do we have to go through this every day?" He glares at me.
I do nothing but stare blankly at him. I'm not giving him an answer. He rolls his eyes and grabs his walkie-talkie to dispatch medical personnel to retrieve me.
"Bleachwater… didn't stop… " I only hear bits and pieces of what he's saying into the microphone. I was beginning to feel nauseated by the cafeteria smell. I kept my eyes downcast as the nurse let go of my arm and stood watching the last of the other residents dribble into the cafeteria.
"Oooooo, Char and Torva!"
A fiery red-headed twenty something woman bursts through the shuffle crowd and slams into me, knocking me over.
We both yelp as our bodies connected with the ground. Torva rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh. He lets down his hand to help me up, but the redhead took it before me, giggling like a schoolgirl.
I stand up and brush myself off. Torva glared at her.
"Raven," he began. "You can't just jump on people like that."
Raven's eyes widened, then narrowed with an unhidden pleasure.
"What are you going to do Torva?" She soothed with pleasure in her eyes. "Are you going to punish me?"
Raven and I are quite alike in some ways, she reminds me of my younger self. That is, if my life didn't pan out like it did, I'd probably be in here for the same reasons she is.
Raven grew up in a rougher neighborhood on the east side of Twinbrook. Most of the houses there are small and aesthetically, the neighborhood was a dump. It was believed there, that if you didn't get into the scrap metal business, you weren't doing anything with your life.
She grew up with a drug addict mother and an uncaring drunkard of a father. Both set out every morning rooting through trash to find any form of scrap metal that they could, and sold it to the scrapyards. Once Raven and her three younger brothers were old enough to be able to walk, her parents forced them to go scrapping.
When Raven was sixteen, her mother beat her because she did't bring home enough money from the scrapyard. She ran away from home but felt the guilt of leaving her three brothers vulnerable to her parents. She lived on the streets for two months, trying desperately to make enough money to feed herself.
There, on the streets, she met a man by the name of Draven Washington. Raven, starving, desperate, and defeated, begged the man for some work to help get her a meal. He decided to take her out to dinner and paid for her food. Draven tells her that she has yet to sell the most valuable thing she has… Her body.
She spent the next two months selling herself. Men, women, anyone who had enough money to afford a night with her. She had learned that the best weapon she had was her body. She manipulated men into paying more and more until some men were paying nearly $1000 just to spend a night with her.
After those two months, she headed back home to try and take her brothers to live with her. However, when she entered the house, she found out that one of her brothers died from a sickness relating to going scrap hunting. Furious and distraught, she attacked her mother with the nearest thing she could find, a table lamp.
She beat her mother to death and began on her father next, but by the time she finished, her youngest brother had called the police. They found her, crying, covered in her parent's blood.
She plead insanity in court. Some say that she tried to seduce the guards into setting her free. She still tries, probably because it's all she has left.
I sympathize with Raven. No, I'm not one of those people who claim she didn't murder her parents in cold blood. I don't believe she should be released anytime soon, but I sympathize with her. In my eyes, she couldn't help the situation she was in. She still tries to seduce everyone, because its the only aspect of her that doesn't tie into how her parents raised her. In a sense, it is her only identity.
She clung to the very disapproving Torva like a leech. Her body swayed and moved around his in an unsung melody, giggling all the while. Torva sighed and gently pushed her off.
Raven flashed a quick anger in her eyes, not quick to be dismissed. She wrapped herself around him again, nuzzling the inside of his neck.
Torva wasn't having any of it. He brought his hands in close and shoved her off of him.
Raven howled in pain as her body connected with the ground a second time. She sat up, rubbing the back of her head, glaring at the two of us.
"Guess you like it rough don't you Torva?" She cooed.
I tuned out the argument between the two of them. This seems to be a regular occurrence, like me not wanting to take my pills. Like all of their arguments, it ended with Torva having Raven dragged, kicking and screaming, into the cafeteria.
"Management doesn't pay me nearly enough for this." He ran his hands over his face and sighed.
Torva and I stood in silence for what seemed like half an hour. The smell of pancakes wafting from the cafeteria mixed with the sterile scent of Clorox in the halls. I feel nauseated.
Like they care…
I spotted another man in a white coat making his way down the hall. I felt a pang of hatred flow through me upon sighting him.
The man could have been no younger than sixty, with grey hairs sprouting off of his nearly bald head. His facial expression was blank, however I could spot the exhaustion in his eyes. He was accompanied by a much younger, burly looking male nurse. I felt the deepening sense of dread as the nurse took ahold of me roughly by the elbow and led me back down the hallway.
The medical center is composed of somewhere around thirty rooms for patients, encircling one large, cold, hygienic room. Hell, this whole place is clean, cold, and unfeeling. The nurse led me over to the waiting area where he unkindly gestured me to sit.
By 'unkindly' I mean that he practically threw me in the goddamn chair.
"Now Ms. Bleachwater," The physician sighed at me. "You can't escape taking your medication, you know that."
Whatever.
"Must we go through this nonsense every day?"
I narrowed my eyes at him. For one of the rare times in my lifetime, I knew it was better to stay silent.
We glared at each other for a good solid minute before my gaze was broken by the sensation of my hungry stomach.
The physician rolled his eyes and sighed loudly.
"When will you learn?"
The physician headed to the pharmaceutical office and returned, moments later, with two cups.
"Drink."
I examined the cups. One was filled with a cloudy liquid, my medicine, mixed with water. The other, was plain old H20.
"Drink." his voice became sterner.
I comply, downing the first cup like a shot, ignoring the foul taste in my mouth. I took the cup of water and drank it slowly, flushing out the flavor. The physician crosses his arms and grunts in satisfaction.
"Go."
I stand and wipe my mouth rolling my eyes at him, and briskly make my way towards the cafeteria. The closer I get, the stronger the scent of food.
I pass Torva, who nods at me faintly as I enter the cafeteria.
The cafeteria, or Cafe to some people, is a large and spacious grey room dotted with metal tables and chairs. The room was alive with the chatter from the other patients.
I grabbed a plate and walked towards the food line, I loaded up my plate with pancakes, bacon, eggs that clearly came from a refrigerated bottle, and two pieces of toast with strawberry jelly smeared on top of it. Generic, but it'll do.
I filled up my glass with apple juice and my eyes darted around to search for a chair. I spotted a familiar looking redhead in the corner of the room, sitting alone at a table.
"Yo," I set my plate down next to her.
"Hey Char," She mumbles, staring at her untouched food.
"Ever thought of picking another target?"
She sighed. "I just can't understand"
"Can't understand what?"
"I can't understand why he doesn't want me." She whimpered, her bottom lip trembling slightly.
"There, there," I put my arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting pat.
"Char?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I'm ugly?"
"No, not at all."
A single tear ran down her pale cheeks.
"If it means anything," I began. "I'd do you."
She snapped her gaze up at me with light in her eyes.
"Really?" She asked incredulously.
"Totally, and if you can get a straight white female to adore you, you must be a goddess in disguise."
Her eyes brightened and she gave me a quick hug.
"Thanks Char."
"Anytime."
Click
My mechanical lock slid back into place, and I was met with the comforting sense of silence once more. It was an acquired silence. Back in my first days here, the silence unnerved me. I'd talk to myself, sing, do just about anything to get rid of the silence. Now, I embrace it. Silence seems to be the only thing I have that lets me believe I am truly alone.
I changed into my nightshirt and pajama pants, and climbed into my bed. My ritualistic snuggle to find a warm position began, and once I found my spot, I sighed deeply, reveling in the silence that follows.
That is, until I heard my lock click out of place.
The door opens, and a irritatingly familiar face appears in the doorway.
"Good evening Ms. Bleachwate-"
"Chardonnay."
"Excuse me?"
"My name is Chardonnay."
He looked taken aback by my aggressiveness, but shrugged his shoulders in agreement.
"Very well."
The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. The silence that followed hung in the air, like an elephant in the room.
"So are you going to speak or are we just going to stare at each other until one of us drops dead?" I snapped at him, breaking the silence in the room.
"How are you?"
I searched his face.
We're really going to do this again?
I clicked my tongue off of the side of my mouth.
"Peachy." I put on my best obviously fake smile.
"Would you like to tell me why you're here?"
"Piss off."
He sighed.
"Ok."
I picked my head back up and stared hard into his eyes.
"What?"
"Ok."
"What do you mean 'Ok.'?"
"You don't want to tell me."
"I-"
Wordlessly, he turned on hiss heel and strode out of the room. I heard the mechanical click of my door locking into place, and I was left with my silence once again.
However my newfound silence was unsettling, like a bad taste in the mouth.
"What an ass." I said to myself, more for my own comfort than reproach. Sighing, I nestled my head on my pillow and fell into a fitful sleep.
"Just who the fuck do you think you are?!"
Ugh.
There was no stopping her at this point. Her face was pink with rage and her face trembled with a bridled tongue.
She's probably doing everything she can to not slap me. Neato.
"All I was trying to say was-"
"No! You don't get to speak!"
"Oh. Right." I narrowed my eyes sardonically at her. "I don't have rights to anything at all in your eyes."
That just made her angrier.
"What gave you permission to go to that party?"
Past her, in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, stood Molly, smirking. She must be getting a kick out of this, devil slut.
"I'll ask again, what gave you the right to crash that party?"
I clicked my tongue off of the side of my mouth and shrugged my shoulders.
Wrong answer.
"You think a smug little shrug is going to get you off the hook? Guess again-"
"I don't care Martha." I snapped, hardening the R in her name as much as possible.
Boy is she pissed.
Ever since I began living with the Gallaghers, Martha has tried tirelessly to rid me of my accent. Since I came to live with them at a young age, for the most part she has been successful.
"Now Alex," She had an impatient streak in her, and small children were a bad combination of the two. "We do not roll over our R's in English. We pronounce them, not skip them. Say it right."
"Computa"
She slapped me across the face. Hard. I cried and held my hand over my cheek.
"Say it right."
"Computer." I sobbed.
"Good."
Now in the midst of fighting, my language comes back to me.
"Why don't you take a long walk, off a short bridge?" I asked her.
"What did you say?!" She roared back at me.
"Nothing, I just muttered to myself."
It's a blessing and a curse. Speaking a language that no one else knows; well, except Fred but he's not here right now. Its a blessing because I can be as ruthless as I want to be to her and she'll never know what I'm saying, however a curse because she always thinks I'm talking about her… well, I am currently talking about her but thats totally besides the point am I right?
She narrowed her eyes at me.
"What did you mutter?"
"That you're a wonderful person who is going to do great things with your life-"
"Bullshit. What did you say?"
"See that's what's so great about it, It's to myself, so you'll never learn what I said until you pick up a dictionary and look up what I said. I don't have to tell you."
"So help me-" She began, she was starting to sweat she was holding so much back.
"Alex." A voice calls from behind me.
"What?" I turn and face the voice.
Oh shit.
It's Fred.
"What on earth is going on here?"
Martha saw the opportunity and began to cry.
"Sh-sh-she didn't listen to me w-w-w-when I told her s-she wasn't allowed to go to the party, a-and she went anyway, a-and now she's saying mean things about me in that barbaric tongue and-"
"Barbaric!?" I felt my blood temperature rise exponentially. "Who the fuck do you think you are? How would you feel if I said Americans were barbaric?"
Martha ignored me and continued her false crying to Fred.
I have to do something, there's no way I'm letting her get away with this.
"Please don't listen to her!" I cried out over Martha's crying.
Martha froze, she knew she was helpless.
"What happened?" He asked me.
"It's all Molly's fault! She-"
"Why aren't you speaking English!?" Martha roared at the both of us.
"I am so sick of her."
"Alex please, you bully her."
"I bully her? She bullies me constantly, all she does is mock me and praise her!"
"You bait her into it, don't deny you do, you enjoy making her upset. "
"But Fred…"
"SPEAK ENGLISH!"
"She's done nothing but abuse me and I'm sick of it!"
"She doesn't abuse you."
Fred opened his mouth to say more when a hard slap from Martha came across his face. He stood in shock at his wife and silence befell the room.
"Speak in English. I want to know what you're saying about me." She said through clenched teeth.
"Martha, stay out of this."
She reeled back in blatant shock.
"Stay out of this? She's the one saying mean things about me, without having the decency to let me understand what she's saying!"
"Martha, go."
She stared hard into my eyes.
"You know, it becomes really hard to fight for you when you constantly instigate her."
Martha, now out of the loop, narrowed her eyes at her husband.
"She deserves it."
"I know you don't like her, you have good reasons to. But please, for the sake of peace, don't bait her into an argument."
"Do you even know what happened?"
"What?"
I drew in a sigh, and broke my staring contest with Martha.
"Molly and I got invited to the Harrison's party, Molly told Martha that she couldn't bear to be 'seen with me' and got Martha to find some loophole to say that I can't go but Molly could."
"And?"
"I went anyway, the fuck she is giving me no legitimate cause to not go."
Fred sighed and ran his hand over his face.
"I know she doesn't treat you nearly as well as Brian and Molly, but you have to admit that you get a kick out of pushing her buttons. You LIKE Seeing her angry."
I felt a pang of guilt pass over my briefly.
"Just tell her you're sorry and we can just move on."
"What? No!" I reeled back as if I had been hit.
"So whats happening?" Martha asked coldly.
I rolled my eyes and sighed.
"Screw off."
Marta stared hard at me.
"What did she say?"
"She said she's sorry." Fred intervened, clearly sick of conflict.
Martha gave me a triumphant grin.
"That's what I thought. I have a spa appointment to attend." She was emanating smugness from her like a pile of shit with flies buzzing around. She trotted happily out the door with Molly in tow.
One of the things I love about speaking another language is the fact that only Fred understands me. I can talk to him without fear that Martha is going to snoop in and overhear.
When I first moved in, Martha insisted I only speak english, and Fred was shocked at her insensitivity. Fred helped me learn my native language, as well as learning it himself. Thankfully, Martha never bothered.
Fred sighed and ran his hand over his face again.
"Look, I know you hate her, but can you two not go at each other's throats for three hours? I have a meeting I have to attend."
"So if she picks a fight, you expect me to just sit there and take it? It's not in my blood."
Fred's expression darkened, and a sad smile played on his lips.
"You remind me so much of your father."
My smile faded, and tears threatened my eyes.
"I hope your meeting goes well."
"Das vidanya Alex."
"Das vidanya…"
I held back the sob in my throat as Fred walked out the door. Once the house was clear, I let go.
"Good morning residents" The radio chimed. "At this time you may leave your rooms and head to the dining facility. Todays specials are-"
I groaned and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.
I am not a morning person.
I swung my legs over the bed and stood, stretching my sleepy muscles.
Same shit, different day.
Shuffling out of bed and tugging on my day clothes, I make my way to the breakfast hall amongst other partially awake residents.
The door clicks shut behind me. Sweet nothingness. I barely made it two steps into my room before the lock clicked and my door opened again.
I looked on in shock as Martinez strode into the room.
"What the fuck?"
"Good evening Ms. Bleachwater"
"Do you just have nowhere to be?"
He seemed a bit taken aback by my sharp tone, but he quickly recovered.
"I have to be here."
"You aren't planning on quitting anytime soon are you?"
"Nope."
"Not even beginning to wear you down?"
"Nope."
I sighed.
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to tell me in your own words, how you got here."
"Look at my file."
"I want to learn your perspective on it. Touch base."
Tears threatened my eyes. "It doesn't matter what I say, soon you'll think the same as everyone else."
"And what is that?"
"That I'm crazy."
Tears flooded my vision; I turned away from his gaze, ashamed.
I felt his hand gently touch my shoulder; I turned to face him.
"I don't think you're crazy."
"You will." My voice managed to squeak out. "Everyone does."
Everyone thinks I'm crazy.
I pushed him away and narrowed my eyes at him. Martinez rose his hands in mock surrender, but I didn't break my gaze.
"I know why you want my side of the story."
"Why is that?"
"You're new here aren't you?"
"I am in my third week here."
How did I not pick up on this? I thought angrily.
"You just want my side of the story so you can joke around with your coworkers on how Chardonnay Bleachwater, tomb raider, multimillionaire, celebrity, lifestyle of the rich and famous, wound up in the nuthouse because of voices in her head? No. I'll keep my origins to myself."
Martinez looked shocked and hurt by my accusing tone.
"Why do you think I would do that?"
I reached inside my pillowcase, feeling around until I produced a small folded piece of paper. I turned the paper around in my hands as more tears fell.
"Because someone already did."
I unfolded the piece of paper. Inside was a newspaper clipping, years old and yellowing. The headline, large and capitalized, screams at you from the top of the page. It read:
BLEACHWATER INSTITUTIONALIZED: BRIDGEPORT PSYCH TELLS ALL!
Martinez studied the headline; a soft frown spread across his face.
"That." A sob escaped my lips. "That is why I will never tell anyone why I'm here."
Martinez stared at me dumbfounded, then back at the paper. Hateful silence filled the room. I was shaking. I covered my mouth with my hand so my sobs were muffled.
"Please leave."
Martinez snapped his gaze up into my tear-filled eyes.
"I'm sorry?"
I cleared my throat. "I'm tired and I don't feel well. I would like to go to bed."
"Y-yes of course." He stammered as he folded up the clipping. He held it up to me. "Do you mind if I-"
"Take it?" I snorted. "Go ahead, I don't really need it in here."
Martinez put the paper in his pocket and slowly got up.
I watched him leave, and when the door finally clicked shut, I buried my head in my pillow and cried myself to a fitful sleep.