Epilogue
"Sweety? Hey, your parents are here to see you."
The nurse smiled, and Phoebe sighed.
"I'll send them in. Hang on a sec."
She waited, looking down at her white robe as she did. It wasn't nearly as white as she would've liked, she being the perfectionist that she was. It was... eggshell, maybe. Definitely not pure white.
They entered, slowly, a few minutes later. They looked wary.
Phoebe began to cry. "For God's sake, I'm not going to hurt you!" she exclaimed, throwing herself onto her bed. "I'm not crazy! I'm not violent! I'm just a kid, okay?!"
Her mother rushed to the side of her bed. "Suga', we don't think you're crazy. And we know you're not going to hurt us. You're upset, is all, and we didn't want to disturb you."
"I want to go home," she answered, wiping her eyes.
"I know, Sweety, I know. We're doing our best. They're going to let you out soon. They just want to make sure that you didn't hurt yourself too bad... you know, when you fell."
"I'm not stupid, Mom. I know why I'm here. It's not because I hit my head. It's because they think I'm crazy. And so do you."
"No, we don't think that! We know you, Phoebe. You have a good head on your shoulders. But you've been under so much stress lately, that something went wrong inside of you. We just want to make sure you're going to be okay, before we throw you back out into the world."
"Have you talked to Helga?"
"Not in a week or so, no. Why?"
"Does she hate me?"
Silence.
"I thought so."
"Sweety, when she finds out the truth, she couldn't possibly hate you. It's not like you remember any of it, right?"
"I know. But still..."
"Look, Sweety, you need your rest. We'll be by first thing tomorrow morning, hopefully to take you home. You're gonna be just fine, okay Sweety? We love you."
She looked to her father, who stood by the door, silent, his arms folded across his chest. Somehow, without knowing, he knew.
They left. Phoebe stood and walked to her window, which was barred. To keep crazy people like her inside. She thought about things. She thought about how she'd lied to her mother, to the prosecutor, to the judge, about not remembering what had happened. And she thought about the look on Helga's face as she hit the ground, a six-inch blade in her back.
She hadn't wanted to do it. She hadn't even realized she was planning on it. And she nearly backed out of it, when she got to the dance. But then, when she saw her, with her arms around him, she lost control.
What would happen? Would Helga forgive her? Would they... could they ever be friends again?
A tear rolled down her cheek. Another followed it.
She reached into her pillowcase and took out a picture. It was of her and Arnold, when they'd gone skiing up in the mountains. They looked so happy together. And they had been. But that was over. Now there was no chance.
Helga and Arnold would be together. She knew that much for certain. The first thing she would see, upon returning home, would be Helga and Arnold, walking hand-in-hand down the road. It was too much to think about. She hated herself. Even more, she hated her life. She wished she was dead.
What could she do?
She remembered the knife, then, for a brief instant, saw the shocked look on Helga's face again. It was a passing thought, but it chilled her.
Her lip was bleeding.
