Day Twelve
I learned how to French braid my own hair today. It's been driving me insane for days, hanging limply in my face and I keep pulling at it causing it to break. It took hours to figure it out, then when I did, it was one of those ugly ass braids where it sits on top of your head instead of being buried under. How the fuck do you write that and explain what you mean? Oh well, no one is reading this shit but me. Anyway, finally I got it figured out. My damn arms ache so bad now from holding them above my head. But it's a good ache, like the way you feel after a hard workout, when you moan and smile at the same time. The pain of accomplishment, as lopsided as it may be.
She's out there. Standing there with her nose pressed to the stupid glass. I watched her earlier out of the corner of my eye. Occasionally her breath would make the glass fog and it would piss her off. She's mad. Mad that I won't look at her or the rest of them. In fact I am sitting with my back to her this very second and I can practically hear her panting with rage. It's what you get you bitch. You can stand out there just like the rest of them. Let hell freeze over...pigs fly...any other stupid ass saying that fits the situation. I'm not talking to you...
They say I'm too skinny. How can you be too skinny? People diet, diet, diet to lose weight and I'm too skinny. Give me some damn food. Not this institution bullshit either. Give me something that actually LOOKS like food and maybe I'll start eating it. Fat fucks. Of course I'm too skinny to you.
She'll get tired. Watching me do nothing will get old. She'll leave. They always do. We run from what we don't understand. We fear what we know nothing about and we run from it. It's funny how everyone claims to be tired of running, but in actuality, we all embraced it. Because if we were running, that meant we were free. We are never really free though, because we will always be running.
(Same day)
This place is going to drive me insane. Then they can just cart me from one white room to another I suppose. "She went straight from rehab to the Looney bin." They should just put me in the basement with the Nomalies…that's where I belong. If being in here doesn't drive me insane seeing them out there will. They are still there. She had disappeared for a while and I thought she was gone then I see that she just came back with the rest of them. Those fuckers can just go and leave me the fuck alone.
****
"When did all this start?" Max finally said after almost an hour of complete silence.
"Zack never really told us where she was. We had a very general idea but it took us months to find her." Syl explained slowly. "This is how we found her. She had just snorted that shit and was blown out of her mind."
Zane nodded and walked towards the door to watch her through the window. "She was mumbling about Ben…and you. She thinks we all abandoned her."
"Why would she think that? We didn't know!" Max proclaimed, her voice dripping with remorse. "She was my best friend."
"I know that Max, but we all had someone. We all left Manticore with someone. She didn't have anyone…" Zane shook his head. "Except Ben, I know for a fact that her and Ben spent a lot of time together. I remember Zack bitching about it for hours about how irresponsible they were being."
"And she was in San Francisco the whole time?" Max's fingers trailed down the window.
"Practically the whole time. She traveled with Ben for a few months, over to New York Chicago, and Miami…she wasn't even in San Francisco when we got the Eyes Only message. Zack lost track of her and Ben…then you found Ben, I'm pretty sure she was back in San Francisco by then." Zane sighed as if the whole memory had been a chore for him.
Max's gazed turned from them and back to Jondy. Her thoughts shifted to Ben and his possible role in this and maybe her possible role in his melt down.
Day 14
They stood outside the door for like four hours today and just looked in. I wanted so bad to just turn and stick my tongue out at them or flip them the bird or something. You put me here. Stop looking at me like some zoo animal all sad eyed and crying. If the sight of me in here makes you sad blame yourself. You made me this way. You can stand out there until your bones turn to dust. I'm not looking at you...I'm not talking to you and when I get out I'm going right back where I came from. This isn't my home. There's nothing for me here anymore.
What else can I write about? I have to do something to make the time pass faster. The days seem to stretch on eternally and it's driving me mad. I lay in this bed and stare at the ceiling and pray for sleep - not like God's listening to me these days but what the hell, ya know? - but sleep never does come for me, fucking shark DNA. I wonder what kind of faces they'd make at me if I asked for drugs to make me sleep. I'd laugh at that but someone might see me and the game would be over. Bastards. It amuses me to call them that. Bastards...they march around all high and mighty telling me it will all be okay, it can't be that bad. How the fuck do you know? Sure your life isn't that bad. You're not locked in some fucking room. You get to roam around and be free to fucking watch me for hours on end. Your boyfriends are with you, you're girlfriends are with you. Ben is dead. But it's all going to be okay. I've just let myself become dependent on the drugs. Well no shit. It wasn't accidental, ya know.
There should be a place where you can go and press rewind on your life. Like a big ass T.V. remote...and every person has their own channel and I could point to my channel and just hit rewind. I'd wanna go back to when I was like nine the night we escaped and instead of going, I would burrow under the covers and pretend to be dead. Yeah…that's what I'd do.
Boredom...it does crazy things to your brain. Apparently, so does cocaine.
