"Where did you get it, Ellie?" Dr. Cavanaugh was not pleased.
Ellie stifled a yawn. "Get what?"
"Where did you get the razor blade?"
"It's after midnight. I'm exhausted, and I'm not doing this right now. Besides, it's none of your business. You never said I couldn't cut. You gave me different clothes, you yammered on about how cutting sucks, but you never forbade me, and I never promised anything. I'm going back to bed." Ellie gave her a condescending glance before standing up.
"Fine. Go back to your room. I'll follow you there, and I won't stop bugging you until you tell me. The fact that you were able to get your hands on a blade indicates a very serious flaw in the system and I am not going to just stand by and listen to you snore while other patients could be using the same way to harm themselves." Ellie left the room, and Dr. Cavanaugh did as she had promised. When Ellie reached her bed, she climbed in and turned her back to the chair. Instead of sitting down, Dr. Cavanaugh walked around to the other side of the bed, a stern expression on her face. Ellie flipped over, and once more, the doctor moved into her line of sight.
"Fine," Ellie said grudgingly. "Some idiot gave razors to the druggies, and drugs to the cutters. So we traded. It isn't exactly rocket science. I give up my ever-so-slightly soggy sleeping pills, and I get my wonderful sharpies in return. Guess someone's going to be losing their job." She smirked openly.
Dr. Cavanaugh sank down into the chair and leaned back, crossing her legs. "Why'd you do it?" she asked. "Why tonight? Why, in the one place where you actually have a fighting chance to be happy again, did you feel the need to risk everything?"
Ellie stared her in the eye. "I wanted to," she said defiantly. "I wanted to, so I did it. Too bad it didn't fit in with the plans that you just happened to forget to consult with me about."
Dr. Cavanaugh ignored the comment. "Did it perhaps have anything to do with starting to talk to me? Or maybe the question about your mother?"
"Of course not." Ellie cringed slightly. She knew from saying it so quickly, it was pretty obvious what the real answer was. "Okay, maybe slightly. But it's none of your business anyway."
"I'm your doctor, and you've been hospitalized. Everything you do is my business, I'm afraid."
"Doesn't mean I have to say anything." Ellie was adament.
"That's true. But if you don't talk, I can't help you, and if I can't help you, it'll be longer before you get out of here."
"Can I please just get some rest? Lack of sleep makes me delusional. Unless that's just a delusion."
Dr. Cavanaugh shook her head in disbelief. "It certainly makes you a lot less funny," she said, smiling slightly. "Get some sleep. I'm posting someone outside your door for the night. If nothing else, it will make you think twice about doing this again." Ellie shrugged and burrowed down into the blankets, pointedly ignoring the doctor until she left. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry, but she absolutely refused to do so in front of anyone--doctor, nurse, or guard.
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Sean lay awake staring at the ceiling, and wondering vaguely if Ellie was doing the same. He was still chastising himself for being so stupid with the alcohol, and the whole fact of the alcohol itself was bringing back a flood of memories--for once, not entirely about Rick.
He'd ruined things with Emma more than once because he'd been drinking, a fact he wasn't proud of. He might have moved on to Ellie, and then Wasaga, but he still wished he could have treated Emma better. When Rick had pointed the gun at her, he had a brief thought that maybe it could fix things between him, that maybe the guilt would go away. It hadn't. Instead he felt guilty about Rick, guilty about leading Emma on--because it was obvious in the way she looked at him that she wanted him back.
He knew he should shut his mind off and just sleep, but it wasn't that simple. He'd never had trouble sleeping before, even when his parents were drunk and fighting, he blocked it out. Ever since the shooting, though, his nights had been hell, and it showed. Things had gotten a little better since moving back to Wasaga, but he still had dark circles under his eyes, and he never quite felt awake.
He wondered how much longer he could carry on without Ellie. For awhile, she had been his world. He'd done everything for her--confessing to the theft of Mr. Simpson's laptop, stopping the parties at his house--and he knew it wasn't healthy to be so devoted to her, or her to him. But that didn't stop him from craving her touch or the angles of her body or worrying about whether or not she was falling apart--and he knew now that she was. He wanted to call her, to hear her voice again, but he knew it would be for purely selfish reasons.
But damnit, why couldn't he be selfish for once?