"When you were dating her, did she show any signs of psychosis? Did she talk about killing herself? Did she try to contact you while she was in juvenile detention?" The voices of the police officers surrounding me melt into one.
"Okay, that's enough questions for today, she needs to rest," My mom stops them.
"We have no information; she needs to talk."
"She's in shock, she won't be talking to you for a while." A doctor says, she ushers the policemen out of my room.
"Gracie, can I get you anything?" Mama asks. I can't talk, I can't do anything but lie here.
"I think she probably just wants some space." The doctor says to her and mama. They're reluctant but the nurse gets them out of the room and leaves me alone.
I haven't known what to say or what to do since it happened. I've been silent ever since. I passed out straight after. Apparently, I was airlifted to the hospital, but all I remember is waking up in this room. I can't walk, the cuts on my leg restrict any movement. Moms have been trying to get me to talk since I woke up yesterday morning. I can't imagine what the others are feeling, they're back at home, Brandon drove the RV while moms rode with me in the helicopter. From the moment she jumped, I've felt so confused and sad, I can't tell if I'm sad because I'm confused or if I'm confused because I'm sad. I shouldn't be sad, she ruined my life, but the feeling won't go away. Guilt lies within me too, maybe if I had never started dating her, she would have turned out okay, and she'd still be alive.
All I want to do is go home to my bed, but the doctor won't let me leave, I know it's because I'm not talking. But what the hell am I supposed to say? I know if I just talk to my moms or a nurse or anyone I'll get out of here. But I open my mouth to say something and nothing comes out. I've had all different kinds of doctors in and out of here all week, but they can't help me. I don't know who can. I know that it's a case of no one being able to help me unless I make the effort, but I'm not ready to be helped. I just need to think. My thoughts haven't been clear, my brain feels like someone's stepped inside and moved everything around. Nothing makes sense anymore.
I try to think back to when we were camping when I was happier, but the whole thing feels artificial. It feels like I wasn't being me because I was happy. The universe is trying to tell me that I'm not supposed to be happy, I'm supposed to be the sad, vulnerable little foster kid I always was.
"Gracie?" Moms quietly come into my room one morning, "We've explained to the doctors that we're far away from home," Mama says.
"We asked if we could take you back to our house but they're still not certain you're stable enough." They sit on my bed. "They've agreed to have you moved to a facility closer to home." They stay quiet for a moment, hoping for an answer. But I've got nothing, "You don't have to be scared, it's a relaxed environment, it's just somewhere that you can be safe." They're having me put in a mental hospital, can't say I'm surprised. I'm not angry, what else are they supposed to do with me?
So, I spend one last night in the hospital and the next morning I'm taken to a bus, moms ride with me. It's a long silent drive. Everything's a long silence now, at least for me. We arrive at a big building, it's old looking and it stands alone at the end of a road, surrounded by green fields and tall trees. It's supposed to look calm and serene, but the big metal door with several locks on it would suggest otherwise. The warm and inviting environment they're trying so desperately to create only comes across as feeling cold and rejecting, the bars on the windows say the same thing. I'm taken through winding corridors that smell like old oak mixed with chemicals to my new room. The walls are painted yellow, the most cliché color to symbolize happiness. Instead of a typical hospital bed, there's a normal, wooden twin bed in between the windows.
"Can we have a minute with her?" Mom asks my new nurse. She nods her head and leaves, closing the door behind her. "This isn't forever, you're just here to figure out what's going on in your head. I know we can't fully understand what you're going through, someone here can help you with that. But you have to put the effort in too." Mom rests her hands on either side of my face. Normally this would comfort me, but the last person to touch my face like that was Rachel, and in one of those hands was the knife that almost killed me. Now that knife lays at the bottom of a cliff, probably surrounded by dried blood and brain matter. In my mind, I've created an image of her lying there, her limbs bent in the wrong directions, her bright blonde hair now dyed red with her blood. The vision always includes flashes of my hands on her back, pushing her off the cliff. It's my fault after all.
"And we'll be here to see you as much as we can," Mama's voice takes me out of my head for a moment. "And hopefully we can have you back home as soon as possible and we can start to get past this. We're not doing this to punish you, we want to help you, but there's only so much we can do before taking a step back and leaving it in the hands of professionals." I know what they want me to say, they want me to say it's okay and tell them I don't blame them, both of those things are true, but the words won't form. All I can do is hope they understand that.
"We love you, sweetie, we'll check in on you soon." With good timing, the nurse comes back in. I turn my wheelchair to face the window away from them.
"She can't be locked in, she panics," Mom says.
"And she hates green beans and she's allergic to raspberries," Mama adds, she sounds like she's crying. I wish I could run to her and tell her I'm fine, but I can't, I'm not in control anymore. I turn back to them, unable to make eye contact.
"Goodbye, love," Mom says. I watch as they walk hand in hand down the hallway.
