I’m sitting in Miss Keats room, in a plush leather chair. This room seems out of place in a mental hospital – the walls are sky-blue, tall oak shelves filled with medical journals reach to the ceiling, and bright light filters through the windows. The room is more appropriate to be a stand-alone guidance office, not a psychologist’s office that’s stuck in a mental house.
“Isabelle? Would you like to start?” Miss Keats leans forward, questions bounce in her eyes.
“No thanks. You can start.” I mutter. Mentally, I lock my heart with an iron key.
“How do you feel about your situation, Isabelle?”
Pissed off. Annoyed. Upset. “I don’t really know.”
“No opinion whatsoever?” She pries.
“Nope.” I’d like to fucking rip your throat out.
“Well then, Isabelle… The only questions I had for you involved your particular… situation, so I think we’re finished for the day.” Miss Keats realizes.
“Okay. Bye.” I stumble over the chair and high-tail out of the office.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Back in my room, my mind whirls. I just lied through therapy. How am I supposed to get better if I don’t give anyone the magic key?
Mona appears at my door. She presses her finger to her lips as she tiptoes past the threshold.
“I’m not allowed out of my room unless it’s for therapy, so… be quiet.” She whispers.
I glide my finger over my lips and twist it before flicking my wrist. “No worries.”
“Thanks. I needed to get out of the cell. It’s driving me insane!” She exclaims.
My room isn’t that terrifying yet – than again, I’ve only been in it for a little under two weeks, so it could get worse.
“I came here to have a chat with you. But I didn’t want any of the hawk-eyed nurses to overhear it.” Mona explains.
“Okay. Talk.”
“I just wanted to discuss why I’m here… just to – you know – get it out to someone who might understand. Well, I totally get it if you don’t… but just to put it out in the open.” She babbles.
“I’ll try not to judge.” I say.
“Thank you…” She moves towards me and sits next to me. The bed buckles under our weight.
I stiffen as she grabs my hand. It’s bony and cold. She leans forward and kisses me.
I inhale sharply as she pulls away.
“Sorry…” She apologizes. “I just… I don’t know… thought maybe… anyway, I was sent here because my parents thought it’d cure me. I’m a lesbian. My parents don’t really accept me so they sent me away.”
She thought that I was too. Wow.
“Again – I’m sorry. Are you just a bulimic or is it something else?” She asks.
“Nope. I just have an eating disorder.” I mutter.
“I’ve got to…” She springs from my bed, her face burning scarlet. She swiftly walks out of my room without so much as a “goodbye”.
