Chapter Two - Emma
I gaze out the car’s window in awe. The sprawling estates and endless blue sky roll past me.
Wow, I’m finally free…
I turn and stare at the back of my mother’s seat. She twists around to face me. “So, Isabelle, how was this visit with Emma?”
“Uh, the usual… it’s hard seeing her like that,” I blurt out, “I hate seeing her like that.”
“Oh baby, we do too…” Mom muses, swallowing tears.
“It’s… difficult.” I shrug, trying to imagine how Isabelle feels about seeing me.
“I know… but don’t worry, she’ll be better soon.”
How is that supposed to work? I’m not even there. Keep quiet, Emma. If you try to tell them the truth, they might lock up Isabelle too. Well, after all… that’s how I wound up there in the first place.
I close my eyes, trying to sleep. Nothing works, though. Each time I doze off, all I can see are psychologists, strait jackets and steel-eyed nurses.
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My eyes snap open. The vehicle lurches to a stop and my parents step out. I push open the front door.
God, did I ever miss this house – with its brick driveway, heated pool, and a fairytale bedroom; it was an ultimate paradise.
Unlike the cell I was just taken from.
I smile widely and follow my parents into the house. A fluffy, Persian cat greets us at the door.
“Hello, Jasper,” Mom says.
“Who’s – I mean, hey… Jasper,” When did they get a cat? Dad hates them.
Mom chuckles and I walk to the bottom of the stairwell. I grasp the rail for support and climb the steps.
I stand on the plush carpet for a minute before continuing towards two closed doors.
A sign reading Isabella’s Room is on one of the doors. I turn the knob of the other door and step inside it.
They remodelled.
The walls are sky-blue instead of purple, the bedding is a fluffy duvet and a million pillows, and a small desk stands in the corner. A light on the desk illuminates the room.
After I left, they turned it into a guest bedroom. They must’ve thought that I’d never come home, so they turned it into a god damned guest bedroom?
I sigh and walk out, closing the door behind me. I enter the other room without thinking and plop down on the silky comforter.
Oh well, this’ll do, I think.
Mom knocks on the door. I turn towards her. “Hi sweetie,”
I wave at her. She is struggling with a pile of clothing. I take some of the sweaters from her and lay them on the bed.
“Thank you.” She proceeds to putting the clothes away, neatly packing them into the dresser drawers.
I sit on the bed and watch her. I missed her so much – her coppery, sun-kissed hair, her warm smile and especially how she’d make me pancakes every Saturday morning.
She straightens up and brushes her jeans off. She leans over to kiss me on the forehead before dancing out of the room.
I stretch out on the bed and wonder if Isabella’s time in the hospital will be as bad as mine was.
“Therapy time,” A uniform-clad woman knocks on the door to mine and Raven’s room.
Raven groans and hops off her bed. I chuckle at her and follow her out of the room.
The nurse guides us into the therapy room. a circle of chairs are in the centre of the room, a few of them occupied.
Raven leads me to one of the chairs and we sit. A few other girls, and one guy comes into the circle as well.
Eventually, the woman who knocked on our doors joins us. She smiles brightly and welcomes us.
“Who would like to go first?” She asks, “Come on, don’t be shy.”
“I will, I guess…” Raven raises her snowy-white hand and the woman nods enthusiastically.
“Have you talked to you’re parents this week, Raven?” The woman asks.
“Nah, I haven’t bothered. Mom’s working all week… and Dad’s well… gone, so I didn’t find calling home useful. It’ll only end in Mom and me screaming.”
“Do you want to resolve the conflict?” A blond girl asks her, her strong Southern accent apparent.
“No. I really don’t. She’ll always want to control me.” Raven replies, heavily rolling her eyes.
That was only one day. And it wasn’t even a bad day – it was near the beginning of my stay, and I hadn’t told anyone besides the nurses about everything that was going on.
Things got worse from there though, as my illness got worse. The doctors increased my medication, the nurses watched me with a more careful eye, and I was marched off to more therapy sessions. It was torture that I thought would never end.
But, I guess it did… even if it's only temporary.
