“This is your room.” The receptionist informed me as we stopped in front of a maple door with the number 82 on it. 82? Were there really more than 50 rooms in this place? I watched as the receptionist took out a card and slid it into the door, a green light went off and she turned the silver handle. The room was a perfect square with cream colored walls and hardwood floors. It had one huge window in the middle across from the entry door. That window was like a dividing line between one half and another half.
“I have a roommate?” I asked. I didn’t mean to sound bratty, but I don’t do roommates.
“Honey, this ain’t no Holiday Inn.” She winked and placed the key on an empty desk. She walked out quietly.
Once the door was shut I walked up and locked it. I needed to know who my roommate was. I first started with her top drawer: pink lacy underwear all neatly folded in rows of two, matching bras in the same order, and… a bottle of speed? I quickly shut the drawer and opened the next one: Dressy shirts of the same kind, just different colors, next to those were skinny jeans only. What’s with this girl and the same thing? I closed that drawer and opened the last one: Food? I looked around and found a few pills, but mostly food. I closed that one and walked over to her desk: multiple pictures of the same cute boy, a diary, and files in rows of alphabetical order, text books, phone charger, and a laptop. I sat down at the desk and placed my hands on the laptop to open it,
“Hey! Who’s in here?” I jumped at the voice behind my door. I quickly got out of the chair and went and unlocked the door. There stood a girl the same height as me. She had wheat blond hair and electric blue eyes. She had pale skin and limited eyeliner. Her hair was just plain straight with no bangs or layers. It cut off at her shoulders. Once I looked at the dressy shirt and skinny jeans, I knew exactly who it was.
“You must be my roommate.” I stated and opened the door more to let her through. She walked in quickly and immediately checked her desk, then raced over to her drawers.
“Have you been looking through my drawers?” She asked, her freshly waxed eyebrows burrowed.
“No?” I lied closing the door behind me.
“Well, my dark pink Victoria Secret bra is not aligned with my soft pink Victoria Secret bra.” She crossed her arms. This girl was a freak.
“Maybe they shifted from when I set my suitcase down.” I lied again and walked over, indicating my suitcase on the ground. Her face softened and she dropped her arms to her side.
“Yeah… you’re right. Sorry, I suffer from major OCD.” She placed some hair behind her ear.
“OCD? As in Obsession Compulsive Disorder?” I asked, opening my suitcase.
“Yeah, do you have it?” She asked, closing her drawer.
“No. But my psychotic mother does.” I said quietly, “I’m not calling you psychotic or anything, though.”
“No, I understand.” She said as she fixed a pillow on her bed. “What’s your name, anyways?”
I hesitated; this is one thing I hate: when people want to know my name. Marchetta is an embarrassing name, “Its Em.” I lied. I did not want this girl to know my name.
“You’re lying to me!” She gasped her eyes wide. Jesus! I’m guessing she saw it in my face. I was a terrible liar.
“Ugh. Marchetta is my full name, but you can call me Em.” I corrected her. I just made that up, but I loved the sound of it. All I pictured was how disgraced my mother would be to know I made up a name so no one would know me as Marchetta.
“Oh. Sorry. I’m Cynthia.” She extended her long arm. I shook her hand and she turned it to look at my black nails.
“Sharpie.” I informed her as she studied them.
“No, it’s not that. Your cuticles are just so… uneven.” She pulled my hand closer to her face. I retreated my hand and held it in my other hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just a habit. That’s the reason my grandmother sent me here.”
“For looking at people’s cuticles?” I was confused. This was a clinic to help people with mental problems. Sort of like Rehab, but worse.
She giggled lightly, “No! She just wanted my OCD to stop. I’ve been here for a year.”
I gaped, “A year?”
“Yeah. My grandmother won’t take me out until my OCD stops.” She looked down at her feet.
“Well, I have to get my stuff put away.” I smiled and then turned around to open my drawers.
“Marchetta?”
“Yes?” I asked while I continued to pull out my folded cloths.
“You want to have lunch together?” She asked. I stopped and looked up and then turned to face her.
“When’s lunch?” I asked.
“Right after Taekwondo.”
“I’m sorry, but what?” I raised my voice.
“Didn’t you read the pamphlet?” Cynthia asked. She opened one of her files and pulled out a sheet of paper and pamphlet.
“It says every patient has their own schedule depending on their problem, but they all must take Taekwondo.” She handed me the pamphlet. “Also, here’s a copy of my schedule. Can I see yours?”
I looked around, “I-I didn’t get one, yet.”
She giggled again, “It’s on your desk, silly!”
I walked over to my desk and saw a folder. I opened it up and saw the same pamphlet Cynthia brought over and behind it was numerous copies of my schedule. At six in the morning I had track. At seven I had breakfast in the second cafeteria. After that I had free time until nine-thirty. By that time I had… yoga? After yoga I had Taekwondo at ten. Then at eleven-thirty we were dismissed to lunch. After lunch we had free time until one, and after that I had a tutor until three-thirty. Then the rest of the day was mine until lights out at eleven. I decided that instead of making a scene on this, I should live with it. I turned around and handed Cynthia the schedule who examined it against hers.
“We have Yoga, Taekwondo, Lunch, and breakfast together!” She smiled cheerfully at me. I smiled and accepted her schedule as she kept mine. She darted to her desk and grabbed a bright highlighter and highlighted all the classes we had together. She pinned it up above her bed and then smiled at me. I smiled back and then continued to getting settled in.
“Well, it’s nine-fifteen. I need to get my yoga cloths on. Want me to get you some?” She asked as she walked to our door.
“Um…sure.” I stated, continuing to fix my bed. I heard the door close and fell on the bed, crying. I hated this, there was no way out. Not for six months. I got up and walked over to Cynthia’s drawer. I grabbed the speed bottle and pulled out two pills. I stared down at the little capsules, contemplating whether or not I should. I continued to weep to myself silently, placing the two pills in my night table. I sat on my bed and whipped my eyes, if I ever needed them, they’d be there.
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