Breaking Chains

Tea Time

A week later she was moved to the East wing. Apparently the hospital had designated area’s; the West wing was the serious hopeless cases and new arrivals, while the East wing was for the moderates. And as it turns out the White Haven lived up to it’s title of White Haven: Asylum and Hospital because the main area was a hospital. Samantha doubted that it was used much by anyone other than patient who had injured themselves but it was nice to know that she wouldn’t die if she got an infected papercut.

The bright side to moving to the East wing was that she could talk to more people and got away from all the people who could kill her--for the most part--and she got out of her suffocating room. The downside was that she lost Lloyd. Which actually had a bigger impact on her than she thought.

Of course there were other negative aspects. The biggest one was that all two hundred and eight-four of the inhabitants of the East wing slept in the same room. The floor was a stunning red with interweaving black and gold but you could barely see it over the sea of white beds that were packed so tight they formed a second floor. Samantha could walk clear across the room purely on the beds and never lose a step. Bedwetters were especially hated because in such close quarters one soiled bed meant the one adjacent to it was probably soiled as well. Changing the sheets must have been the mother of all chores but from the smell of things it didn’t happen too often.

Samantha did appreciate a change of scenery from her old room. Particularly the ceiling. After over five weeks of staring at her tiny grey ceiling any new view seemed like a godsend. The ceiling was white with intricate gold lacing but it too was crumbling and losing it’s luster--she suspected the room to have been some sort of ballroom back in the day. However, Samantha had seen better and she grew tired of staring at it after a day or two.

They still wouldn’t let her walk but when no one was present her legs had a bad habit of moving on their own.

                                           

Unfortunately the time restrictions were still in play; consequently, she couldn’t leave the room or do anything remotely entertaining unless it was sanctioned by the good doctor. So she lied on the bed, counted the bricks (two thousand and eighty so far), and stared out the windows.

“Bored,” she groaned. Celia hadn’t been around for a few days, probably isolation room, so there wasn’t anyone to interact with. What Celia and her had could not be categorized as conversation as most of the time she talked to inanimate objects but she was the closest thing Samantha had too a friend or anything that wasn’t an enemy. “Bored,” she repeated to the large empty room.

Even the nurses would be preferable to being alone. At least they said something interesting every now and then.

“So bored,” she said to the ceiling. Where was Celia?

A china cup was slid across the table to Celia.

“Your turn.” She picked up the cards between her fingers and let them dangle as she examined them.

“Why is the King of Hearts the only one without a mustache?” she wondered aloud. Her opponent smiled.

“It’s not much of a game if I know your cards.” She picked up the rest of the deck scattered them out on the table. All the paper people on the cards were cut in half and pasted to identical other halves; one head was always up right but the other head was always upside down.

“That must be uncomfortable,” she said to the card. She tore a jack in half and set the two halves next to each other so each. “All better.” The man reached out a white gloved hand to pick up his tea cup.