Prisoner of her Spark

2. Twenty-Five: Drive

Beneath a crumpled layer of white tissue paper is a new smart phone box. Ok- ok, ok that's just fucked up. There's no way— I look everywhere on the box to find some sort of flaw, the only concern is the lack of plastic wrap. When I open the box, the phone is clean, pristine, polished like no person laid a finger on it. Bullshit. Fucking bullshit there's no way?! I pick it up, it's heavy, and it turns on after a minute to restart. It turns on. I look all around it, everything looks totally normal, everything is real and nothing is marked or scratched on it— but there's a screen protector already on it.

The lock screen says my name. It has my name and Nurse Darby's address on it. It's unlocked, there's even a service provider already attached. There are three contacts, without numbers so I fill them in. Wow, uh, shit, that's . . . Wow. I- I guess I'm shocked. I've never held something so expensive like this. There must be a catch, I shouldn't get too ahead of myself. This is just a loan, I'll have to give it back later.

Right below is a phone case, a very simple, sturdy, orange protective case. I put it on and place it next to my tools. Wow, uh, alrighty then. Cool. Next— pants, just pants, thank fucking god. But when I pick up the first couple layers, there's another box. This fucking bag goes on forever I swear. To my surprise though, it's just a box of snacks. Bars and gummies and other sweets. Oh hell yeah. On the lid is another note, "here's a stash just for yourself, but help yourself to the kitchen whenever ;)" ok, yeah, these are pretty cute. I catch myself smiling at the little green sticky note. Ok. Now the rest is actually pants. All pants here. Yup.

I take out my pants and put the stash box in the bag. This is going under my bed. And it does, neatly hidden away. Nurse Darby gave me jeans, some leggings, a couple old cargo pants, shorts, lounge wear, some new and some used. They go in the wire rack up in my closet. I should really get dressed and give these pajamas back.

I'm happy that Nurse Darby gave me some alone time. It's day three today. I still haven't said much, but I've been trying to. It's hard to know what everyone here is thinking. This whole place is surrounded in mysteries that are so big and world ending, but even the next door neighbors wouldn't begin to think that Jack's motorcycle is an alien robot. Speaking of, I should really thank that dragon one, wherever it is. I don't start school until the next semester, so I have the rest of spring and all of summer to kill. Well— shoot, I forgot about therapy. My first appointment isn't for like a week or so. That's fine.

I put on dark jeans, they're a little loose but I have a plain black belt to hold it up, and an ok fitting long sleeve black shirt. It's a v-neck. I hate v-necks. My pack straps just as well as it always has on my hip. My tools fit snuggly in slots on my thigh pouch. The phone is heavy. The weight feels good. In my other I'm still holding that bar.

I should eat something. If I'm going out I should grab some of my stash, just in case. I slide the bag out and take a couple bars and pieces of candy from the box then return it. I should have enough. If I'm going out I'll need water. My— . . . My water bottle died in that crash. This is why we can't have nice things, Enola, you just can't keep out of giant alien robot battles.

I think that's everything. Socks— I grab a pair of socks out of the closet and finally go to leave, socks and pajama's in hand. Before I go out, I take a deep breath in and a long breath out to calm my nerves. Nurse Darby is by the staircase and sees me. Fuck! My nerves!

"Oh! Enola! Hi, how'd you sleep?" She stops what she's doing and turns her whole body to me. She has a genuinely interested face on. Her head is tilted slightly, and I really feel inclined to answer her this time, and I do.

"Uhm, I slept ok." Everything shifts with her when I say that. She hasn't heard my voice much, so when it hits her ears she looks satisfied. What does that mean? Maybe she's trying to get at something. "And uh, here, thank you for, uh, this . . ." I walk over and hand her the clothes.