Escaping Darkness

1

So yeah, he stayed for a while. Eventually, he just stopped showing up. I didn't blame him. I really didn't.

***

I wake up when it's still dark in my room. I don't have a new roommate yet because my last one was discharged.

Someone is here. I know it immediately, because I can hear breathing that's not mine. I stay very quiet, scared. I know logically no one would really break into a rehab, but I'm still scared.

People here on the inside aren't always, you know, friendly.

I pull my covers farther over my head and try to hold my breath. I wait for them to take whatever they want.

And then someone's ripping my blanket off. I gasp.

I'm about to scream.

Then a hand wraps around my throat, not tight enough to really do damage, but the warning is there.

"Shut the hell up," says a male voice. "Just keep quiet." His voice is really soft, but I'm still really scared. Oh God, I think, oh my God, I'm going to die.

"What do you want?" I say.

The hand tightens. He pushes me further into the bed, and puts a finger over his lips. The message is clear: Don't speak.

He let's me go, and I stay where I am. He's tall and really built, and his hair is cut short.

He bends down to retrieve the stuff he'd dropped in his hurry to quiet me.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I can't help but blurt out and he turns toward me, furious.

"Do you know what shut up means?" he says, "Or are you just too fucking crazy?"

"Hey," I snap. "That's really messed up of you to say."

He shrugs, grabbing the stuff and glaring at me again. His eyes, I realize, are an intense, bright, blue.

"I don't care," he says simply.

He's got all my books, I realize, in his arms. He really took all my books.

"Enjoy my books, asshole," I say, because I clearly have no sense of self preservation.

He just glares and then glances at my wrists, the scars there, and the scar that is visible on my chest. He doesn't lose his anger, meeting my eyes again.

The guy is huge. His shoulders are bulky, and broad.

I pull my sheet over me quickly.

"Go away," I say and turn onto my side, facing away from him.

He does. I don't even hear the door shut behind him, and I shiver.

What an asshole.

***

I'm sucking on a jolly rancher in Mrs. Huy's office. The couch she has in here is uncomfortable. I keep shifting, moving positions, endlessly fidgeting.

Only a half hour more of this private session.

She's been prodding at me for the last half hour, trying to get me to talk.

She says, "How are you, Sarah?"

I say, "Fine," then, "I'm good."

The flavor is grape. I hate grape.

"How are you settling in? You've been here with us for about two months, now." I hate how she says with us, like we're all a happy family.

"I'm..." I really hate grape. I stop sucking on the jolly rancher, and put it into its wrapper that had been crunched in my fist. I look for a trash can, but can't see one.

"Sarah?" she prompts.

I remember she asked me a question.

"Fine," I say. "Good."

Mrs. Huy sighs, and rubs her hand over her face for a moment.

"Give me a minute of complete, real honesty and you can leave the session early."

I'm interested.

"Okay," I say. "What do you want to know?"

"It's not about what I want to know," she says, "It's about what you want to tell me." I roll my eyes a little. Such therapist bullshit.

"Fine. I'll tell you something. You want honesty? I hate this place. I hate doctors. I hate how much white is here. Like, literally, you assholes couldn't choose a different color than white to paint everything? I hate that I'm here. I hate that I'm here-" I stop, suddenly, a sharp gasp and then I cut myself off. I don't know if I meant here, like this place, or here, like in general.

"Thank you," she says.

"Yeah," I say. My mouth is dry. I get up and leave.

I hate it here.