Found

Get Better Grace

I met a boy the next day. His face shallow. He was like me. 

"I don't sleep," he told me when I sat down to face him in the dining hall, "my mind has the scary capability of being dark and demented." 

I stared down at my food, dry and tasteless. "I'm afraid of my dreams too."

That was the last I heard from him, he fell silent when an orderly walked into the dining hall - the same one who made me sleep last night. I didn't dream, I swam in the darkness of my own mind. But, it seems, that was even scarier. 

When I had awoken, Georgia and Diana greeted me with sorrowful smiles. I grabbed my head, pounding from the fight to stay awake. They didn't mention my nightmares, and I was thankful for that. Diana had made some brownies for me, but they were confiscated by the orderly. Georgia had more luck smuggling a letter from Will in, stuffed inside her bra. It was a very Georgia thing to do. 

The staff had restricted all outside contraband in, as to not allow our minds to waver. Nothing to remind us from what haunted us, even if it were something that might remind us that our dreams were not real. Will was real, my love for him was real. But they seemed to think that might make me forget reality. They wouldn't even let me see the stars. 

They hadn't much more to say to me, bits and pieces of gossip from school - bash had gotten himself into more fatherly duties by 'adopting' some first years and taking them under his wing. But nothing too interesting. 

They left almost a quickly as they had come, they had to leave to go for an audition they were doing for the new school musical; Seussical. 

The days seemed to draw on, but I never saw the boy again. He seemed so scared, his hand red with constant scratching. He was terrified. Perhaps what they had done to me, making me face my own mind involuntarily, was what happened to him. Or maybe he got better and could leave and go back to his family. 

The orderlies wouldn't let family visits for me, stating that it could 'set me off'. I could phone them, and I often found myself engaged in conversations with Josh. Just talking to him I knew that he was getting worse, repeating the same events of the day multiple times per phone call. I spoke to my parents as well, they were both heartbroken that I was stuck here, but I could tell that they were glad that I was here - if only for my own good. I wonder what my real parents would think to me being here - following in their footsteps it seems.

My phone hour ran out, and I found myself sat on the floor of my room, drawing in the sketch pad that they had provided. Growing sick of the activity, I walked over to my mirror. 

I did not look good, to say the least. I hadn't brushed my hair in a long while, there was no point - I wasn't going outside any time soon. They made me wear a blue uniform, buttons slightly bringing in the waist of my dress. They told me this wasn't a mental institution, but with the uniform and therapy, I was beginning not to believe them. 

I didn't want to look at my eyes, but it was hard not too. They were outlined with black circles, a testament to the hours I lay awake not wanting to go back to my nightmares. I couldn't bring myself to smile, it was too hard. I had no reason to smile. 

There was a knock on the door, and one of the nurses was at the door. She held a tray in one hand and closed the door behind her. She gave me the same smile she gave to everyone else, it was not one meant especially for me. 

"Hello, Grace." 

I looked back to the mirror, looking at myself one last time before standing up. "Hi."

She took a white cup off the tray and handed it to me. There were multiple tablets inside, something to make me feel better apparently. Something to stop the dreams. Since the therapy wasn't working. "You know what to do."

I did as told, taking the cup and pouring the contents into my mouth. If they were to stop the dreams I would take them without question. "Thank you." She left soon after, to deliver more to the other people here. 

I walked back over to the mirror, looking at myself. Georgia had mentioned that they were doing Wicked in the summer, and I have never wanted to play Galinda more than now. 

Get better Grace. Thomas is gone. Get better. 

I won't accept defeat from my past. My journey was complete the day I came to America. I began a new adventure that day, and now I must remember that it can never come back. They can't find me. They can't make me go back.

Get better Grace. Do it for yourself. Go back and be yourself - go back to Broadway.