The Private Clinic

CHAPTER 15 - JULIET HARDWIN

Juliet Hardwin, 14 weeks after the accident

I woke for the second time today, though I could tell it was still early morning. Evan woke me the first time, when he kissed me goodbye before heading to work. He's working a long shift, so I have to miss him the whole day until just before dinner. To make it up to me, he promised to make my favorite.

The fresh sheets comfortably cling to my body and I turn around once more. I don't care to leave the bed for once, his scent is stuck in his pillow and I press my cheek comfortably against it. It's odd how much I like to sleep in, since I hated the bed I used to be stuck in. But now things are so different, I actually feel good. It's been a long time since I felt happy, but I know now that I'm close to the feeling I had before this all went down.

A few weeks ago, I had decided to give up on Casper completely. I really want to vent to my parents about it, about them as well, but I know it's not fair. They were in the front seat, the blow must have hit harder than I experienced and they likely had a tougher process to go through to heal. I'm just glad I can't remember the crash. I hope they don't, as well.

It's Casper though, who I am especially mad at. I can never hold grudges for a long time, I had always forgiven him for the shit I had to keep up with before the accident happened and always had his back. But all these weeks that I had been feeling miserable, he didn't even care to call.

When I get back home, I will use all my might to take care of mom and dad. They can recover further at home and I'll have to kick Casper out. I don't care where he ends up, he can sleep in Daniel's garage for all I care.

I sit up straight and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I stretch my arms out above me and slowly stand up, shuffling across the cold floorboards and down the stairs. I eye the phone hooked to the wall as I walk past and smile, no need to use that anymore. Lesson learnt, Evan.

I enter the kitchen and decide to bake some eggs. I get the bacon from the fridge and throw some pieces at Evan's dog, the sweetheart is way too skinny and deserves a nice treat. After, I eat my own breakfast and tidy the living room a bit.

It's mid-march, and the warm spring sun shines through the closed in-between curtains. I liked looking at the trees, especially now that they're growing back their leaves. It's not like there is much else to do here, but I don't really mind, staying here has made me become more peaceful.

Evan told me weeks ago that my phone had been completely scattered, and unusable. The isolation from the outside seemed scary at first, I was afraid I was missing out on so much, but now it feels calming. I have no need to be out there and get hurt again.

-

The rest of the day went by slow. I start up the stairs again, ready to just chill in the bedroom and read a book. I glance around the landing. Though his interior downstairs is quite modern and abstract, upstairs always gives me a dark academia vibe. I pass Evan's study on the way to the bedroom, I have always wondered what's in there. I try and turn the handle, but it's locked. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I make my way downstairs again to look through the kitchen drawer for a key that might fit. I eye the clock, I still have time until Evan returns home.

I dribble up the stairs again and push a key into the lock, but it doesn't budge. Another one doesn't even fit, so it's down to the last one. I push it in and turn, but this one also doesn't seem to open the door. I mutter a swear and head towards the bedroom, maybe the key is in the drawer of his nightstand. A small key catches my attention and I take it to the door. A 'click' lets me know I've successfully opened it.

I gulp before going in, though I have enough time to just take a look, it feels wrong going through his personal stuff. I enter the study, it smells stale, and looks old, just like I imagined it to be. Along the walls stand tall bookshelves stacked with different types of books. Fiction and professional literature neatly separated. A book about the human brain lies open on the big, wooden desk in the middle of the room. I brush through it, some of the pictures look disgusting, while the sketches look interesting.