Dedicating this chapter to all the American women & people affected by the Supreme Court's overruling of Roe v. Wade. Everyone should have the simple right to choose what they want to do with their bodies. I encourage you all to keep making your voices heard & fighting for your fundamental human rights.
With that said, thank you for reading. I hope this lets you escape reality for a bit. enjoy <3
Margo
~
Serving breakfast to patients might as well be a prison sentence.
I have never come across so many disrespectful people. Maybe it's just the anxiety and mental illness that is making everyone forget their manners, but fuck, I am pissed.
I'm about ready to smack someone with a pancake.
Is it bad that it makes me feel better that Collin is suffering the same fate?
He's beside me, making breakfast sandwiches while I serve the food from the cooks in the back.
Collin took the blame for the entire situation even though we really only chose the staircase so I could smoke a damn cigarette.
Now we're stuck on kitchen duty, serving a bunch of bratty patients and getting heckled by the chefs. (If you can even call them that).
"This sucks," I groan for the ninth time.
Collin looks at me unamused. "Say that one more time Margo and I swear, I'll throw a sausage patty at you."
I roll my eyes, flipping him off while I put two pancakes on the boy's tray in front of me.
Fuck. Now I'm out of pancakes.
I sigh heavily before dragging my feet to the back kitchen to ask the chef's for more pancakes.
Good old Chef is here today, he's in his thirties, definitely dilf material, and the only name he's ever given me was 'Chef.'
"Hey Chef," I greet, trying my best to be kind. I frequently get on his nerves and he frequently gets on mine. I used to sneak back here all the time when I was younger and more curious.
He looks back, his frown staying glued to his face. "What do you need now?" He grunts.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes in his face. "More pancakes, please."
"What're you, givin' 'em out for free?" His New York accent is highlighted with ever word, evidence of his tenure in the city. I'm guessing he is from the Bronx.
I scowl. "No. They're a popular breakfast item,"
"I'm grillin' here. Does this look like pancakes to you?"
"Jeez. You could've just said 'ask someone else, Margo.'"
"Go away kid, i'm busy."
Such a shame that all that muscular body and rustic facial hair goes to waste with a shitty personality.
I sigh and wander around the kitchen for a moment. Trying to spot the other chef.
I hear his footsteps and spin around.
"I got some for you, Margo." Ronny, the other chef on duty, hands me a large plate full of pancakes.
I smile brightly, grabbing the freshly made pancakes. "Thank you, Ronny,"
He nods with a smile and heads back to his station. Chef ignores my presence and I walk back to my serving station.
Why are men such assholes?
I walk back out to see Collin handling both my station and his own.
I guess Collin is the exception.
He spins around when he hears the door close, his fluffy hair bouncing as he turns. He smiles at me as a greeting and heads back to his station.
God. He's a beautiful boy.
X was dangerous. He wasn't beautiful or angelic the way Collin is. He was dark and mysterious and like the naïve teenager I am, I thought I could fix him.
X was a grade-A asshole. He fought with students and teachers alike, constantly starting problems with everyone he could. He dealt drugs that were not what he said they were. The weed he would sell was not just weed.
He didn't bat an eye when the drugs he sold would cause people to overdose or get terribly sick.
He has no conscience and I should've known better. I should've known that the boy with no emotions didn't truly love me. I should've known that he didn't care at all.
Collin, though... every time I look into his dark brown eyes, I can see that he cares. I can see that he's full of emotion, so much emotion that I can feel it emanating off of him.
It's hard for me to trust him, even though I've already trusted him a great amount since we met. He's the only example of a good male that I have met in my life.
My father ignores me, my grandfathers were both dead before I met them, and my first "boyfriend" was a psychotic, heartless drug dealer.
My school is full of boys just like them. Ignorant, abusive, manipulative, and straight up cruel.
So how could you blame me for not being able to trust the one good guy I happen to meet. And of course, he's mentally i'll, just like me.
To know that Collin suffers the same way I do hurts even more. The bad men I know get to live with no mental burdens. They don't have to fight with their minds every second of every day and they definitely don't have to swallow a handful of pills just to feel normal. Yet the kindest man I've met is locked up and fighting with his own brain.
Funny how the world works, huh?
"Margo," Collin shouts, looking at me with wide, concerned eyes.
"Yeah?"
He just jerks his head to the person in front of me, causing me to look and see a line of people seeking pancakes.
Fuck. How long did I zone out for this time?
I sigh heavily and ask the kid what he wants before serving him and keeping the line moving.
I attempt to shut my mind off for the rest of our shift, thinking about nothing but the task at hand.
I can feel Collin's worried eyes on me throughout the rest of breakfast. I don't bother looking back at him. I'm too preoccupied with trying not to feel.
Once I serve the last patient, we're finally able to start cleaning up and spend the rest of the day how we want. Well, minus group therapy.
I'm bringing the dirty dishes into the back when a loud gun shot sounds, causing me to drop everything in my hands and freeze.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not again. Please, no.
Five Months Ago
"No, Bell, I just want to be alone."
Somehow Bell and I's time here has aligned again. Usually I enjoy having her around, but this time is different.
I can't remember the last time I had a depressive episode this dark.
Bell's sad, innocent eyes look up at me and everything in me shatters. Just like him, I'm making people's days worse by simply existing.
I sigh. "I'm sorry. Maybe we can hang out later?"
Bell smiles. "Sure! I'll come find you," with that, she gallops away, seeming far too happy considering she was admitted today.
I fall back into the couch and watch the sitcom on the TV. I'm not sure the name of this one, but I like not having to fully pay attention. Just something for my eyes to focus on while my brain practically disconnects from my body.
As I'm blankly staring at the TV, I hear someone scream my name over and over again.
Nurse Penny runs into the common area, her strawberry blonde ponytail beginning to fall as her eyes are wide with panic.
"Margo! Go to your room now and put your desk in front of the door," she says, her voice frantic.
"What? Why? What's going on, Penny?"
She walks quickly towards me, pulling me gently by the hand and pushing me towards the stairs that lead to my room.
"I'll explain later okay? Go!"
I listen, only because I hear my name being screamed again, and this time, I know who's screaming.
"Margo fucking July! I know you hear me." His voice is as deep as ever and I can tell he's getting closer. How the fuck did he get in here?
I run towards the stair case and push the door open, flying up the stairs and running down to my room's door.
Before I can open my door and safely get inside, I hear gunshots, loud and far too familiar.
Oh, my God. Penny.
I want to run. I want to go and find Penny, to make sure that I haven't killed her by association. To make sure that he didn't kill the only fucking nurse that understands me.
I can't, though. Everything inside me is screaming at me to run, to either get to safety or go see what the fuck is going on, but I can't.
I am frozen in fear and my legs buckle underneath me as I sit on the floor, clutching my knees to my chest.
I don't even think I can blink as I stare at the door to the staircase, praying to whatever the fuck I can think of, hoping that he doesn't find me.
Present Time
"Margo?" I can hear my name and a light touch on my shoulders, but everything is black and there's a loud ringing in my ears.
Please. Please don't find me.
"Margo? Margo, please look at me. Just open your eyes." The hands on my shoulders are soft and comforting, the person's thumb rubbing soft circles through the fabric of my shit.
I shake my head, as if answering the person, but I don't really know what I'm doing. Why are my eyes closed? Am I dead? Am I shot? Is someone else shot?
Two soft hands are placed on each cheek now, their thumb running along my cheekbone with the most gentle touch.
"Margo, I need you to look at me," he says. Collin?
I can hear him through the ringing now, enough to know that I'm alive and this is real.
I slowly open my eyes, noticing that I'm in the back kitchen. All the dishes I was carrying are on the floor, some broken, scattered in a mess across the tiles. Collin is in front of me as I sit on the floor with my legs pressed up to my chest, my arms clutching them tight.
Collin slowly tilts my head up to look at him, his hands still holding my face on each side, his eyes wandering around every inch to ensure I'm okay.
"Are you okay? What happened? God, Margo you're shaking like a leaf," he moves his hands to grab each of mine tightly.
"The- the gun. Who has it? What's happening?" I ask, my voice trembles with every word.
Collin's face morphs into a look of confusion. He opens his mouth to say something but shuts it quickly. He looks around and the confusion seems to disappear.
"It wasn't a gun, Margo. I promise. Chef dropped a stack of pans in the back room and there's nothing in there so it echoed."
I stare at him blankly, not able to comprehend the words he's saying to me.
"There's no gun?" I ask and Collin shakes his head softly.
"No, pretty girl," he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, his eyes never leaving mine. "there's no gun."
I bite my lip, trying so damn hard to control the tears that are beginning to well up. "I'm safe?"
Collin frowns, nodding frantically. "You're safe. I promise. No one is going to hurt you."
I pull my hands from his grasp and hide my face as I break down in tears. No amount of restraint can stop them from falling, so I let it happen. I let myself break down in front of the boy from 213. The boy I hardly know yet feel so incredibly safe with.
Collin pulls me closer, my head falling into his shoulder as I sob in utter fear. His hand runs up and down my back in an attempt to console me.
My brain is flooding with memories I've done so well at forgetting. My head is full and so loud and although I know no one is here with a gun and I'm not in danger, I still feel the fear as if it were that day.
My sobs grow louder but Collin doesn't falter. He squeezes me tighter and whispers that everything will be alright.
He holds me like I might disappear if he lets go. He holds me like it's the only thing he has ever had to do. And even though I am so utterly petrified, his arms feel safe.
He is safe.
Collin is a safe space that I never knew existed.
I know that I'm no where near healed. I know that my PTSD isn't going anywhere anytime soon. I know that I need help in more ways than one, but right now it doesn't matter.
Collin is holding me and consoling me and I feel safe.
"You're okay, Margo," He whispers softly into my ear. "Everything is going to be okay."