I feel the tears begin to shed. This is the sunset of my life. I can never have either of my greatest wishes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE DEBRIS
"What was that?" Brook asks as we back down the hallway. I want to be as far from the visitors center as possible.
"Just some guys from back home," I say.
"Some guys?" Brooks laughs. "They were having a war over you."
"It's fine," I bark. "Don't worry about it."
"Woah, sorry," Brook says, holding his hands up, surrendering to my anger.
"Whatever." I speed ahead and double-time it to my room.
I need to get out of here. I need to get back to the word and hide out at Tabitha's. There is no telling what Kane is going to do to Noah. Even though he said this as a warning to not see him, something tells me that Kane will hurt him regardless. I want to warn him but at the same time I really don't want to show my face to Noah ever again. He is too hurt for me to even attempt an apology. However, not calling him could result in his demise. I would blame myself forever if Kane actually murdered Noah.
These hallways get easier to maneuver through watering eyes. The adrenaline pumping through my veins jump starts my memory and forces to remember where my room is. I'm not supposed to go back in the middle of the day but I am not going to any bullshit therapy after that. The only therapy I need is sleep therapy—also known as sleep.
My feet pound against the tile and my room comes into view after a few turns through the warren. I grab the doorknob and try to open it. It is locked. Everything overwhelms me. My body starts to convulse and tears stream down my face at their own pace. Hundreds fall at a time as my face grows drenched. My muscles tense and my knees grow weak. Once again, I fall into a crumpled mess. I don't know how I have managed to fuck up this hard. I have led one of the only people I love into a life of fear and possible homicide. Whatever I do, I make mistakes. I can't not. I am attracted to the chaos for no other reason than the fact that I am mentally debilitated.
I sit against the door, my knees pulled up against my body. I lay my head into my knees. My eye sockets fit perfectly on top of my knee caps. My tears flow into my pants. The wet fabric slowly rubs against my eyes and irritate them further.
"Ana?" I hear Nurse Juay voice and I peer above my knees. "What are you doing?"
"I want to go to sleep," I say harshly.
"You have to go to Dr. Simmons office," she tells me. "Let's go."
I stand up and grab at the door knob again.
"No. Let me sleep."
"Ana, let's go."
"I already saw him today," I yell at her. "Why do I have to see him again?"
"He needs to see for something. It's important."
Tears flow harder when I realize that my sleep therapy won't be available until tonight. Goddamnit. I hate this place. I still have another 24 hours in this hell.
"Fine."
I grit my teeth, wipe my face and follow her. My swollen eyes, irritated face and bawled fists all give her red flags. I hope to God that she doesn't attempt to tell Dr. Simmons to keep my longer. I would only get more angry which would result in more time being added. I just want out.
I follow in her footsteps despite my displeasure. The corridor seems to get smaller and the space easier to remember. We stop at Dr. Simmons office and I walk in. I throw myself down into one of the chairs in the waiting room. His door is slightly open and I can hear yelling inside. I can't make out words but whatever conversation is taking place is obviously one of great animosity.
"Fine." I hear someone yell.
The door swings open and Brook marches out with a red face and pursed lips. He sees me and his face relaxes for a moment. Our eyes meet and his deep, green eyes cry out for help.
"Hey Ana," he says on his way out. The closet door slams behind him.
Dr. Simmons peers out of his main office and looks at me.
"You ready?" He asks.
"Um," I look back at the door that Brook just slammed. "Yeah."
I walk in and sit nervously on the couch. I don't know if it was Brook who got mad first or if it was Dr. Simmons.
"So, today is your last day."
"It was?" I am confused.
"Apparently we can't keep people for longer than 48 hours if we don't give them some sort of medication," he sighs. "Because you are pregnant we can't do much about it."
I try to process all of this new information.
"I can go home tomorrow morning?" I ask. I scared to ask because I'm afraid of him saying no.
"It appears so," he says.
All of my anger washes away and joy displaces any bitter feelings I had. All of my worries are pushed to the back of my head naturally.
"Is that all you need to see me about?" I ask, excited.
"Yep." Dr. Simmons seems very disappointed. He knows that I am not better yet. He knows I need more help but I don't want to stay and if I don't give them the ok to keep me, they can't. I get off the couch and walk out of the door. I waltz through the closet and meet Nurse Juay at the door. She smiles when she sees my tears are gone and we walk together down the hallway.
"Why are we going now?" I ask. I still want my sleep; especially if the next time I wake up I will be leaving.
"Dinner," she says. "I assume you are actually going to eat."
No.
"Yeah."
We walk through the hallway silently until we hit the threshold of the cafeteria. I get into the queue line and the overwhelming smell of tomatoes attacks my nose. Somebody massacred thirty dozen tomatoes to make this potent of a smell.
"Looks like spaghetti." Nurse Juay says with a smile. She walks away from me and stands with the mob of scrubs that spills across the far wall.
I grab a plate and walk to an empty table. I know she will join me soon but I hoping she doesn't. It would be nice to get even a second of alone time in this crowded hell. I put my plate down and sit. My eyes hover over the noodles. The memories of Noah and I making pasta flood my brain. Our smiles and laughter eat away at my heart. I want that back. Everything that the joy pushes back in now throwing itself to the front of my train of thought. Anxiety pulses through my blood. The cortisol makes its home once again. I lost it all. God, can I just get away from the spiral for even a moment.
"Heyo," Brook pushes his mounting plate of spaghetti onto the table. My mind eases off of my problems and begins prodding into his.
"What was going on in Dr. Simmons office today?" I ask.
"The bastard won't let me leave," he growls. "Apparently, I'm not 'ready.'"
He huffs again and crams a forkful of noodles into his mouth.
"Bullshit," He mutters through the half-chewed food.
"Why were you sent here?" I know this a bad question to ask but my curiosity begs to know. What can I say? I am a selfish prick.
"The same reason most people were." He puts down his fork and pulls up his long sleeves. Gauze patches are taped over his wrists and tiny slash marks trace all the way up his forearm. "They have kept me too long, though."
"How long?" I am pushing too far but I am already neck deep so may as well go all the way.
"3 weeks," He sighs.
I scoff and look at him in awe.
"3 weeks?" I am not sure if I heard that correctly.
He nods his head slowly.
"Then why do you still have gauze?" I point at his bandaged wrists.
"The cuts were deep as hell," he says examining them. He pulls up a bit of the overwrap but flinches and stops. "I thought I was gone for sure."
"Damn," I say in shock, "You remember it?"
"I remember dying," he says. "But apparently I just passed out for a few hours."