THE SOUND OF RAIN
Without a doubt, I’ve grown accustomed to sterile walls and soft edges—a result of spending too much time in treatment centers and therapists’ offices—but watching the rain trail down the pane of the large, thick glass window, I can almost forget I’m locked in my room for the last night.
I’m tired of trying to get better, it’s much more exhausting than pretending I’m well, so even if this next round of medicine stops working like all the others have, then I’ll never tell.
“Hey, Way,” Alexis rasps, her voice still hoarse from yelling at group earlier.
“Mm-hmm.” I don’t look away from the window. I’m afraid she’ll see the sympathy I feel for her if I do. I know from experience that’s the last thing she’d want. Rooming with her always makes my heart heavy.
“Do you think we would be friends if we weren’t in here?”
No.I don’t have a lot of real friends. I pretend to fit in, and nobody really pushes it beyond that surface level friendship. “Yeah, we would have bonded the first time we met. I wouldn’t have been able to resist your killer bunny shirt.” The lie slips off my tongue with ease.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Alexis plucking at her light green uniform shirt. Her parents are going to be pissed. She drew all over her clothes again, and we’re not permitted anything that’s individual, so she’ll need a new set, which isn’t cheap. You’d think they’d have a designer label or at least be comfortable for the price, but nope.
“How long before you think you’ll be back?” The longing in her tone is only amplified by the sadness emanating from her. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m leaving or because she’s locked in the same rinse and repeat pattern I have been for the past few years and doesn’t see any hope for herself.
“These new meds have been working really well,” I answer noncommittally.
“That’s really awesome.” She tosses herself back on the bed with a huff. “I wish they could find a cure for my fucked-up parents.”
“It won’t be long until you age out. You’ll be eighteen soon.” I try to sound encouraging.
“They are already talking about a conservatorship.” She rolls over on her side, facing the wall. Well, damn.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut. While my parents have put me into facilities a few times, their intentions are always to help me get better. Not so much with Alexis’ parents, if I can believe what she says at group. They think she’s “unbalanced” because she draws dark shit and likes to accessorize with sharp pointy things, and that’s not acceptable to most UHNW families.
I think about telling her that maybe if she just toned it down for a little while and let her parents think they converted her into the perfect scion, she could be herself when she moved out, but I keep my lips sealed. I can’t risk her wondering if I took my own advice and then telling someone.
When Alexis’ breaths even out, and I know she either cried herself to sleep again or ran out of tears for the night, I slip down from the wide windowsill. My butt is numb from sitting for so long, but the ache fades fast as I crawl into my bed and pull the covers up to my chin.
It’s hard to will my eyes closed. I have so much crap running through my mind. I wish I could have music to help with the silence, but that’s not permitted. I squeeze my eyes shut and begin one of the few useful techniques Dr. Tobin has taught me. Locking my lips, I inhale for four seconds, then hold my breath while counting to seven. Exhaling, I count to eight before I repeat it over and over until I lose track of the numbers and fall asleep.
* * *
3 MONTHS LATER
“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable here, Waylynn?” My mom rests her hand on the granite island, trying to look casual in her Chanel pantsuit and loafers.
I want to tell her I knew this house was mine the moment I saw it, that it spoke to me, but I’m afraid she will think I mean something else, so I sigh out an indulgent, “Yes, Mom.”
“You don’t think it’s too…” She doesn’t finish her sentence as she glances around, but I can fill in the blanks—too small to have a separate wing for staff, not in a gated community, and, the most important, far from home.
My dad enters from the sunroom off the kitchen and wraps his arm around my mom’s waist before tugging her in close to his body. “Do you remember our first place, Cordy?”
My mom tries to fight a smile when she mutters, “I try not to.”
“Oh, you loved it,” he taunts.
Her eyes go a little unfocused when she defends softly, “I thought it was charming.”
“It was just a little bigger than this.” Dad sends me a wink to show his support.
“Yeah,” Mom agrees faintly. “The gardenislovely, even if it is a little small.”
I glance out one of the lead glass windows to the meticulously manicured backyard, seeing the hedges creating a tiny labyrinth that’s only as high as my hip. The house and grounds look like a perfect English cottage, while the interior is a mix of old and new.
“And it’s within walking distance to campus,” I offer.
