But it seems that he wants to tell me anyway.
“You know how long we’ve been hanging out, Anna?”
“From what you’ve told me, it has to be less than two years, right?”
He chuckles. “Right. It’s been close to a year. And you never said much before, but I could see that about you, that spark of hope in your eyes, that belief that something better was coming—so all this time, you’ve taught me to hope again. To look for the rainbow. To see the silver lining. And, apparently, to spout clichés.” I laugh, especially because I understand each one. “And so I know you hardly know me, but I know you, Anna. And I’ve grown to love you.”
I feel my lower lip drop just a little. Shock might seem like too drastic an emotion, but I feel something along those lines. Joe has been feeling like a friend and an ally, not a love interest, despite the fact that I have found him extremely attractive. Out of my league, maybe. And yet, as I watch his eyes gaze upon my lips as though he’s hungry, I feel my body respond to being desired. My heartbeat is tapping a little more quickly, the blood pumping through my veins just slightly faster, my breath harder to pull into my lungs.
And all those things intensify as he brings his lips closer. His eyes shut as he gets nearer and he touches his lips to mine. It’s like electricity as his tongue makes his way inside my mouth and all my muscles clench in anticipation. As he brings his hand to my head, he runs it down my hair before cupping my face just at the jawline.
Time slows to a crawl as my body floods with chemicals until we hear a clatter in the hall.
I startle and then scoot back.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Won’t we get in trouble?”
He lets out a sardonic chuckle. “Probably.” I nod, letting out a long breath, and he asks, “But did you like it?”
I feel a grin round my cheeks. “Yes. Too much.”
“No such thing.”
*
A few minutes before dinner, Joe goes to the bathroom while I decide to see if I can find the old DSM book that was taken out of my room. I’m hoping to find it where it was yesterday, but something deep inside tells me I won’t.
The bookshelves seem a little neater today, and I wonder if maybe I straightened them up when I was on my quest yesterday. First, I look on the shelf where I first found the book to see if it was returned to that spot. It’s pretty large, so it’ll be impossible to miss. It’s not there, though, so now I thoroughly scour each shelf, letting my eyes examine each one as they pass over, looking in particular for the green cover.
It doesn’t take me long to determine it’s not on the bookshelves. I back up so I can see if maybe there’s a book laying flat on top, but it’s not. Then I glance around the room.
There are no other books in here.
But I also know there’s a pile of magazines in the rec room and maybe a couple of books. It’s possible someone cleaning my room just dropped it in there. The room is empty, just like the living area, and I know it’s because everyone’s lined up for dinner. I heard mutterings about turkey tetrazzini and macaroni and cheese being people’s favorites, and they were eager to dig in.
I don’t have much of an appetite and the food here hasn’t been too appealing to me—and, besides, I want to locate that book. Dinner can wait.
There are only magazines on the plastic end table between two pieces of furniture, but there’s a bottom shelf, so I get down on my hands and knees to see if there’s anything down there.
There’s no book, but there’s something behind the table itself, something white, like a crumpled-up note. Crawling underneath is like sticking my head inside a cave, but I reach in and pull it out. As I bring it closer, I realize it’s one of those tiny paper cups they put our meds in—but they always collect the cups.
Unless in some cases they forget.
I realize that there are meds inside this cup, crumpled, completely overlooked.
“What the hell are you doing, Clawson?”
The raised voice startles me so badly, I hit the back of my head on the top of the table before backing up out of there. It’s Red. Without even thinking, I say, “I was looking for a book.”
“The books are in there, dummy,” she says, pointing toward the living room. “But it’s dinner time. If you really want to read during dinner, grab one of those magazines.”
I have that cup of medicine in my hand. Had it been Rose here, I might have told her what I found, but I don’t trust Red, not one bit. Before I stand, I consider leaving the meds there, but if Red remains suspicious, she might check out the area after I’m gone—and if they were to find that cup, they might do what Joe said he knows they do, making sure without a doubt that I’m taking my meds. So I keep the found cup in my hand. I consider for a second tucking it in my sweats, but they’re way too loose.
As I stand, I try not to completely face her, hoping she can’t see my hand. “I’ll just go to dinner.”
“Yeah, you do that, sassy pants.”
It’s hard making myself walk calmly toward the doorway, but I do—and as I make my way through, I notice Red looking all around the table, just as I’d feared. My hand grips the cup, and I’m grateful I thought to bring it. It’s not until I’m able to drop it in the trash in the dining room with all my food scraps that I’m once again able to breathe easy.
Joe has but one thing to say about that: “I guess we all want to wake up.”
*
That night I’m in bed, and I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. How it curled my toes. Thrilled me to my every nerve ending. Continues to keep my awake.
Oh, but I still have the pills, and Joe had suggested going to the bathroom now instead of in the morning. So I try opening my door and it’s locked. That’s something I didn’t expect but, I suppose, it makes sense. So I knock on it. Once, twice, multiple times. I stand here for a while and then, finally, I see someone walking by, and I knock again. This person’s a big man—tall, arms like tree trunks. How do I remember tree trunks? Suddenly, a memory flashes in my head of when I was a little girl hugging a tree before bringing my arms in tight.
Hide and seek.
My first real solid memory outside of this place.
But this guy says, “Go back to bed.”
“I need to pee.”
Maybe this isn’t going to work.
“Let me go get a nurse for you.”
Yelling, I say, “I just need to pee!”
The guy frowns but it looks like he’s reaching toward the door handle, and I hear a key in the door. When he opens it, he says, “Be quick. Can you do it in five minutes?”
I nod. As I step out of the room, I see he has what look like weapons attached to his belt. Once more I have both my hands in fists, but they’re loose, because I’m hoping to look casual. I start wondering if maybe I could loosen a hem to stuff the drugs in there like Joe does, but they always take the clothes and wash them. I don’t think we have our own clothing, so I’d have to constantly rip out hems and that would probably become suspicious at some point. How does Joe get away with that?
When I walk in the bathroom, I’m grateful I appear to be alone. I decide I don’t want to try the toilet. Instead, I want to see if I can shove them into the big shower drain. The holes in it look like they’d fit all the pills, so I hunch down on the tile and start dropping in the tablets, one at a time. The only thing that would work against me now would be if the drain clogs and the pills come back up. Maybe I should have crushed them, but it’s too late now.