This is so surreal, having hardly any history in my head. I don’t know any of these people, but their eyes tell me they know me. It’s unnerving. But one thing at a time. I’m going to try to eat some of this food and then attempt to figure out what to do next. This place has to have a psychiatrist or a psychologist, someone who knows my history and might be willing to fill me in, explain why, all of a sudden, my brain is a blank slate.
After I sit at a table closer to the back, I take a sip of the apple juice. I find it comforting that it tastes exactly the way I expect it to. Same with the sausage. I’m taking a bite out of the wedge of watermelon when the guy who’d talked to me when I first got to the dining area sits next to me. I’m kind of thrilled that, of all the females in this place, he’s chosen to sit by me. What makes me so special?
He asks, “So you did it again, Anna?”
“Did what?”
He looks around to make sure there’s no one close to us, and then he lowers his voice. “Stop taking your meds like we talked about.”
“I have no idea.” His eyes scan mine but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he cuts a bite of the short stack on his plate with his fork as I continue. “What’s your name?”
“Joe.” He chews on the bite of pancakes as I take another sip of juice. After swallowing, he says, “I’m no expert, Anna, but I know you’re gonna start feeling better now.”
“How can you be so sure?” I’m feeling so out of sorts, so confused I can’t imagine ever feeling better again.
“Well, for starters, you’ve talked to me more this morning than you have this whole time.”
It occurs to me then that he might be able to tell me something about myself. “How long have I been here?”
“Two years, I think, but it’s hard to keep track.”
“What about you?”
“A long damn time. I don’t even know for sure.”
I have so many questions, like what’s wrong with me, but I don’t know that he’ll be able to answer any of them. At least he’s already helped me feel a little more grounded.
And special.
His full lips curve into an easy smile that reaches his sapphire eyes, making me feel warmer than I have since I first woke up. Somehow, I feel as though I can trust him completely—so I’m going to ask another question. “This is an insane asylum, right?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “They wouldn’t like hearing you call it that. I believe the term they use is mental health institute or behavioral health center. Depends on who you’re talking to.”
“Same thing.” I pick up my glass of juice. “I don’t suppose you know what I’m here for.”
He shakes his head, pausing to stroke the short stubble on his chin. I want to ask him what he’s here for, but that seems a little too forward. Even though he’s known me for a couple of years, I feel like we just met.
And I’m a bit enrapt at the moment. I doubt there’s a better looking male anywhere on the planet—not that I’d be able to see him. This man, he’s like a beacon in the middle of a sea of darkness. He’s warm and kind and he has me intrigued.
As we eat our food in silence, I prick my ears up, listening to some of the other people here. Some of them sound so sad. Others sound completely crazy. And it makes me wonder: Am I insane? Did I lose my mind and, unable to cope with reality, someone put me here to be safe?
Or am I all alone in this world?
When Joe looks at me over his cup of coffee, the twinkle in his eye reassures me I have him if no one else.
I am not alone.
*
After breakfast, Joe and I have made our way to the living area, not to be confused with the rec room. All of this is new to me, so I’m taking it all in. Right now, I don’t know if I’m happy or distraught that I’m in a place like this. It would help if I knew why I was here.
If I knew who I truly was.
But agonizing over it isn’t going to make it all known to me. Fortunately, Joe feels like an old sweater—warm, soft, and comforting—and I feel lucky that he’s my friend.
We’re sitting by the windows. The view here is similar to the one from my room, except the window’s overlooking a one-way street. This road, too, has three lanes, but the traffic seems to be a little calmer now, less bumper-to-bumper. There’s another park-like area just past the road, but I know for certain we’re in a big city. I see some skyscrapers off in the distance, confirming that thought. The TV at the other end of the room, hanging on the wall, is playing an old movie. It’s turned up a little too loud but at least it affords Joe and me as much privacy as we’re likely to get in a place like this.
I ask him, “You said you and I agreed to stop taking our meds?”
“Well, yeah. But, honestly, it was my idea and I talked you into it.”
“I wonder if that’s why I can’t remember anything.”
“Seriously, Anna? You can’t remember anything?”
“It’s weird. Like I could remember how to brush my teeth, but I couldn’t tell you how old I am. Or like where I used to live or what my favorite food is.”
“That is strange.” He’s looking around behind me, and I know it’s because of the subject matter. Obviously, we’re supposed to be taking our medicine, and he’s making sure no one nearby can hear what we’re saying. “Maybe this is a good thing for you.”
“What gave you the idea in the first place?”
He takes in a deep breath through his nostrils and my eyes shift to look back outside. After a moment, surveying the strip of grass and trees past the road, I realize it’s either late spring or summer. Or, perhaps, very early autumn before the leaves start turning. Everything is lush and green and, even though it’s cool in here, I imagine it’s really hot outside. It looks like it.
Joe says, “When I take the stuff they give me, I feel groggy. Almost hung over. Sluggish. That’s no way to live your life.”
I nod my head. “Yeah.”
“And I was telling you I was going to stop about a week ago. Anna, I’m telling you it was hard getting two words out of you, but I’d swear you nodded your head that you wanted to quit taking yours, too. Holy shit, it’s amazing, the difference. Everything seems so much clearer. It all makes a lot more sense. And you. Jesus Christ. You were a total zombie. You’d sit in this chair here and stare out the window all fuckin’ day. If one of the techs was paying attention, they’d make sure you kind of ate. But what kind of life is that?”
Now that he’s mentioned it, I realize I was able to see my ribs easily in the shower this morning. Another thing that’s maybe not so normal.
“Yeah.”
After a few seconds of silence, Joe whispers, “Look, over there on the sofa.”
When I turn, the only thing I see on the sofa is a young woman with long dark hair. She might be a teenager for all I can tell, but what strikes me the most is her eyes. They’re beautiful and dark—and empty. But I’m not sure if the girl is what Joe wanted me to look at. “What?”
Lowering his voice, he leans close. “She got here about a week ago and she’s been like this the whole time. We’re calling her Zombierella.” That seems insensitive, but I don’t remember enough about this place yet to voice any sorts of opinions. “That’s how you were when you first got here.”