“Look, if you’re going to jump on every word I say, I’m just not going to say anything, okay?”
“Fair enough. I understand that your parents don’t know that you’re here. Would you like us to contact them?”
“No! I mean you call your parents if you made the Dean’s List or got a new job. Not because you checked yourself into the psych ward.”
“And why did you check yourself in here?”
“Because Sean said I had to. To avoid jail time,” she added defiantly.
“Is that the only reason? Isn’t there something else?”
Michelle sat back in the chair and curled her long legs up to her chest.
Twenty minutes later she hadn’t broken her silence and Horatio hadn’t either. Finally the psychologist switched off the recorder and rose. “I’ll be back tomorrow. In the meantime I’m available by phone at any time. If I don’t answer, you can just assume I’m either at my favorite bar or dealing with another whack job like you.”
“I guess this session was pretty much a bust. Sorry,” Michelle added sarcastically. “But I guess you get paid the same regardless, right?”
“You bet I do. But I thought our session was dynamite.”
Michelle looked confused. “How do you figure that?”
“Because you actually sat there and thought about why you wanted to be here. And I know you’re going to keep thinking about it once I leave, because you just won’t be able to help yourself.” He started to leave but then turned back. “Oh, just to warn you about something coming up.”
“Yeah?” Michelle said, the look on her face begging for a fight of some kind.
“They’re having Salisbury steak for dinner tonight. Get the PBJ option instead. The steak sucks. I don’t even think it’s real meat. I think it’s something the Russians invented to make dissidents talk during the Cold War.”
After Horatio left, Michelle sat down on the floor and slumped back against the wall. “Why am I here!” she screamed, kicking the chair clear across the room with one snap of her powerful right leg.
By the time a nurse came rushing in, the chair was upright and Michelle was on her feet. She said ceremoniously, “I understand the steak sucks.”
“It does. So you want the PBJ instead?” the nurse said.
“No, put me down for the steak, double helping,” Michelle said as she sauntered out the door.
“What, you a glutton for punishment?” the nurse called after her.
You bet your ass I am.
CHAPTER
9
LATER THAT NIGHT Michelle lay on the bunk in her room, the rancid grub they called Salisbury steak burning a hole in her belly. Since she was in here on a voluntary basis, her movements were fairly unrestricted and she was leaning toward a walk over hugging the toilet. Not all patients here had such liberty. There was a separate ward, locked down and patrolled by guards, that housed involuntarily committed patients who were deemed to be violent. Michelle had heard some staffers refer to it as the “Cuckoo’s Nest.”
The door opened and her roommate, Cheryl, walked in; last names were not used here. Cheryl was grossly underweight, about forty-five, with ringlets of graying hair plastered against her gaunt face. She carried a drinking straw with her and constantly sucked on it. Michelle didn’t know exactly why Cheryl was in here, but assumed anorexia figured in somehow.
Cheryl collapsed on her bunk and started sucking on the damn straw.
It’s no wonder I keep having nightmares, Michelle thought. Great, big sucking beasts coming after me in bed.
“How’s it going, Cheryl?”
The sucking sound stopped for an instant and then started again.
Michelle started pacing. She wanted to call Sean, but what would she say? I’m sorry about the whole bar thing. Come get me, I’m fine now.
In desperation she turned to Cheryl. “That steak was something, wasn’t it? Feels like I’ve got a tire in my gut.”