“I don’t know,” I tsk, facing the window again. “Like maybe a tap on the shoulder or something.”
“Sorry,” she mumbles and I can see her shrug through the window. “So what are you looking at?”
“It’s not what I’m looking at,” I tell her. “It’s who I’m looking at.” As if it were perfect timing and Damien could sense I’m looking at him, he lifts his head and catches my eyes in the window. He flashes me his perfect, beautiful, gleaming white-toothed smile, and I curl my fingers against the glass, melting inside. “Damien.”
There’s a chorus of words inside of my head singing his praises. A warm sensation tingling on my lips at thought of kissing him. Shivers trail down my spine and I can practically feel his fingers on my skin. Crawling. Exploring. A riveting rush of adrenaline plunges through the depths of my core and there’s a part of me that wants to hurl myself through the window and plummet to the ground just so I can be at his feet.
Aurora’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “Damien? Where?”
I point out the window to Damien who is gripping onto the chain link fence like a caged animal. He mouths, “I love you,” and blows me
a kiss.
I giggle girlishly, mouth it back, then toss him a kiss of my very own.
Aurora is glancing between me and the window with an odd look on her face. She slants her eyes and gazes out into the courtyard of the asylum again. “So that’s him, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Nice,” she says shortly then quickly changes the subject. “So no word on, Cynthia?”
Hearing Cynthia’s causes me to lower my gaze and drop my hand from the window. “No.”
“Do you think they gave her one?”
I turn my head and peek up at, Aurora. “One of what?”
Aurora clears her throat. “You know?”
I know that she’s referring to a lobotomy. She knows I know that she’s referring to a lobotomy. And I also know that lobotomies are a subject neither one of us is comfortable talking about. Mainly because I think we both know that any one of us could be next. Any one of us could be strapped into the chair, our eye pried open, the glint of gleaming metal clear in our vision.
They have a small bookshelf in the rec. On top of the gossip we hear from patients and the staff, there are medical books for us to read and one shows pictures of the procedure in detail.
To me it’s sad—no —more than sad, more like heartwrenching. But it’s not just heartwrenching because after that gleaming needle plunges through your eyeball, you become a vegetable or die. It’s heartwrenching because that is the last thing you’ll ever see. I mean I’m sure you see , but it’s not really like seeing. For one, I’d never be able to notice the hint of aqua in Damien’s irises, right around his pupils. I’d never be able to notice the vibrant shimmer of gold in Aurora’s red hair underneath the fluorescent lights in the rec room. The beauty in certain things would fade. People would fade. All that remains would be a hollowed shell. A body without substance. A person that used to be.
I face the window again, but Damien is gone. I reach up and place my fingertips against the glass, letting them slide down the cool and smooth surface. The window is almost slippery. Icy. Wet. The slickness of it makes me nervous. It also reminds me of Oakhill Asylum. You have to tread carefully in a place like this, a place like Oakhill. Move slowly. Cautiously. Because you never know when you might slip and fall.
A terrifying shriek pierces the air and Aurora and I turn, facing the group of girls sitting on the couch. The chubby brunette who usually palled around with Cynthia sits with her knees to her chest, head buried, her limbs shaking. The blonde with the butt-length hair is comforting her and the rest of the eight eyes belonging to the group members are centered on the open arched doorway.
I almost don’t look. My eyes wash over the girl’s in the group’s faces and every single one looks like they’ve seen a ghost. Aurora nudges me in the side, prompting me to turn my attention to the door. I grit my teeth and force out, “No.”
“Just look,” Aurora states. As my eyes wash over the room again I realize I’m the only one not looking. Obviously whatever is in the doorway has left an impact. A few girls like the chubby brunette are shaking and sobbing. A few more have their mouth’s hanging open, eyes wide in shock. Another nudge from Aurora. “Seriously. You need to see this.”
Bravely, I turn my head in the direction of the door. I choke on a gasp and swallow it down when I see Suzette standing in the doorway, a vacant expression in her toffee colored eyes. She stares off, not focused on anything in particular. Her once tan skin has lost all of its color and has a grayish hue to it.
She takes a hobbled step forward and the entire room gasps, a few girls even cry out, frightened of the girl we used to know. This girl is not the girl we used to know though. This girl is a zombie, a product of the asylum and what happens to a person if they defy the rules.
Suzette tilts her head to the side, and her reddish brown hair falls away from her face, revealing a gauze-like white patch, taped over her right eye. Another hobbled step forward from Suzette and my back hits the window. The girls on the couch are huddled together, holding each other. Aurora backs into the window too.
First off, I thought I was seeing a ghost because I assumed Suzette was dead. But then I realize that if everyone else can see her that theory is probably just a fabrication I made up in my mind. Then I wonder if maybe one of the staff members brought her up here. Maybe they are using Suzette to give us a message and that message is: Any of you could be next.
Chapter 17
~AFTER~
No one moves.
Suzette has been standing in the same spot, staring. A ghost-like, lopsided smile twitches on Suzette’s lips and my stomach does a back flip. I blanch and have to look away. This could be Cynthia. Could be Aurora.