I was wrong.
Because just before I arrived, he showed up on the bus. He, meaning Damien.
He reminded me of the pain I'd felt when he died. He reminded me of what it's like to feel your heart explode in your chest cavity at the realization of living your life without the only person you've ever loved. And he reminded me of the promise I'd made to him months ago.
I told him that I'd love him forever.
That I'd never let go.
But part of me wants to let go.
Deep down inside I know that I can't go on loving a ghost forever. I tell myself this every day. Then I see him and I forget about having those thoughts. Because when I do see him, he looks like the Damien I met on that humid summer day, who was smirking at me, and driving his candy apple red Cadillac in reverse.
When I see him he looks so vivid.
So full of life.
Not so...so...
So dead.
A click rings out in my room and bounces off the padded walls. I shiver and cower on the farthest corner of my cot as a tall nurse, with a manly stature walks toward me, carrying a small cup. She's dressed from head to toe in white and part of me thinks that if she stood against the white padded walls that she'd blend right in. I also think that if I am flying high on my meds, I won't even notice her.
She extends her chunky arm, and I peek up at her through the shield of hair covering part of my face. My eyes flit from the cup in her hand to her steel grey eyes. She shakes the cup impatiently. “Come on, Adelaide,” she urges in a deep voice.
Still, I hesitate. The meds they give me in the evenings bring out wild, terrifying dreams. Dreams of Mommy. And Damien. And that forlorn look on his face just before he toppled over into a puddle of his own blood.
I shake my head at the cup and slide further back on my cot.
The nurse's silver name tag flickers underneath the lighting.
Marjorie.
I don't think her name suits her. Marjorie reminds of a woman who is dainty, polite, and attractive in an off kilter way. This Marjorie isn't any of those things. She's manly. Harsh. And even though she tries to pretty herself up with makeup it doesn't really work.
Marjorie takes two steps forward and grips my forearm. Her fingers bite into my flesh and I cry out as she rasps, “You have ten seconds to take these pills or you know what will happen.”
I shake my head again and whisper, “No.”
“Take the pills,” Marjorie urges again and then she twists my hand around and places the cup in my palm.
Yes, I know what will happen if I don't cooperate. It has happened several times before. At Marjorie's hand. Whenever I fight her, she puts me in a straightjacket. She fastens me in tight, shoves my meds down my throat, then leaves me alone so I can cry myself to sleep. Or wake up from the nightmares and hallucinations brought on by the pills, only to have more staff members barreling through my door to sedate me
further.
I don't want any of that today. I can't control what happens to me after I take the pills, but I can make it easier on myself by not fighting Marjorie. So I clamp my fingers around the cup and toss them back. Marjorie smiles at me sinisterly, pats my head with force, takes the cup, and leaves me alone to drown in my own fucked up delusions.
Chapter Eight
~After~
My surroundings have started to fade in and out of focus. The trees whirl around me in circles. Browns, greens, and blacks. Browns, greens, and blacks. I have to stop and place my arm against one of the trunks. I drop my head, exhaling. The dizziness is overwhelming. I can't remember the last time I ate or drank anything. I can't remember what day it is.
My entire body is covered in beads of cold sweat and I've started hallucinating.
“Psst, Addy.” Damien's hushed voice rings out through the trees. “Come find me.”
I groan softly and try to lift my head. I don't have the strength to play his game right now.