Lost in July

III

Collin
~
Nighttime has always been the hardest for me. Especially here.

I guess I have insomnia, but I don't really play well with diagnosis'.

It also doesn't help that we're on a curfew and not supposed to leave our rooms after midnight.

I never listen to that bullshit rule anyway, so here I am, wandering around the halls of the first floor at one in the morning.

Most doors are locked, and if they're not, it's because employees are in there.

The whole building gives off an ominous vibe. It's old and rustic, the inside resembling a psych ward from the lobotomy days or whatever.

They've tried to make it look more inviting by hanging pictures of pretty landscapes. They even let some patients paint a mural in the common area.

But the walls are still a pale grey, the floors tiled and cold, and the windows are still covered with steel bars. It's still a hospital for the mentally unwell, and no amount of pictures can hide that.

A tall steel door with several locks leading outside to the enclosed courtyard is at the end of the hall. Only employees have the keys, and the door is usually open during the day if anyone wants to go outside- with permission, of course.

Tonight, though, it's open a crack, and the smell of burning cigarettes is slowly creeping into my nostrils as I step closer.

I walk slowly and peek my head through the door, spotting a shadow hugging the wall of the building, taking big puffs of their cigarette.

The person's hood is up, and their clothes are baggy, hiding their features.

I go to stand next to the person, ignoring the smell that feels all too nostalgic.

"Hey," I say, causing the smoker to jump slightly. Oh, right. I'm being somewhat creepy.

"Uh, hey?" Their voice is quiet, female, I think, and rough from smoking.

She turns to face me, putting her cigarette into her other hand and scowling as she analyzes my face.

I recognize her immediately. Those sad eyes cannot be mistaken. Margo.

"Margo, right?" I ask, raising a brow.

"Yeah. Photographer boy, right?" She responds. I scoff at her chosen nickname.

"Not a photographer, but yeah, I guess."

She sighs, taking another hit from her cigarette. "I told you, the universe has placed your new talent right before you. It's time to use it."

She doesn't face me anymore. Instead, she looks up at the sky, nursing her cigarette and watching the stars as if they'll disappear at any moment.

"Maybe you're right," I offer, looking at the stars with her.

She laughs softly. "I'm always right, Collin."

"Ah, so you do know my name." I turn to look at her, hiding my smile.

She blows out a large puff of smoke. "Yeah. Believe it or not, I pay attention in group therapy."