Ten | newtmas

twenty seven

The transfer back to TIMI is mostly a blur. I put up a fight getting into my wheelchair and they assure me that I'm not taking any steps. Vince is there, and he helps. He's the only person working at TIMI that I might actually like.

I'm wheeled there by him, and he makes polite, one sided small talk. He doesn't seem to mind my lack of engagement, and I'm thankful for it. Chatting about the weather isn't exactly my biggest concern.

I listen to him, though. He tells me how he was transferred to TIMI two years ago, and he's vague about whether or not he likes it. I get the feeling he might want to leave soon.

Along with that information comes something that catches my ear.

"I've known your friend Thomas for as long as I've been here," Vince says, as we make our way up to my building.

"Wait, didn't you say that you've been here for two years?" I ask, breaking my silence.

I don't realize until after that I'd interrupted him, and it takes him a second to respond, most likely thrown off by my sudden interjection.

"Yeah, I actually met him on my first week working here. I was kind of scared, but he helped me realize that..." he trails off.

"That we're humans?" I ask. I don't mean for it to sound as bitter as it does.

"Well—I guess so. It's not fair, the way some outsiders see you kids. I know now that you're no different from anyone else," he says. I wouldn't say that, but I get what he's trying to say. "Anyway, I was assigned outside of his solitary room. He's a special kid."

Yeah. He is.

Sure enough, I get to spend a luxurious night in solitary. It's funny how much I miss Chuck's endless babbling about everything and nothing. His presence in our shared room was comforting, and clearly I took it for granted.

It's not like I'm not used to having my own room. That's how it was at home. But it's different here somehow. At home, I had my parents in the next room and the comfort of my bed beneath me. All of my belongings. Here, I have nothing, and the only people I do have aren't accessible to me right now.

Like he said, Vince is posted right outside the room. There's a window in the door that he peeks through every few minutes, giving me a small smile. I can't find it in me to reciprocate.

I can't help but wonder, is this rock bottom? There are many times in my life where I thought I finally hit it. The lowest of the low. But now I seem to be having at least one of those moments per week.

The best thing I can do with this time—aside from feeling sorry for myself—is to sort out the answers for every question I'll undoubtedly be bombarded with tomorrow. It should be an easier task, considering they're questions about me. But right now, I don't know myself from a hole in the wall.

Question number one will most likely be the hot button issue of why I didn't move from my spot in the street. I don't think they'd want to hear any of my real answers. Like how I couldn't handle messing up my tens.

Like how maybe I didn't want to move.

So I set my answer straight in my head. I didn't have time to process what was happening, and I wasn't fast enough to move on my own. Deer in headlights. Doesn't that happen all the time?

They'll probably also want to know the exact events. Gally pushed Thomas. Thomas knocked into me. I stumbled into the street. Thomas grabbed me. I passed out. That simple.

Speaking of Thomas, he has the lawsuit to focus on. Since I'm already caught up in my thoughts, maybe I should address anything that I need to sort through Thomas-wise.