𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐆𝐮𝐧

first encounters

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 I noticed when we walked through the automatic glass doors was how clean the place was. Absolutely spotless, in an eerie, psychotic, complete germophobe way. I mean, I had never seen such white walls and such sparkling floors and complete dust free nick-knacks lying around.

Or maybe it was just that I was used to living in filth, and this was completely normal.

Fawn and Thomas left me to my own devises while they momentarily talked to the secretary about formalities, I'm assuming, so I took the opportunity to gently release Milly from my arms and let her roam. I knew she would be fine. If she had stayed away from my dad all these years, I knew she would stay away from these orderlies, too. I gave her a last pat on the head and watched her prance away, pink nose high in the air and twitching like crazy. She was more interested in the place than me.

"Hey, where did your cat go?" I heard Thomas ask, genuine worry lining his voice. Fawn approached, as well, catching the last bit of Thomas' question.

"I let her go. If you could tell the workers to leave her be, she really won't be a problem." I answered, eagerly anticipating Fawn's horrified expression.

And, bingo, there it was, her eyebrows raising and lips forming an 'o,' face drawn and mouth sputtering, "You-You can't just do that-"

"It's fine, Fawn. Whatever makes Janie happy here," Thomas interrupted, a gleam of humor and maybe a little bit of mischief in his eye.

"Do I get a room in this place, or does everyone just sleep standing up?" I asked, changing the direction of the conversation to something more important: where I would be staying.

Fawn nods, obviously pleased for a change in conversation. She turns on her heel and begins walking, anticipating that we will follow her; which, we do.

"There's two stories with dorms on each floor. A roommate is decided, of course, based on an individual's situation."

Of course.

"You were decided to not have a roommate. The doctors felt you may be better off with some alone time rather than with someone whose mental health you may jeopardize."

I laugh.

"So you're saying I'm a bad influence?"

Fawn stops and turns towards me, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Are you?"

She has me there. If I found out I was sleeping in the same room as someone who shot her own dad, I may never sleep again for fear of my own life.

We take the elevator, descending to the second floor where I am hoping my rooms will be. Better to be able to stomp on the ground and make those beneath me miserable rather than the other way around.

Stepping out of the elevator and into the hallway, I longingly watch the doors slowly slide together and keep me from any kind of retreat. I make a mental note of the stairs that I see in the corner of the hall. Stairs, no doubt, are quieter than elevators.

When I turn my gaze to this level, I see that every doorway is decorated, which is surprising. It vaguely reminds me of college dorms, where every person tries to make the space their own. Maybe there are patients pretending just that. I wonder if I'll be able to do what I want with my room. Then again, I would have to be staying here to decorate my room. The hallways are empty, save for a few nurses who are murmuring among themselves while they walk. Though I see decorated doors, I see no patients - yet.

The second story of the hospital isn't much different from the first. Besides the elevator, stairs, and line of doors, there is a big space which constitutes as sort of a living room and even a small kitchen in one of the corners. Up here, too, the sun is shining brightly and spilling across the floors. I sort of even like it. Maybe it's this open for a reason. To lure patients into believing that it is a bright, friendly space where happily every afters will be found. Or maybe there is so many glass walls and windows because it is easier to supervise when there isn't a wall in the way.

Fawn and Thomas beckon me along to the hallway with the decorated doors. I spot a door with CD's nailed up, a door with nothing but Christmas decorations, even one with little snippets of fabric; but the one that catches my eye the most is one with nothing but artwork. There are swirls of ink covering the entire framework, dazzling circles of faces and eyes that seem to follow me while I walk. They are angry drawings, easily, scribbled in with a type of passion I can only imagine. I could stop and stand for hours, noticing every brush of pen and paint and finding the faces that line the crevices, and I almost do, too. Then I watch the door swing open and the deepest set of eyes I have ever seen meets mine, so deep that my mouth drops and my step falters and I feel my face flushing.

"Avery. Hello," I hear Thomas say politely, and I barely turn my head to watch as he inclines his head in greetings. Fawn, too, murmurs hello, looking to move us along so I can be taken to my room. But Avery doesn't seem ready to let me go. She grabs my hand and I rear, both startled and fearful because of this girl with dark eyes and angry drawings.

"So you're the new girl I hear whispers about." She says, not meanly, but more in a way that makes me feel as if she is mentally sketching my story in her head full of wasps.

"You're the girl with the angry drawings." I hear myself reply, wrenching my hand away and clutching it to my chest. Unwanted, sudden contact can have sever consequences, especially when unexpected.

She smiles, softly. I can see my words have pleased her.

"I'm Avery." She says, sticking the hand she just grabbed me with out in an offering of introduction.

I hesitate, just slightly, before grasping her hand and giving it a firm shake.

"Janie."

Our hands drop awkwardly, and I hear Fawn clear her throat.

"We'll be on our way, now."

Thomas and her begin walking and I follow, not sure what else to do. When we've taken a few steps, I make a decision and turn around to see if Avery is still watching us. But the door is already closed, the girl who drew such rage locked behind it.

I feel strange, even just from that small encounter. Light. A little happy, even. Then I realize why.

I've made my first friend.