psych ➳ muke

18

Six-thirty comes far too soon when your immersed in dreams of platinum locks, emerald greens, and pale skin. And the sound of a bitter, old woman calling out your name angrily surely disrupts such dreams.

I let out an exaggerated groan, rolling over onto my back just as the over head light is flipped on. From across the room, Michael curses, damming the world all to Hell.

"Boys, wake up right this instant!" Marlene is shouting, then her footsteps are stomping away down the hall.

Michael curses again, "Fuck it all."

I let out a laugh, his attitude brightening my day just a little bit more. I swing my long legs over the edge of the single bed, hospital sock clad feet connecting with the cool linoleum.

I stretch my tired muscles, carding my fingers through my messy, blond locks. My hair is still flat against my head, not in its usual quiff and I think that is what I miss most about being home.

I spend quite some time in the shower, likely too long, because someone is pounding on the wooden door. They threaten to burst through, tear it straight from the hinges. So I turn off the water and shake out my hair, grabbing the white towel from where I've left it on the sink's ledge.

In room seven, as I'm making up my bed, Michael enters with his toiletries basket, setting it on the sink.

"Good morning," I say, just above a whisper.

A smile etches across his features as he spreads minty paste onto the bristles of his blue toothbrush, "Morning, sweets."

The affectionate pet name spends shivers up my spine, a smile showing through on my lips. I pull the duvet up to the head of the bed, fluffing my pillow before resting it against the mattress.

When I've finished, I brush my teeth and comb through my knotted hair before returning the basket to its rightful place.

• • • • • • • • • •

At eleven, I enter the meeting room and am surprised to see both Doctor Bender and Doctor Fitzgerald sat at the table. I offer a weary smile as I take a seat across from them, instantly picking at the hem of my black jeans.

"Luke, how are you?" Doctor Bender asks with his warm smile.

I shrug a bit, "I'm well, just tired."

Fitzgerald makes a few notes on her pad paper, tucking a white sheet into her manila file folder. I have yet to see what she writes about me, I'm unsure if I ever will.

"How is the Paxil?" She asks, clicking open her ball point pen.

I had been taking the new medication for a few days now and although I hadn't had the full effect, it seemed to be working well. I tell her this and she seems pleased, jotting down more notes.

Doctor Bender fills the silence, "Luke, Grace and I have been discussing your case and how you have been improving since your admission. You've been doing very well lately and your medication seems to be working for you, yeah?"

I offer a nod in response, unsure of where this conversation is heading.

"We have agreed that it is a suitable time for you to meet with your social worker and finalize your discharge plan."

I sputter, coughing uncontrollably. Discharge plan? No, not that.

"Are you sure?" I ask, unsure.

They both nod in agreement. I zone out after that, I have no interest in their words.

Discharge plan, the words repeat themselves over and over again. Almost hauntingly.