Gateway (The Gateway Trilogy, Book 1) (3 page)

Time passed and I was no closer to figuring anything out. I found myself staring blankly out the small window near my bed, numbing myself to the incessant chatter in my mind.

When six o’clock rolled around, Lauren popped her head in.

“Dinner time.”

We walked down the hall with the rest of the inmates. Lauren gave me a sidelong glance, her nose wrinkling.

“So, um, if you don’t have any bath products you’re welcome to use mine…”

I barked a laugh. “Subtle.”

She shrugged, unembarrassed.

“I guess it has been a few days,” I said, “even if I don’t remember them. I’ll wash up after dinner.”

Lauren chattered on as we walked through the dinner line. We both turned our nose up at the Salisbury steak and opted for the limited salad bar. I went to reach for a dinner roll, but Lauren gave me a slight shake of the head.

“Those are hard as bricks by now. Only go for those on Mondays and Tuesdays.”

I trusted her at her word. We got to the end of the line and she pulled a container of pudding from the stack on the counter. She tossed one to me without warning. Even in my surprise effort to catch it I noticed her shove two more in her knapsack. Then she added one to her tray. It was a deft maneuver, not her first time.

“You’ll never get better if you aren’t more self-aware about your destructive behavior, Lauren.” Josh had muscled his way to the front of the line, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lauren ignored him.

“Give me one of the extras or I’m telling,” Josh said. He’d already added the one he was allowed to his tray.

There was a brief standoff while the air around us buzzed with an intensity I wouldn’t normally attribute to pudding. Lauren cracked first.

“Fine. Here.”
 
Her hand slid from inside her purse, depositing the contraband into Josh’s jacket pocket.
 

As we turned away I heard him mutter, “Friggin’ tapioca. Great.”
 

Lauren winked at me. Served him right.

We exited the line and I surveyed the room. Most of the tables were already occupied
 
with people dining. For a moment I wondered what had brought all of these people to be patients here. Did they all feel the way I did? That their lives were a mistake? Some major cosmic screw up that had deposited them in a world where they were never understood, and rarely—if ever—happy?

“Ooh, Taren's table has seats.” Lauren zigzagged her way to a table near the back of the room.

The young girl I had seen exiting Dr. Shaw's office sat with her head down, pushing food around on her plate. Next to her sat a tall boy with honey-colored hair and angular features. At our approach he looked up, revealing a set of disarming hazel eyes. Callie looked up, too, startled.

“Hi, Taren.” Lauren beamed at him, saying hello to Callie only as an afterthought.
 

He gave Lauren the briefest of nods, and turned back to Callie, who still seemed to be holding her breath.

“This is my new roommate, Ember. She tried to kill herself.”

Lauren’s tone was matter-of-fact; my eyes bulged.

Taren looked up again, registering my presence. “Well, that's an introduction you'd only get in a place like this, isn't it?”

You can trust him.

I nearly dropped my tray. Of all the things the Voice had ever said to me, this was the first time It had told me to trust someone. What?

He's one of the good ones.

I was standing stock still with my mouth hanging open. Taren cleared his throat and I realized he had stood and was holding out his hand for me to shake. I gave an embarrassed smile and held out my hand.

“Sorry, I, um…”

“It's OK. Lauren is still learning tact.”

I nodded gratefully, but Lauren bristled. “Well, it's true…”

We took our seats. I was grasping for meaning to the words that had bloomed in my mind. It was always like that. Little hints about things that always proved true. But in the past, I was being warned away from people. This girl is spreading rumors about you, that boy just wants to use you. I couldn't make contact at will. It just whispered things when It wanted to, and I vacillated between the certainty that I was losing my mind, and gratitude for the insight.

“Have you met Callie?” Taren asked.

“No, but I saw you coming out of Dr. Shaw's office. Nice to meet you,” I said.

Callie lifted her eyes. “Hi.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

She lowered her gaze and rubbed her forehead with the fingertips of one hand. Her entire presence held an air of fragility.

I bent my head toward my plate but glanced through my bangs to study Taren. So, he's one of the good guys. I had no idea what to make of it, but I felt the need to explore the idea. Before I could come up with anything to say, Callie began muttering softly to herself.

“You OK, Cal?” Taren spoke with concern and put a hand on her shoulder.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Here we go again.”

Taren looked up sharply and fixed Lauren with a glare, but instead of replying he turned his attention back to Callie and began whispering softly to her. I couldn't make out what either was saying, but he was clearly trying to soothe her.

“What? It's not my fault we can't get through one meal without an incident. Look at her, she's totally faking it.”

“She's not faking anything.” Taren broke away from comforting Callie to admonish Lauren. “Not everyone needs to be the center of attention all the time.”

Lauren flushed scarlet and clenched her jaw. Taren stood.

“Come on, let's get you back to your room so you can rest.” He helped Callie stand and led her out of the dining hall.

Lauren resumed eating as if nothing troubling had occurred. “That girl belongs upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“With the really crazy ones. You know, perverts, schizophrenics, the occasional ax murderer. People who don't even get the plastic knives.” She held up her own knife for emphasis.

“Lovely,” I replied, pushing my tray away. The wilted lettuce and anemic tomatoes weren't enough to rekindle my appetite. I felt sympathy for Callie. Twice I'd seen her and twice she seemed like she was really losing it.

“Taren's gorgeous, huh?” She said it in a way that made me feel we were discussing peanut butter cups. 

“Sure,” I said casually, “if you like that type.”

Lauren smiled with satisfaction while I wondered what type Taren was.

***

When Lauren had finished dinner, we made our way to the rec room. She was content to watch more television but I made my way over to the art supplies. There wasn't much of a selection so I opted for a charcoal pencil and white printer paper. I sat at a folding card table and contemplated what to sketch.

“So, you're an artist?”

I hadn't heard Taren approach. He stood across the table from me, his hazel eyes holding mine in their steady gaze.

“I try to be,” I replied, then gestured to the blank sheet in front of me. “Not feeling very inspired, I guess.”

“This place has that effect on most people,” he said and sat down.

“How's Callie?” I asked.

“Better. She has a hard time with crowds.”

“Does she really do that at every meal?” I asked.

“No, that's just Lauren being dramatic,” Taren said, his expression registering distaste. “Which does happen at every meal.”

I gave the slightest of smiles; it seemed all I was capable of. There was a moment of silence between us and it felt like I was being sized up for the tenth time that day. I was afraid to ask what the verdict was, and his face revealed nothing.

Instead, I said, “So, what are you in here for?”

“Behavioral issues,” he replied with a shrug.

“That's pretty broad. Don't all teenagers have behavioral issues?”

“Mine cause me to light things on fire,” he said.

This was the guy I was supposed to trust? A pyro?

“Anyone get hurt?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, my destructive tendencies apply only to abandoned property.”

I supposed I could live with that. He did seem genuinely caring of Callie.

“So, how many days a week does being a pyromaniac get you with Shaw?” I asked.

“Two,” he said, “but I’m making real progress.”

“How can you tell? We’re not allowed anything flammable.”

Taren just smiled and said, “What are you drawing?”

I looked down to see that I'd been doodling without realizing it. It was the same swirling line over and over. I'd drawn it hundreds of other times as a way to calm my nerves. It dawned on me that having the Voice tell me to trust someone when I'd learned to never trust anyone was almost as unnerving as my current confinement.

“Oh, it's nothing, just —”

“Taren, don't you want to come watch TV?” Lauren's voice dripped honey as she approached.

“Maybe later,” he said, “I'm talking with Ember right now.”

Taren slid my paper over to his side of the table. For a moment his eyes flashed, but quickly returned to a casual study. I wasn't sure what to make of his reaction, it was hardly a complicated design, but I didn't have time to ask. Lauren's arched eyebrow indicated what was expected of me.

“Actually,” I said, “I'm pretty beat. I think I'm gonna head back to our room.”

I stood and Lauren smiled with satisfaction. “Come on, Taren, I saved you a seat up front.”

He stood to follow her, but I felt his eyes on me as I exited the room.

***

Upon returning to our room, I decided to make good on my promise to Lauren and took a shower. It was a cramped stall, but the water was hot and had decent pressure. Muscles began to unwind and so did my emotional numbness.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on the floor of the shower, hugging my knees and sobbing. It had been months since I'd cried, and once the floodgate had opened there was no stopping it. Even my internal dialogue was silent in the presence of such raw emotion.

Days earlier I had come to the decision that there was only one way out. Either the Voice was right and no one and nothing could be trusted, or the Voice was a figment of my imagination and I was already insane. Either reality wasn't one I had been willing to accept, so I had taken action.

But I had failed, and now things were even worse than before. I hadn't thought it possible, but here I was. In a mental institution. Rooming with an over-possessive bulimic cheerleader type who would never deign to acknowledge my existence in the real world. My meals regulated. Forced therapy sessions. My discharge dependent on my sanity, which more and more I was beginning to doubt I would even be able to fake. My only comfort that year when my already broken-down world further deteriorated had been that I wasn't the crazy one. It was all of them
.
But I was the one in here, so even if that were true, did it really matter? I'm the one here…

When my sobbing finally subsided, I was exhausted. I dried myself off and wrapped my hair in a towel. Lauren hadn't returned, for which I was grateful. I slid beneath the covers and hoped sleep wouldn't be long in coming. I'd had enough of being awake. Which I supposed was what had landed me in this situation in the first place.

Sleep did come, but was restless and I woke that morning as I often did, with a feeling of dread. It took me a moment to register where I was, and once I had, the feeling grew.

“Breakfast in ten,” Lauren said when she realized I was awake. She was sitting on her bed applying mascara with a deft hand.

The towel that had been wrapped around my hair when I went to bed was now on the floor and I could tell just by touching it that my hair was a mess. I stumbled sleepily to the bathroom and assessed the situation. I decided it was salvageable and pulled a brush gently through it. I didn't have time to do much else beside get dressed and brush my teeth. I told myself I didn't have anyone to impress, anyway.

The line for food was long and Lauren seemed annoyed at having to wait. The eggs looked rubbery; I opted for cereal and juice. I wasn't surprised when Lauren led us straight to where Taren was sitting with Callie. She was nothing if not persistent.

Callie seemed brighter eyed this morning, but tensed at our approach.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to put her at ease, yet wondering what her problem was.

“Hey,” she replied in her usual soft tone.

“How was your first night?” Taren asked before taking a bite of toast.

“She thrashed around all night,” Lauren said. “I could barely sleep myself.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“I get nightmares too,” Callie said with a sympathetic smile.

“Do you have them often, Ember?” Taren asked with an interest that bordered on obtrusive.