Aurora shakes her head. “Nope. Adelaide, you’re just going to have to trust me. Besides, you know I’m banking on this as much as you are. I’m not going to let anything happen to either one of us.” She glances warily over her shoulder then back at me. She scans my face, her eyes flitting back and forth rapidly. “Did you find it?” I nod. I know she’s referring to the window in the basement we’ll be escaping out of. She purses her lips and narrows her eyes. “Is it easy to get to?”
I nod again. “A straight shot from the bottom of the stairs.”
“Great.” Aurora folds up our list and shoves it into the pocket of her jeans. She gets to wear normal clothes and I hate her for it sometimes. I’m not good enough for normal clothes. Not good enough behavior-wise. The staff’s nightly visits to my padded cell have become less frequent, but I assume I won’t have the luxury of normal clothes until they cut out all-together. Aurora stands. Holds up two fingers. Mouths, “Two days.” Marjorie enters and her eyes immediately find ours. Aurora mouths, “Two days,” again. Then she walks to the opposite side of the room.
Two days and I’ll be free. I’m excited and depressed at the same time. Excited because I’ll finally be free of all the restrictions and the insanity of Oakhill. Depressed because, well, I know that I’ll have to tuck Damien into a darkened corner of my brain—for good.
And the thought of that breaks my heart and terrifies me at the same time.
Chapter Twenty
~After~
I stand in front of the hospital, eyes deadlocked on the glass double doors of the entrance. I'm not sure of what I'm supposed to do now. One of the nurses dug through the lost and found bins and found me a t shirt, jeans, socks, and some tennis shoes. They feel loose and foreign. After being in a hospital gown for the last six months, I'm not sure if I'll ever get used to wearing normal clothes again.
The shoes are white and clean and a bit on the big side, but I'm thankful for them anyway.
Another one of the nurses, an elderly one named Betsy gave me five dollars. I'm not really sure how far that will get me, but at least it’s something.
What plagues me more than anything is that some of the staff at the hospital had been so kind to me. I'm not used to it. I was raised with bad tempers, violence, and bottles upon bottles of abused substances. Kindness is relatively new to me and I don't know how or if I'll ever be able to repay it.
I pace back and forth in front of the hospital doors, feeling perplexed and lost. An anxious feeling stunts my breathing and I put my hands on my hips with a frustrated sigh. Is this what being free feels like? Deciding on where to go or what to with my time? I've never been free. I was taken from the controlling household I was raised in and thrust into a completely different controlling environment. At home my father used violence and fear to control me. At Oakhill they used drugs and terrifying treatment methods.
I'm angry with myself because for the first time, my life won't be dictated by someone else. I have the ability to go where I want, do what I want, and be who I want to be. I don't have to have dinner on at a certain time. I can get up whenever I want. I can walk for miles and miles and miles, never having to stop.
I'm free.
Free as a bird.
I'm a canary again, wings spread, with endless blue sky ahead of me.
I think of Aurora and the anger inside of me twists into rage and I scream, looking up into the cloudless powder blue sky. I have my freedom for the first time in my life and I have no idea what to do with it.
~ ~ ~
At some point I start walking.
I'm not sure where I am.
Or where I'm headed, but I knew I couldn't stand in front of the hospital all day.
The sun shimmers in the sky and the bright rays rain down from the heavens. I marvel at the feel of the warmth on my skin and throw my head back. This is one of the things I've missed while being locked up; the feel of the sun. I've missed the way it kisses my pale pallor and brings a pink hue to my cheeks. I've missed being able to watch it rise in the sky and in its wake the way seems to make the whole earth look like it's coming to life. I smile to myself. I'll have many more sunrises to wake up to and for that I'm elated.
I come up on a small village during my walk. It's quaint, with little shops bunched together so close that they might as well be connected. The rooftops slope at severe angles with lattice edges and all of the buildings are either tan or light yellow in color. I walk in a half-circle, passing a general store, a women’s clothing boutique, a hardware store and at the far end of the circle of shops is a small diner. A loud howl rumbles from my belly and I decide to stop and see if I can afford anything on their menu.
When I walk through the door, I'm instantly greeted by a plump waitress with a round face. Her chestnut hair is cut into a chin length bob and her peach cheeks are slightly red. She has a pleasant smile and wild green eyes and she takes a menu at the same time, saying in a sing-song type of voice, “How many?”
“Oh,” I say. “Just me. One.”
She smiles again, this time brighter and I can see some of her perfectly aligned teeth. “Bar, booth or table?” She has a squeaky high-pitched voice that in a way reminds me of Aurora.
I wonder how she's doing. And when or if she actually managed to escape Oakhill. “The bar is fine,” I tell the waitress and my eyes avert to her name tag. Peg. Hmm seems fitting.
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“Right this way then.” Peg weaves through a row of tables and I follow, taking inventory in the décor as I'm led to my seat. The walls are painted a pink color, but it's a muted pink, a cross between mauve and rose. The hardwood floor is a deep stained cherry color and the tables are too. There are rose colored ceramic pitchers about three inches tall on every table that match the walls perfectly. The same with the faux leather coverings on all the booths and bar stools. It's all very dainty. Feminine. It reminds me of a little girl’s bedroom. All that’s missing are some ruffled bed skirts and doilies.
There are a few couples occupying booths, most of them elderly and they smile at me as we pass them. Everyone here seems so friendly and I like that. Peg sets my menu down in front of the last bar stool and I slide onto it, picking up the laminated menu. As I scan my options, Peg remains beside me, pulling a tablet from the front pocket of her crème colored apron. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Her voice has a pleasant ring to it and I notice that a cup of coffee only costs a quarter.