It’s exhausting.
I’m exhausted just by looking at the enthusiasm on their faces. How do people even do it? How do people get happy and then, stay happy? It’s not supposed to be this hard, right? Life’s not supposed to be this hard.
But then, if I wasn’t clinically depressed, would I be happy all the time? Would I be positive? Would I never have bad days?
That’s the worst part of being mentally ill: you don’t know the real you because the illness and the meds fuck with everything.
There are cute little name tags under the staff members and I run through the names on all of them, until I stop at one. I have to stop at one: Dr. Alistair Blackwood.
He’s standing by a woman wearing a red dress. I’m not interested in her because Jesus fucking Christ, the man in the photo looks exactly like the current Dr. Blackwood.
So, this is the man who founded this place.
Even if I didn’t read his name, I’d still know that he was the current Dr. Blackwood’s father. He’s got the same hair, rich and dark and a little wavy. Same nose, straight and arrogant. Same jawline, same high cheekbones. The only difference is the color of their eyes. His eyes are green, while his son’s are an intense, stormy gray.
He was looking at his father. But why the hell was he looking at his dad like that? With such severity?
There’s no time to think about any of this because one of the nurses reminds me that breakfast is about to start.
Which is uneventful, as usual. If you don’t take into account that one of the patients from The Batcave had a little bit too much coffee and he was jumpy. Then I have to sit through an hour of process group with a social worker. We talk about how to deal with negative thoughts in the Outside world. Then we do art therapy for an hour.
At last, it’s time for lunch. We’re at the usual table, by the window, and I’m savoring my lime jello, moving it around my mouth so it settles in every corner of my tongue and chases away the sour taste of medicine.
A moment later though, Dr. Blackwood walks into the dining room and I forget about the meds and their sour taste.
Somehow, he’s taller than he was this morning. Taller than yesterday, even.
I have a weird vision of me somehow getting up to his broad shoulders and standing on them. I bet even with my tiny frame I’d touch the roof, the clouds even.
I have a weird vision of saying hi to him, waving my hand at him from across the room.
Ridiculous. I’d never do that.
He isn’t wet like he was this morning and his hair has settled into its place. Polished and composed. Shiny. I’m not the only one who notices the glimmer of his hair. Renn notices it too and whistles under her breath, watching his progress through the room.
“God, he’s hot. Like, legit hot. I look at him…” She trails off to a sigh. “And I just want him to be my daddy.”
I bite down on my tongue at the word daddy. The sharp sting makes me jump in my seat and waters my eyes.
Penny groans. “Ugh. I’m gonna punch you in the throat.”
Facing her, Renn grins. “Admit it. You were thinking the same thing.” Then she nudges me with her elbow under the table while I’m trying to calm down my pounding heart. “At least, our Willow was thinking it.”
“I was not!”
This only makes her giggle and I seriously contemplate carrying out Penny’s threat.
I was not thinking about that.
“Don’t call him that,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Are you claiming him? Because if you are then I need to know. I don’t screw around with what belongs to my friends.”
I almost choke on my food again. “He doesn’t belong to me. It’s such a stupid way to put it. Like he’s an object.”
“Does he or does he not?”
“If I say yes, will you stop talking about him like that?”
“Yes. Pinky swear?”
She gives me her finger, so I can make the promise if I want to. I think about it a second. Fine, for a microsecond. Then, I entwine my finger with hers really quickly before snatching my hand away lest a tech notices us breaking the no-touching rule.
“He’s mine,” I say, my heart on the verge of explosion. “Don’t talk about him like that.”
Renn whoops. Penny gasps and Vi grins.
Me? I blush and look away.
Then I notice something. Every single jittery and squirming eye is trained on Dr. Blackwood. There’s not a single person in the room who’s not watching him. Myself included. Most of them are wary. Some of them are curious. All of them are chattering and murmuring. The sounds of the room have increased.