Tied (All Torn Up 2)

I nod and awkwardly shake hands with the hospital staff and police officers who have all come to say goodbye and wish me well. I try to smile at them and parrot back what I know they expect me to say in response. I’ve learned a lot from watching them these past few weeks. They mean well, but I know I’m just a project to most of them and an object of curiosity for the rest. Everything has felt stressful and surreal. Like being wheeled out of the hospital right now in a wheelchair, which the doctor insisted on. Is this real? I glance around when the hospital lobby doors magically open, and a whole new world is revealed to me like a huge television screen. So much is here. Colors, sounds, smells. All of it rushes back to me as if screaming, remember me? My eyes catch on everything: cars, buildings, more people, and movement everywhere I look. Fear and panic grip me with each moment, but I allow my father to push me—he and my mother unaware of the silent scream inside me.

Nearing the car, my parents try to take my backpack away again, forcing me to get out of the wheelchair and stomp my feet and cry until they back away from me and agree to let me keep it. They smile awkwardly at people staring at us in the parking lot. I’ll never let my backpack and my books go. Why can’t they understand I need the books, and I have to read them every day to stay safe? Besides, it’s the only way I can see the prince until he comes back again. I’ve told them this many times, but they refuse to listen and just shake their heads at me and tell me to calm down. I don’t care if they say my backpack and my books are old and dirty. They’re mine.

When Daddy opens the car door, I climb into the backseat and settle in the middle. I don’t ask where Zac and my new little sister are. In fact, I haven’t seen them since that first day at the hospital.

“Will Poppy be there?” I ask my parents from the backseat. Buckled in, as Mom put it.

I catch them exchanging an uneasy look that I can’t read as we pull out of the hospital parking lot.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, alarmed. “Is Poppy okay?” I was told Poppy wasn’t allowed in the hospital, so I’m sure he must be waiting at home for me.

My mother turns in the passenger seat to face me. Her blond hair is swept up in an intricate knot at the back of her head, and her eyes study me for a moment. She always pauses before she speaks to me. “Holly, Poppy’s gone to live with another family for a while. He’s safe, and he’s happy, and he’s being very well taken care of. I promise.”

I blink several times and gulp over the lump in my throat. “What? Why? Why isn’t Poppy coming home with me at my house?”

My father jumps in before Mom can answer. “We spent a lot of time talking to your doctors about everything that’s happened to you. You’re not going home yet, Holly.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “You will soon, but just not yet. You’re not ready.”

“Can I go live with Poppy, then?” His new home sounds really nice. But somehow, I’m not sure Poppy really is safe and happy. Something about my mother’s voice didn’t sound honest to me.

My heart sinks as Mommy firmly states, “No, Holly. That’s not possible—”

“But why? Wh-where am I going?”

Back in the hole. Until you can be a good girl.

My mother touches my father’s shoulder, stopping him from answering me. “You’re going to be staying at a very nice place for a little while,” she says, not meeting my eyes. She gives me a quick, strained smile. One of many I have seen. From everyone. “It’s different, kind of like a hospital but not like the hospital you were just in. It’s also like a school, and there are small apartments, too. It will be like your own safe little world. It has everything you need. There are really nice doctors and teachers that will help with more…life things that you need to learn.”

I crinkle my nose. “Life things?”

“Yes. Like math, and reading, and social skills, coping, and behavior. Cooking and laundry. You’ll be around other people your age that have been through similar…experiences. And once you get better, you’ll even have your own little apartment and a roommate. A girl close to your age.” Again, my parents exchange a look, but this one I read perfectly; it’s one of discomfort. “A special doctor will talk to you about the things that…happened…to you, so you can feel safe and normal.”