Page 18 of Starve
But even once they’re gone and I can no longer hear Hattie arguing with the orderlies, I don’t move. I stand there, against the window, feeling suddenly very alone butnotat the same time, and wondering how the hell Hattie knows what I wrote onmy window that faded within a minute, when she hadn’t been there to see it.
Chapter 8
It’s almostimpossible to pay attention to Dr. Radley while she talks today. I’mso closeto getting out of here that all I want to do is bounce off the walls in preparation. Though I’m sure the only place that would get me is here. For a longer period of time, at that. So I manage to force myself to look somewhat calm, as if I’m not vibrating at the seams to get the hell off this mountain and away from the creepy asylum.
They’re starving.
I can’t get Hattie’s words out of my head. I’ve even considered bringing it up to Dr. Radley, to ask her about those words or about what could be up here that’s hungry. But then I risk sounding delusional, and I’d really rather not.
Though I’m nodding along with her, when she makes eye contact with me, I realize with a jolt that I honestly have no idea what she said. So when she stops speaking with an expectant look on her face, all I can do is stare at her and try to recall the last five minutes of conversation.
Which, unfortunately, I can’t seem to do.
But Dr. Radley catches on fast, and her lips curl upward in an indulgent, amused smile. “I won’t get mad at you for not paying attention. I know how much you want to go home, Fern.”She even eases back in her chair, like she’s trying to give me the impression of being relaxed. She definitely doesn’t look like she is, however. It seems put on, and I wonder if she’s even capable of not looking fully aware at every moment.
“Sorry.” I sigh, quick to apologize as I hunch my shoulders in an instinctively guilty reaction, like a child who was caught doing something she shouldn’t. “I’m not trying to be rude or anything. It’s just that I’m just really…looking forward to going home.” I figure it’s better not to insult this place by making it clear quite how much I want to get the hell out of Bluebone Ridge. But she only smiles again, still looking indulgent.
“You’re not supposed to love it here. It’s supposed to be a safe place for you to get the help and coping mechanisms you need to make good choices.”
“And to not cut into my palm with first aid scissors?” I ask dryly before I can stop myself. But she only snorts instead of looking disdainful or irritated.
“Yeah, that too. Tell me, do you have anything you want to talk about before you leave in the morning? Any questions or concerns for me? Anything you’d like to bring up? I think it would be a good idea for you to continue seeing someone, but I can’t force you to.” She puts her iPad to the side and places her hands in her lap, which makes this feel like a much more casual conversation than a mandatory therapy session.
I bite my lip as I watch her, trying to judge her reaction to the question I haven’t asked. But hopefully, if she does get mad, I can just backtrack my way out of it. “How long have you worked here?” I inquire finally.
“About six years now,” she answers without hesitation. “I also run a practice in town, though. I believe in the same town you’re from.”
“You have a practice in Whippoorwill?” My brows lift slightly in surprise, but I push that away. I wouldn’t have thought thetown is big enough for a therapist. But what do I know? Clearly it’s big enough to have at least one accidentally self-harming peasant in need of temporary inpatient care.
Emphasis on thetemporary.
She nods, and I blink back in surprise, adding, “Okay, I know this one is going to sound weird and concerning. But if you’re familiar with the area, you have to know the reputation Bluebone Ridge has.” I let my words sink in, but she doesn’t look perturbed by them, so I continue. “Have you ever seen anything weird here?”
“Anything weird? Like patients with concerning behaviors, or ghosts roaming the halls?” The touch of unexpected amusement in her words helps convince me she’s not about to have me committed longer.
“The second. Ghosts, or monsters, or stuff like that. I’ve heard a lot of stories. Umm…I guess everyone has. I’m not talking about literal werewolves popping out of the trees or ghosts re-enacting their deaths in the halls. Just anything you can’t explain?” I hope I sound casual and not too interested, but I’m not sure if I’m successful with that or not.
“No, unfortunately.” She shrugs, looking almost apologetic at the words. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything here that I can’t explain. But that doesn’t mean I’m ruling out the existence of such things. It’s a big world after all, Fern.” Dr. Radley turns to look out the window, and for a few moments, it seems like she’s gotten distracted looking at the distorted view through the thick glass. “What about you?” she asks at last, surprising me after such a long silence.
“Me?” I repeat, my eyes meeting hers when she turns back to look at me. Her brown eyes seem interested, though not overly so. I force myself not to get worked up over the fair question. I’d asked first, after all.
For a moment, I consider telling her about the thing I saw outside on more than one occasion. About what Hattie said, her repeated warnings ofthey’re starvingandthey’re coming, they’re here.I even consider mentioning the wordhion my window that Hattie somehow knew about.
I think about the possibility of sharing all that with the doctor, before shoving the notion away very firmly. There is no way in hell I’m going to volunteer any information that could get me stuck here for longer than the next seventeen hours. I’d rather stick scissors in my good hand, I decide in that moment.
So I look at her, eyes wide and plaintive, and with all the sincerity I can muster, I shake my head and give her an apologetic grin of my own. “No,” I lie, and shake my head. “No, I can’t say I’ve seen anything weird at all.”
I walkpast Cairo before I realize that I have, but once I register his presence, I stop in my tracks while considering if I want to start a conversation. Yesterday’s interaction in the shed was the last time I saw him, and I’m still unsure of how I feel about it. But I can feel his attention, his gaze on me, even as I look up and study the high ceilings of this hallway that haven’t been dusted in probably a decade.
It’s a good thing I don’t really have allergies.
When I turn, I’m unsurprised to see him looking at me, and the tilt of his head combined with the curiosity in his eyes makes him look almost like a lost puppy. It disarms me easily enough, but when I take a step back toward him, that open curiosity fades and he straightens a little, with his arms still folded loosely over his chest. He makes the powder-blue of our matching outfits look good, I decide, especially with a black long-sleeved shirt under it.
“Hi,” I greet, moving to mirror his stance and lean against the tall window in front of him, though I’m definitely not obstructing his view. Cairo turns to look outside again, searching, before letting out a sigh and giving me an almost baleful look.
“Coming from therapy?” he asks, in a voice that sounds as tired as he looks. “Your last therapy session, right? Since you’re getting broken out in the morning?” I swear I see a small smile on his face, and the fading surprise that I stopped to talk to him.
“Dr. Radley pronounced me all good to go.”
