Page 26 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

Looking into his eyes, I beg, “Please, don’t do this.”

I hear the zipper to my bag closing, and I want to scream at my mother to stop.

“Can I trust you to walk with me, or do I need to call in Marcus?”

I remember Marcus. He’s a nurse at the facility, and although he’s nice and friendly, he’s also intimidating. As much as I want to, there’s no use putting up a fight. They have me outnumbered.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No one said you did,” he assures. “But your mother thinks it’s best if you come back for treatment.”

From over my shoulder, I glare at her as she cries while keeping one hand on my bag, and when I turn back to my doctor, I ask, “For how long?”

“Well, that depends on you and your progress.” His grip on me loosens, but he still keeps a strong arm around my shoulders. “Can I trust you to walk with me to the van?”

I want to scream and fight my way out of this house and run away, but I give in, nodding, even though it goes against everything that’s screaming inside of me. As we head downstairs with my mother following behind us, I feel like a prisoner. I pretty much am. When the front door opens to reveal Marcus standing in front of the facility’s van, I crack even more. Everyone who drives by will know that a mental case lives in this house.

Marcus slides the door open, takes my hand, and helps me in. Dr. Amberg sits next to me as Marcus gets the bag from my mother, who’s sobbing on the front steps.

“I hate her,” I mutter under my breath.

The door slams shut, Marcus hops into the driver’s seat, and we drive away.

Happy first day of summer.

Pressing my forehead against the window, I close my eyes, but tears continue to seep out. No one talks. There’s nothing to be said.

My mother, for no reason, is locking me back up in the loony bin I never thought I’d return to, and my not having any say over this situation is terrifying.

When we pull up to the private facility, my gut roils in anxiety for what’s to happen next. It’s a routine I’ll never forget because it’s so beyond humiliating. They lead me into the left wing of the building and into a private room where a couple of nurses I recognize from my last stay are waiting.

They smile and greet me warmly, but it does nothing to quell the myriad of emotions colliding inside me. When you live in a place like this, you get to know the staff well. I remember Nurse Leslie and Nurse Shanice. I also remember this exam room. It’s just as cold as it was the first time I was here, and it comes as no surprise when the door closes and Shanice instructs, “Go ahead and remove your clothes.”

Mortification scorches my modesty as I undress, bashfully trying to cover myself with my arms and hands as I do. When I slip my underwear down my trembling legs and am entirely naked, she examines me. In an attempt to distract myself, I watch Leslie search through my belongings for “contraband” as the chill of the tile floor bites into the soles of my bare feet.

“Sorry,” Leslie says, holding up a random pencil my mother must’ve tossed in during her rush. “No personal items or sharp objects.”

“It’s only a pencil.”

“There are crayons and markers in the rec room for you to write with.”

Misery gathers in my throat, forming a painful lump that’s nearly impossible to swallow against. Piece by piece, my dignity crumbles as I stand here—an unclothed captive.

“I need you to jump up and down a couple of times and cough, okay?” Shanice asks as if I have a choice.

I do what is asked before she does a mouth check. Once they conclude that I haven’t snuck in drugs, razors, or anything else they deem to be harmful, I’m allowed to get dressed.

“Here,” Shanice says, handing me a sealed urine cup. “Are you able to go?”

I nod as I hold back tears, take the cup, and walk into the bathroom.

After I hand over the filled cup, I’m taken to the lab where they draw several vials of blood. I feel distant as I sit here with a needle shoved up my arm. Somehow, I’ve gone numb. After the nurse secures a cotton ball down with a Band-Aid, Shanice escorts me through a series of locked doors that lead to the right wing of the building, which houses some of the patients. All the common areas are co-ed except for the rooms we sleep in. As I walk down the girls’ hall, memories come flooding back—memories I wish I could forget but can’t, and now I’m here to make more.

“Here we are,” Shanice says when she steps into one of the rooms and sets the stack of clean sheets she’d been carrying onto the end of the bed. “Everyone is outside for morning exercise, so you’ll meet your roommate later.”

Staring down at the small twin bed that’s bolted to the floor, my heart slips a few inches down.

Hopeless.

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