Page 33 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

This is bad.

I’m seventeen, drunk out of my mind, and driving like a maniac. But I can’t run when there’s no place to run to, so I slow the car and brace myself for whatever is going to happen next.

HARLOW

“Idon’t want to be fat,” Max says as tears stream down her face. “I’d rather die.”

“But if you continue to allow this disease to take charge, you will die,” Dr. Benson, the psychiatrist who leads our morning group therapy, tells her.

“I’d rather die thin than live as a lard-ass whale.”

From across the circle, I stare at my neurotic roommate and feel sorry for her. It was just last week when Dr. Amberg put his foot down and admitted her to the hospital because of her refusal to eat. She returned two days later with a feeding tube running up her nose. Every day when the nurses come in to inject whatever it is they have in the large plastic syringe, Max flips out. It’s a storm of screaming, crying, and tears, and each time, the staff wins.

“And what about you, Harlow?” Dr. Benson asks, drawing everyone’s attention away from Max. “How are you feeling today?”

Without any inflection in tone or change in facial expression, I respond, “Fabulous,” but he isn’t pleased with my attitude—the one I’ve had ever since I woke from being sedated after blowing up in Dr. Amberg’s office.

It’s been a month since I got here and, because of my refusal to participate, I’m no closer to leaving. I don’t even bother calling home. My mother has made several attempts to visit me, but I refuse each and every one of them.

I’ve seen my brother twice so far, but the last time, he sided with my mom’s decision to have me here. The visit didn’t end well. I wound up coming unglued and screaming at him until Marcus and another nurse intervened.

My body runs on resentment’s fumes, and I barely recognize the cold and bitter girl I’ve become in here.

“Would you like to share anything with the group today?”

“Nope.”

He crosses one leg over the other in frustration. I don’t blame him; I have yet to speak in these daily group therapy sessions, which is a total contrast to my last stint in this place. But things were different then. I understood why I was here. This time ... this time, it’s completely unwarranted and nothing more than a punishment for my mother’s mistakes, not my own.

“This is bullshit,” Kevin complains. “We all come to group and talk. We do what we’re supposed to do. We don’t want to do it, but we do it.”

I glare at Kevin who thinks he’s so cool. He’s sixteen with an opioid addiction that, according to him, makes him above the rest of us.

“That’s the problem,” I tell him. “I’ve been here before. I’ve sat in this very room and did everything I was supposed to do. And when I was released and went back home, Istilldid everything I was told, but they used it against me, twisted it around, and now I’m back again.” A few eyes widen. “I’m starting to wonder if this place is nothing more than a money scheme.”

Dr. Benson uncrosses his legs and leans forward. “I can assure all of you that there’s no money scheming going on here.”

“Of course you would say that.” Max’s suspicion is written all over her face. “It’s not like you would admit the truth.”

Everyone begins chattering as paranoia spreads through the group, pulling the attention away from me as Dr. Benson tries to calm everyone down. A menagerie of voices fills the room, so much so that it sounds like nonsense, which it is. I don’t actually believe what I just accused this place of, but at least, for now, Dr. Benson isn’t focusing on me as he attempts to regain control of the group. So, I sit back and stifle the grin that’s tugging on my lips.

“Harlow,” Marcus announces when he steps into the room. “You have a visitor.”

“I don’t want to see anyone.”

“It’s your father.”

Sitting up in my chair, a wave of excitement comes over me.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

A smile stretches across my face as I stand and rush out. Anticipation sizzles through my entire body as Marcus walks me out of the unit and over to the visitation room. I’ve yet to talk to my dad or see him since I got here. But now that he’s back from his trip, I can get out of this place and go home.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited,” Marcus notes with a grin, and it takes effort to stifle the eager bounce in my step.

“I finally get to leave,” I tell him as we approach the room.

He stops in front of the door and looks at me. “It won’t be a private visit today.”

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