Page 18 of Heart Sick

“You know the hospital’s policy,” she scolds, appearing jealous. I suppose she did just have her hand around my cock.

“You know my name,” I remind her because she and the other nurse had no qualms looking me up.

I suspect this rule is in place to protect the privacy of patients so the Moniques of this world can’t look their patients up. I do wonder how they know who we all are? By number? Seems fitting in an institution such as this.

“And besides, I think we’ve bypassed all hospital protocol.”

She smirks and I know this comes with a price, a price I will happily pay because when she says, “Luna,” something happens…I hear it.

Music.

It’s just a flicker, but I welcome it after being lost in the silence for days.

Monique wheels me inside, but when we pass Luna, I realize that maybe she was right, after all. Maybe I needed an inspiration to fight my way through the darkness, because I think I just found my muse…and her name is Luna.

His heart beats loudly, and it seems we finally agree.

I’m aware of two things.

The first is that therapy isn’t for me.

And the second is that the man with the most intense blue eyes who is sitting across from me hasn’t stopped watching me since I entered the room.

I have no idea what he’s looking at.

I’m not creeped out like I am with Noah who, so far, has left me alone. With this handsome stranger, I feel…curious, I guess. He looks to be in his late twenties and on the “outside,” I’m sure he doesn’t lack admirers.

With that dirty blond hair which falls in just the right way that accents his sharp jaw and luscious mouth, and a body which looks toned, and covered in some tattoos, I know he would probably just look at someone with those inquisitive eyes and game over.

But not me.

Even though I was drugged out of my mind yesterday, I’m pretty sure I saw the pretty brunette nurse give him a hand job under the blanket. I don’t judge, but it’s in poor taste for both him and her. And besides, I’m not here to get to know anyone. I’m here to get the hell out.

Whatever I have to say or do, I will do.

This place has me wishing I was successful in my suicide attempt. Ironic, considering that’s the complete opposite of why anyone is committed. But Parkfields Hospital would have anyone wishing they were anywhere but here.

“At Parkfields, our policy is that everyone is equal,” explains our therapist, “Jade,” in a soothing, soft voice. “Which is why we believe it’s better not to know people by their names because we are all here to escape who that person is. We are here for new beginnings.”

I can’t help but scoff and it’s clearly louder than I thought because the circle turns to look at me.

Jade purses her lips, addressing me, peering at the name tag in my lap. “Let’s start with you.”

Our first get to know you exercise was to pick a name we wanted to be called by. I actually can’t believe they think this is a good idea, that being known by another name is supposed to help one heal.

What a fucking joke.

But when Jade makes it clear she is waiting for an answer, I turn the name tag over and show my fellow circle members the name I chose.

“Misha,” Jade says, and I try to conceal the pain I feel at hearing his name.

But that’s why I chose it. If I’m to be known by another alias, then there was none that I wanted than that of my son. If I’m here to “heal,” then the first step is being able to hear Misha’s name without wanting to slit my wrists.

I’m clearly a long way off, however.

“Let us welcome Misha into our safe, happy place.”

“Welcome, Misha,” the group sings, while Jade nods, indicating I’m to attach the name tag on my gown for all to see.

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