Page 44 of Heart Sick

“Well, you thought wrong. How could you throw me in here? I’m not fucking crazy!”

Joy peers around the room, embarrassed as my raised voice has drawn the attention of other visitors. My fellow patients, however, have heard worse.

“Luna,” she says in a patronizing tone. “I love you. I only want you to get better.”

A maniacal laugh bursts from me, and tears leak from my eyes. “Better? There is no better. Misha is dead! And unless you can bring him back to life, then this is the best you’re going to get.”

“The doctors said they could help.”

“Well, they fucking lied to you!”

“Could it be because you aren’t really giving it a go?”

“Giving what a go? Giving being force-fed while tied to my bed a go? Or maybe getting a male orderly to help me go to the bathroom a go? How about given drugs to turn me into a medicated zombie?

“Is that what you’re telling me to give a go? Because no offense, Joy, but you can go fuck yourself.”

She gasps, eyes wide because I’ve never spoken to her that way before. But I’m angry. I also feel betrayed.

“And why are you wearing my dress? Just because I’m not home doesn’t mean you can come and go as you please.”

“Your dress? It’s not…I’m s-sorry.” She stumbles over her words, and I feel awful, but I can’t stop.

“Well, stop being sorry and get me out of here. Apparently, you’re the only person who can do that. Because I’m crazy and all,” I whisper sarcastically.

“I can’t do that. Not until you’re better.”

I blink once, wondering if the entire world is on crack. “Have you been listening to me?”

“Yes, and that’s why being in here is best for you.”

“Who died and made you Mother Teresa?” It’s out before I can stop myself, but instead of crying, I laugh—because if I don’t laugh, I’ll fucking cry and won’t stop.

“What’s happened to you?” Joy covers her mouth, horrified by my etiquette. Or lack of.

“Nurse!” I call out, so done with this conversation.

“Luna! Please!” Joy pleads, and when she attempts to touch my shoulder, I lunge and bite her hand. “Oh my god!”

She recoils, cradling it to her chest as two orderlies run over to wheel me away.

“Oh, and by the way,” I call over my shoulder. “Stay out of my fucking house!”

The last image I have is of Joy covering her mouth, horrified at the monster she once called her best friend.

The moment I’m wheeled back into the sterile corridor, I actually feel better. Ironic, I know. But being out there, in the real world, it forces me to deal with reality; the reality that Misha is dead.

A longing hits hard, and I instantly want to see Bowie. But how do I manage that? I don’t even know where he is.

Once I’m back in my room, I don’t fight when they lift me out of my chair and strap me into bed. Now that I’ve calmed, they don’t give me any sedation—for now, at least. When alone, I stare at the walls and wonder what comes next.

I have no family left. Joy no doubt wants nothing to do with me after I almost bit her like a rabid dog. But how could she do this to me? I don’t know how I’m going to get out because if Joy is my only hope, then looks like I’ll be staying here for good.

I wake with a start, aware someone is watching me.

“Shh, it’s okay,” says a man as he raises his hands in surrender. “I’m a friend.”

“What do you want?”

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