“My Little Bird in Her Cage”
T wo Months Later
It's cold in here. It's always cold. I catch myself staring down at the large pink scar that wraps around my leg to my upper thigh.
Alan says that once he thinks I'm better, he'll tell them to let me come home.
To his home . He says he'll schedule a time with the best artist in the city to fix my tattoo.
The raised skin along the malformed line still feels foreign on my fingertips.
Alan comes to visit me every day. He sits with me on my bed in my assigned room.
He holds me each night until visiting hours are over.
He lets me cry against his chest, and he kisses the top of my head.
His touch is so comforting when he runs his hand down the small of my back.
My body and mind are desperate traitors, and I cling to him for the only source of comfort I have. He's all I have left.
My nightmares over the past few months have only worsened.
I wake up in pools of cold sweat in the late hours of the night.
Nurses come to my rescue when they hear my screams. My doctor says once my body gets used to my new medication, the dreams will get less and less.
I don't know what is worse, continuous nights of watching the memory of Lee dying and my best friend's bloody corpse in my mind, or nights of dark, empty, nothingness.
My doctor prescribes another medication to make the torment go away. One for my physical pain, a few for my newfound depression, and several others for mental stabilization. I have become a walking pharmaceutical zombie.
With one look at my scars and another at the wealthy man who claims to be my boyfriend, it was obvious to them that I was admitted for my clinical depression.
There was no mention of the new sorrowful outlook on life that was caused by the boyfriend being a serial killer.
The few warning glances from Alan were a strong indication that I was not going to challenge that claim.
However, I haven't determined which would be worse– sitting alone in this mental rehab center, or the chance of death and being free from this place.
I visit Thalia every evening after work. I smile at all the nurses I walk past on my way to her room. They eagerly grin back at the man who pays for Thalia’s treatment.
Thalia’s room is always cold. She stays under the thick, black comforter I brought in for her.
She sits up in her bed as if she’s been waiting all day for my visit.
Her now-fading red hair hangs around her shoulders.
It frames her pale, slender face. She's like my weak little bird trapped in her cage.
If she isn't dissociating and staring at the painted-over white brick walls, her stare is focused on one of the several books I provided.
Each visit, she tells me about her day in the facility and what she's read.
It's always the same, but I will never get tired of our time together.
I gaze at Thalia intently as her words seep into my mind the way warm scotch enters my bloodstream.
Afterwards, I hold her while she cries into my cotton shirt.
Like any guilty pleasure, this is what I look forward to in every one of my visits.
She lets me cling to her until I'm forced to let her go.
Eight o'clock comes too soon and I have to prepare us both for our evening to end. It's the same routine we have each night. Thalia’s eyes continue to overflow with pleading tears when I make my attempt to climb out of her bed.
"Please don’t go." Her wide eyes look into mine.
"Listener, you know I have to." I would stay here forever with her if the nurses let me.
"Please, just tell them I'm better. Take me home." Her tears now fall fast down her pink cheeks. Home. My home. Soon to be our home.
"You're not ready." I kiss her lips and lay her down in her bed and cover up her weak body. "I'll be back tomorrow. I love you." She gives a small, upturned smile through her silent cries. One day, she'll say it back.
A part of my heart aches as I walk out of her room and quietly shut her door. "Goodbye, Mr. Jones. See you tomorrow." I give a small wave to the nurses and walk towards my car.
Artemis greets me at my door and rubs his white fur along my dark brown slacks.
"I just visited Mommy. She's got a little while to go, but she'll be home soon." I pet our cat between his ears. He purrs with approval and follows me close behind as I walk towards the newly remodeled kitchen to fill his empty food bowl.
I walk over to the black restocked cabinet with dishes that I know Thalia will love when she officially moves in and take out a black mug to make myself a cup of coffee.
My hot mug nearly burns my lips as I take my first sip. I scroll through my phone while I take in the caffeine and open up social media. Pictures of a mysterious fire at the local storage facility flood my news feed.
It's a pity. Jace and Ashley have been missing for the past couple of months, and the police still don’t have any leads.
While I take another sip of my hot coffee, I continue to read through the many posts on my social media pages.
There are many images of the units going up in flames.
The fire is on everyone’s mind this evening.
It makes me question if our police force even really knows what they’re doing when they search for clues and other forms of evidence.
You know, it’s the little details that matter.
Maybe they were all incinerated . I grin while setting my mug down on the new granite, wondering how the jar of Ruben Ara's eyes looks in the red and orange light.