Chp 1
Clair trudged behind a nurse, staring at the barren white decor of the empty halls. For a mental hospital, it might be the norm, but all it was doing was heightening her sense of claustrophobia. It did little to her anxiety, and the sheer whiteness all around was searing her eyeballs.
“Over there are the boys’ quarters. Girls are not allowed past the blue doors,” she said as they stopped at a room that read 14-B.
“Here you are. For now, you’ve got the room to yourself,” she unlocked it, and Clairance stepped inside.
More white greeted her, along with small twin beds, sure to give her back pain. A nailed-in lamp by each bedside, two small closets, and an open bathroom with nothing but a curtain to cut the shower and another to stop peeping nurses from watching you take a dump. No wonder most people came home constipated from these things. Could she really hold it in for two weeks?
She walked to the window where bars lined the panels. “It feels like a prison.”
“We have a level system here. You will gain your belongings as you ascend levels. Ask nurse Joyce or a patient to explain it better, but different levels get you different things,” said the nurse checking out the shower.
She turned towards Clairance, smiling. Her faux blonde looks did nothing for her. “You may join the others in a therapy group or wait by the social area. This is the only time you are allowed to skip therapy.”
“I’ll go to therapy,” said Clairance rather drolly.
The nurse smiled. “Good choice.”
Clairance chewed on a hank of honey-brown hair as the nurse led her past a cream-colored hallway. They passed into a hall guarded by huge metal doors. Inside, it was cold! Clairance pulled her windbreaker up. The nurse brought them to a door outfitted in blue and orange ghosts.
“This is Ms. Franklin’s therapy session. Today it’s on Anger Management,” she said, opening the door.
A bunch of cold air hit Clairance in the face, and she coughed from the freeze. She opened her gray eyes to eight pairs staring back curiously. She felt her blood pressure start to rise. She didn’t do well with so much attention.
“Welcome, come on in,” drawled a robust black lady with thinning gray hair and a wide smile. To her left were two near-identical redheads, except one had vibrant green eyes and the other had stunning blue. The blue-eyed girl smiled and nodded while the green-eyed one waved. To their left was an eight-year-old with almond-brown eyes. He looked Muslim. He was talking to a tall, sable-headed female of Asian features. To her left were three boys, all brown-haired.
One of the bunch, she knew. He still had that just-out-of-bed hairstyle and those cute freckles. He even had spectacular hazel-green eyes going for him. Out of all the boys, he was the fittest, but Clairance only felt a sharp sense of hatred building. He was one of the reasons she was in here to begin with! Bullies! They had hounded and tormented her until she snapped and fought back, and was charged with either mental rehab or Juvie. He had been there. Had likely gotten the same sentence.
Christian Hendersen.
His eyes met hers, and for a minute, he just stared before realization must have broken into that thick head, and he did a double take. Her eyes narrowed at his nervous glance around the room. She caught the sable-haired Asian girl and one of the brown-haired boys, staring at them. She walked with a confidence she didn’t feel into the classroom.
“Go on. Introduce yourself,” said the woman.
She smirked and glared right at Christian. “My name is Joanna Clairance Vale, and I hate bullies and the color red.”
Christian glared at her, taking her introduction for what it was: a declaration of war.
“Good, it’s important to realize how we feel about things and situations. We must never let such powerful emotions rule our thinking and actions, which is why most of you are here. I am Dr. Franklin, but most call me Dr. Franky,” said the woman signaling for the chair to her right.
Clairance took it, and Dr. Franky resumed the therapy. Several people took notes. Clairance already knew some of this from her personal therapy sessions. It was a shame she forgot it all when Christian and his gang of sycophants attacked her that day. For as bad as they hurt her, she only wanted to pay them back half of it.
All the pain and misery. All the nights crying and dissociating from this world, scaring her parents into getting her therapy. All of it! But see and doing are two different things, and after she had felt vile, repugnant, she had fallen as low as they. Then came Beatrice and her lawyer, and everything was as they say done.
Dr. Franky concluded the lesson. “It is healthy to be angry, but we must find positive ways to channel our negative emotions. Any questions?”
“I’m assuming letting all your anger go in one shot against a defenseless girl isn’t a good way,” muttered Christian, grinning at me.
Clairance glared back. “Considering that the so-called defenseless person made said person eat dog crap the day before, I can understand their resentment.”
“Who did what?” asked the brown-haired, brown-eyed male.
“You did that on your own,” sneered Christian.
“I was forced to by Beatrice, and you know it! You were laughing so hard behind her!”
“Hey! I have my reasons for—don’t ignore me!”
Clairance was done listening to a bully. They all lined up waiting for the nurse. She arrived out of breath and blushing, slightly disheveled.
“Let’s go,” she said, returning them to the social area. Christian broke from the group and made his way past the blue doors.
“That is one unhappy camper,” said the brown-haired, brown-eyed boy. His eyes were pretty dull.
The eight-year-old ran toward the TV. “Power Rangers is on!” he cried, leaping from couch to couch and doing a little jig.
“Jericho, do you want to be penalized? You just returned to level two, and today is cheesecake!” cried the blue-eyed girl.
“I agree with Jesse, Jer,” said the Asian girl. “Sit down or lose privileges. I won’t hesitate to tattle tale.”
“But Maki!” he whined.
“Mi’jo, ya need to let others see the Power Rangers,” said the dull-eyed boy.
“Look who’s talking, Diego,” said another brown-haired, brown-eyed male. He was wearing thin frames.
“Marco, enough baiting,” said Maki.
“Ya always rain on my parade, pendeja!” cried Marco, cleaning his glasses on his shirt.
“What does Pendeja mean?” asked Jericho an innocent gaze on his face.
The temperature dropped, and all eyes turned to Marco. “Ehe, don’t repeat the word where Spanish folk can hear,” he warned.
“Too little too late, man,” muttered Diego, but Jericho nodded.
“OK, but what does it mean?”
“A not-so-nice way to call someone a moron,” sighed Diego, crossing his arms. Maki gave him the evil eye. “Yo, genius said it, not me. Crucify him.”
“Ah, can’t go a day without the Mendez brothers messing it up somehow,” muttered Jesse.
“Yo! We ain’t brothers!” stated Diego.
“More like cousins,” muttered Marco, slipping on his glasses.
“Who has been removed at least five times,” finished Diego.
“I rest my case,” muttered Jesse as the green-eyed girl appeared, laughing silently. She spun and made a thrusting motion with her hips.
“Yo! Where!?” cried Marco.
She pointed in the direction she came.
“Nuts! Can’t go there,” he said, pouting.
Maki glanced at him, quaking her brows. “You’ll cuss like a sailor but won’t violate rules?”
Marco smirked and shook his head, scratching at his chin. “Nah! Besides, today is cheesecake. CHEESECAKE! Not giving that up for investigating nookie.”
“What’s nookie?”
“Jer, go watch Power Rangers!” cried Jesse, pushing the eight-year-old to the TV.
“Fine! I can tell when I ain’t wanted!” cried Jericho, stomping over to the TV.
“Thank Heavens,” said Maki, making the sign of the cross.
“Aren’t you a Buddhist?” asked Diego.
“Aren’t you a Catholic?” mocked Maki. “Let others believe what they wish,” she said, turning to Clairance, who had watched everything with a clinical eye.
“So, Joanna was it?” she asked.
“I go by Clairance or Clair,” she said, smiling.
