Chapter 1
“Agnes,”
The voice is mild, but seems somehow far away - as if it is in the waken world, and Agnes is still among dreams.
“Agnes, it’s time to wake up,”
The voice tightens slightly, but it is clear that this is the voice of a kind person.
Although opening one’s eyes should feel like the easiest thing in the world, inside Agnes it is like fighting a war.
And when she finally opens them, she remembers where she is.
The room is small and rectangular, almost like a prison cell with its sparse furniture and white walls. Outside the locked window snowflakes fall freely and carelessly.
“Great, you’re awake!”
The psychiatric nurse exclaims it with an enthusiasm that seems unreal to Agnes - not because the nurse is faking it, but because it is hard to believe that anyone could be happy that she is awake.
As Agnes collects her thoughts, she rubs her eyes. She has not been awake for more than a minute, and she already feels The Lump in her throat. This well-known lump follows her around like a ghost trying to possess her, a ghost stuck in her throat.
If the ghost is trying to make Agnes one of their own, it has succeeded.
The psychiatric nurse, whose name plate says Sophie, grabs the chair by the desk and takes a seat in front of the bed where Agnes still lays.
“So, Agnes, how are you holding up?”
To hear her own name this many times in a row makes her kind of dizzy, like how a word loses its meaning when it is repeated over and over again. Besides, she is not sure who she is anymore.
“I’m...” she starts. She sits up, looking down at her hands as she turns them, revealing her palms.
“I’m alive.” she finally says.
Sophie smiles.
“That’s good to hear.” she says with a warm confidence.
Agnes looks up shortly before looking away, this time around the room. Here is a closet for the clothes, her mum has not yet brought her, the desk behind Sophie and the bed beneath Agnes. The only thing here that is one of her own possessions is a small, framed picture of Kiki, her pet magpie.
It was the only thing she had taken with her, when they left for the ER.
A few years earlier Agnes had found Kiki with a broken leg on the sidewalk, and she had taken her to the local vet.
Agnes had come in crying with Kiki in her arms, begging him to cure her, and he had laughed and tied a popsicle stick to the broken leg.
But four weeks later, Kiki could walk again. And being able to walk, she was able to fly.
When Agnes set her free, she was crying again.
Agnes did not stop thinking about Kiki for days and weeks, so when she suddenly came flying through the school’s window a hot summer day, flew straight to Agnes’ table and landed there, Agnes knew something they had something special.
Oh, how she wishes Kiki would come flying through the window now.
“How about some breakfast?” Sophie asks optimistically.
Agnes answers with a single nod, which had recently become a habit of hers.
“That’s great! I’ll be your contact person here, so if you need anything, feel free to ask.”
She rises from the chair and smiles again, though Agnes does not see.
“Oh, and later you’ll meet Dr. Kakarov. He’s an amazing guy, and today will be just an introductory conversation.” She squints her eyes to think if there’s anymore to be said.
“Also, do you want me to show you to the dining room?”
ᝰ.ᐟ
The youth psych ward is made up of a few corridors, with Agnes’ room at the end of one of them, and then a living room and a dining room. There are drawings on the fridge, gaming consoles by the TV and fruit in a bowl by the kitchen.
It feels weirdly homey, like the house of a big, sick family.
At 9 o’clock precisely, everybody sits down to eat. Agnes counts nine teenagers, excluding herself, and two adults, one of them being Sophie.
A younger, more energetic and obliviously innocent Agnes would be curious about these people, asking them questions about themselves. She wouldn’t even exaggerate her interest.
But Agnes just sits there, trying her hardest to chew the bread and not meet anyone’s eyes.
“Sorry, I’m late!”
The voice comes from behind her, a voice full of life like the first flowers in spring.
A girl, around the same age as Agnes, walks briskly around the table and sits down between Sophie and one of the other teenagers.
“I overslept, and none of y’all woke me up!” she laughs and looks accusatorily at Sophie.
Her hair is dark blonde and barely reaches her ears. Her nose is thin like a narrow bridge between her green eyes and her dark lips. There’s something simple, yet beautiful, about her.
“Well, you usually wake up by yourself,” Sophie smiles and takes a bite of her slice of bread with marmelade.
How can she be here and be so happy? Agnes suddenly feels nauseous, and stops up mid-chew. She feels The Lump again.
Without realizing, she spits out the half-chewed bread on her plate.
“I’m so... sorry...” she whispers before pushing her chair back and leaving the room. She does not look back, perhaps because she already feels everybody staring at her.
She falls into the bed and sobs.
Even at a place for sickos, I don’t fit in, she thinks.
Knock knock.
Agnes looks up at the door.
“Hey,” a cautious voice says.
It’s Sophie. As she opens the door, another woman is revealed.
“Mum!” Agnes exlcaims. Inside her is a feeling mixed of relief and exhaustion.
“Hey, honey,” she says with a calm voice. She is thick woman with a taste for floral maxi dresses, with long brown hair and glasses. Her being oozes mum, a nurturer, but Agnes knows there is more to it.
Yet the presence of her feels safe.
“I brought you some clothes, your computer, and, okay, hold up,” she stops unpacking and looks at Agnes with a convincing smile.
“I brought your painting stuff,” she says.
Agnes sighs.
“Mum, you know I don’t-”
“Yeah-yeah, but you’ll have a lot of time on your hands and maybe you’ll get the motivation back.”
She takes brushes, a couple of small canvases and paint tubes out of the bag.
“I could only find these small ones in your room, I hope it’s oka-”
“It’s fine, Mum,” Agnes says, and without realizing it her hands reach out to receive the things.
They sit there in silence for a couple of seconds, then they both look at Sophie still standing in the doorway.
“I’ll give you two some space,”
She smiles before leaving, not closing the door fully.
“Honey,” her mum begins.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Agnes says abruptly.
Her mum looks down, her expression almost sad and ashamed.
“Is... is Kiki okay?” Agnes asks.
“Kiki’s fine. Dad’s taking care of her,” she says.
“You know, she needs to be let out three times a day, and her shredding toy has to be changed as soon as-”
“Yeah-yeah, honey, don’t sweat it. We have it under control.”
Agnes looks out the window. It is not snowing anymore, and the sun has shown its face. The world is still white, but in the light everything glimmers softly.
“Mum?”
“Yeah?”
A glimpse of hope in her mum’s voice.
“Is it okay if you leave now?”
A long silence stretches out between them.
“Of course.”
As the door closes, Agnes lays on her back in the bed. She looks up at the ceiling, but her head is somewhere else. Who was that girl?
Suddenly, she sits up, grabs a canvas, a brush and the colors yellow, brown, green, red, black and white.
With these colors, she can paint anything.
But she paints her.
