again.
“Well, for starters, you’ve talked to me more this morning than you have this whole time.”
It occurs to me then that he might be able to tell me something about myself. “How long have I been here?”
“Two years, I think, but it’s hard to keep track.”
“What about you?”
“A long damn time. I don’t even know for sure.”
I have so many questions, like what’s wrong with me, but I don’t know that he’ll be able to answer any of them. At least he’s already helped me feel a little more grounded.
And special.
His full lips curve into an easy smile that reaches his sapphire eyes, making me feel warmer than I have since I first woke up. Somehow, I feel as though I can trust him completely—so I’m going to ask another question. “This is an insane asylum, right?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “They wouldn’t like hearing you call it that. I believe the term they use is mental health institute or behavioral health center. Depends on who you’re talking to.”
“Same thing.” I pick up my glass of juice. “I don’t suppose you know what I’m here for.”
He shakes his head, pausing to stroke the short stubble on his chin. I want to ask him what he’s here for, but that seems a little too forward. Even though he’s known me for a couple of years, I feel like we just met.
And I’m a bit enrapt at the moment. I doubt there’s a better looking male anywhere on the planet—not that I’d be able to see him. This man, he’s like a beacon in the middle of a sea of darkness. He’s warm and kind and he has me intrigued.
As we eat our food in silence, I prick my ears up, listening to some of the other people here. Some of them sound so sad. Others sound completely crazy. And it makes me wonder: Am I insane? Did I lose my mind and, unable to cope with reality, someone put me here to be safe?
Or am I all alone in this world?
When Joe looks at me over his cup of coffee, the twinkle in his eye reassures me I have him if no one else.
I am not alone.
*
After breakfast, Joe and I have made our way to the living area, not to be confused with the rec room. All of this is new to me, so I’m taking it all in. Right now, I don’t know if I’m happy or distraught that I’m in a place like this. It would help if I knew why I was here.
If I knew who I truly was.
But agonizing over it isn’t going to make it all known to me. Fortunately, Joe feels like an old sweater—warm, soft, and comforting—and I feel lucky that he’s my friend.
We’re sitting by the windows. The view here is similar to the one from my room, except the window’s overlooking a one-way street. This road, too, has three lanes, but the traffic seems to be a little calmer now, less bumper-to-bumper. There’s another park-like area just past the road, but I know for certain we’re in a big city. I see some skyscrapers off in the distance, confirming that thought. The TV at the other end of the room, hanging on the wall, is playing an old movie. It’s turned up a little too loud but at least it affords Joe and me as much privacy as we’re likely to get in a place like this.
I ask him, “You said you and I agreed to stop taking our meds?”
“Well, yeah. But, honestly, it was my idea and I talked you into it.”
“I wonder if that’s why I can’t remember anything.”
“Seriously, Anna? You can’t remember anything?”
“It’s weird. Like I could remember how to brush my teeth, but I couldn’t tell you how old I am. Or like where I used to live or what my favorite food is.”
“That is strange.” He’s looking around behind me, and I know it’s because of the subject matter. Obviously, we’re supposed to be taking our medicine, and he’s making sure no one nearby can hear what we’re saying. “Maybe this is a good thing for you.”
“What gave you the idea in the first place?”
He takes in a deep breath through his nostrils and my eyes shift to look back outside. After a moment, surveying the strip of grass and trees past the road, I realize it’s either late spring or summer. Or, perhaps, very early autumn before the leaves start turning. Everything is lush