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Dropping my head, I rub my wrists, muttering, “I know.”

“Do you need to go to the breathing room?”

“No.”

“Well then, l’ll walk you back. It’s almost lunchtime.”

“I’m not hungry,” I tell him as I retreat into the comfort of desolation.

“You know the rules.”

I keep focused on the floor, repeating once again, “I’m not hungry.”

I watch his feet as he steps over to me, and when he places his hand on my back, he tosses a favor my way when he asks, “You won’t cause any trouble if I take you in the rec room, will you?”

I shake my head.

“Okay then.”

He leads me back over to the right wing, the metal double doors automatically locking behind us when we enter the patient unit. We pass the cafeteria where everyone is eating lunch, and when we arrive at the rec room, I split away from Marcus, leaving him at the threshold.

“No trouble,” he warns.

I take a seat in a chair in front of the wall-mounted television and curl into myself. Resting my head on my knees, I turn to look out the window and away from Marcus, who’s babysitting me from across the room. The television drones in the background as I hone in on the faint pitter-patter of the rain hitting the window. Beads of water collect, and when the weight becomes too much, they give way, sliding down in haphazard rivers. I lose myself in watching them fall, wondering if the pane of glass is shatterproof, wondering if I’m brave enough to find out.

“And this is the recreational room,” Nurse Leslie says to someone from across the space, but I don’t turn to see who she’s talking to. “When you aren’t in group or participating in other activities, this is where you’ll be.”

Great, a new freak.

“Harlow?” she calls out. “Why aren’t you at lunch?”

Not wanting to move, I respond bleakly. “Bad visit with my dad.”

“We have a new patient I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Spare me.”

“Maybe you could show him around?” She sounds closer than she was before, but I still don’t turn to look at her.

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Harlow,” she lightly scolds.

“Just leave me alone.”

“At least say hi.”

Another drop slips down the rain-speckled pane before I lift my head and turn around with a dull, “Hi.”

The moment I see who’s standing next to Nurse Leslie, my eyes widen in shock.

“Hey, Cricket.”

HARLOW

Even at the Hopewell Recovery Center, the cafeteria dynamics are similar to what you would find at any high school. The room is on a smaller scale, yet everyone still cliques up at their tables. Maybe it’s habitual, and no matter who or where you are, you seek out your comfort zone. For weeks, I’ve sat at the same table, in the same chair, alongside the same people—Max and Wes.

I scoop up a bite-sized piece of chicken with my spoon and stare at it for a moment before putting it into my mouth. The meat here comes pre-cut since the freaks of the world can’t be trusted with plastic forks or knives.