“Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Next week, they’re having a family day here. It’ll be a cookout or something like that,” I tell him. “You think you could come?”

  “Next week?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t.”

  I twirl the phone cord around my fingers. “Why not?”

  “I’m heading back to UNC early. A couple of friends and I snagged a small house right off campus and we move in next week.”

  “Oh, that’s cool.”

  “Does Mom know about the cookout? She hasn’t said anything.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t told her.”

  The line goes silent for a moment before he says, “She’s trying, Low. You shouldn’t be so hard on her.”

  I clench the cord in a tight fist and swallow my annoyance. “Easy for you to say.”

  “She cares about you. We all do.”

  I shake my head because it’s all lies. “If any of you cared, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “That isn’t fair. It isn’t like I have any say in this.”

  “And if you did?”

  He sighs and then goes quiet. Silence tells me he agrees with her decision, and I can’t do this anymore. Dropping the phone from my ear, I walk over to the desk and hand it to Marcus, saying, “I’m done.”

  Tyler’s voice calling my name on the other end is audible, and when Marcus gives me a curious look, I tell him, “Just hang up,” and he does.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Why does everyone keep asking me that?

  From down the hall, voices echo as everyone comes in from outside.

  Marcus stands and nods toward the door. “Come on. Rec time.”

  “Hey, where did you run off to?” Sebastian asks when he sees me step into the rec room.

  “Phone call.” My response is clipped as I pay him no real attention.

  “Everything okay?”

  Again, with the question.

  I shoot him a glare.

  “Damn, you’re a moody girl.”

  “Whatever,” I mumble as I turn away from him and go to the cubbies to grab a deck of cards.

  The day passes as it always does—uneventfully. It’s a daily rotation of meals, three groups a day, rec time, curriculum, art and meditation, and one-on-ones. Every minute is accounted for and scheduled.

  Some days, we have special activities or guests that come in to offer classes or give stupid motivational talks. It’s all a pointless waste of time when you’re a pointless waste of space. When each breath is more meaningless than the one before.

  Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I try to think of a reason to hang on.

  A flashlight pierces my eyes as it does every fifteen minutes until I fall asleep.

  “Check.”

  Lights out was hours ago, but sleep refuses to find me.

  I’m restless.

  Resigned.

  Empty, aside from dread.

  It’s the fear of having to go another day, enduring the weight of this indefinable hopelessness that’s slowly sucking the life out of me.

  My heart hangs above me as the darkness takes hold of the vacant space in my chest. It fills me like the landfill hole I am, burying itself in my bones, decomposing me. Slipping out of bed, I pad over to the door and quietly get Rosie’s attention.

  “Rosie, I have to go to the bathroom.”

  She drags herself down the hall and motions, silently giving me permission to step out of my room. After she escorts me to the bathroom, she tells me, “Make it fast.”

  When I close the door behind me, I slowly drag my open palm along the bumpy surface of the wall. My eyes close as I concentrate on the coolness of the painted cinder until my hand reaches the cover over the light switch. I don’t turn it on though. The moon casts enough of its silvery glow through the small window near the ceiling for me to find the loose screw. I use my thumbnail to slowly back the screw out, and the light at the end of this proverbial tunnel begins to brighten.

  When the thread ends, the screw falls to the floor next to my bare feet with a light clink.

  I lower myself, pick it up, and sit with my back pressed against the wall. I’ve been here before. Last time I was in my bathroom at home and it was a razor between my fingers, not an old rusty screw. My body turns numb just as it did the time before, and as I stare at the sharp tip, my head goes foggy. It’s a peculiar euphoria of sorts.

  Upturning my left wrist, I look down at my scar. I ghost the point of the screw along the pink line that leads to my radial artery. It’s a straight shot that I hit once before.

  Phantom heart palpitations thunk in my vacant chest, which begins to rise and fall as my breaths turn shallow.

  Just do it.

  Pressing the point against the scar tissue, I take a deep inhale and then dig it into my skin, ripping the flesh open as I pull it along the length of my wrist. The screw slips out from between my blood-coated fingers, and I stare up into a blur of sparkles as my body fills with tingles. The breath that escapes my lungs is heavy with relief, but I hear nothing aside from a distant ringing in my ears.

  I sense the door flying open, but I’m too deep in this trance to move.

  “Harlow!”

  The screaming of my name blows into the glittery fog like a gust of wind clearing a path of visibility. There’s more yelling, and when the light turns on, I look down, confused as to why there isn’t more blood.

  My hand trembles as I hold it in front of my face.

  No!

  Adrenaline explodes inside me when I realize I didn’t cut deep enough. Looking up, I see it’s Max who’s screaming for help, but Rosie isn’t in sight.

  “Max stop!”

  In a bolt of panic, I scour the floor to find the screw so I can hide it. My anxiety has me freaking out as an explosion of noise stirs chaos, which forces my hands to search faster. The moment I grab the screw, there are too many hands on me to count.

  “No!”

  The small space fills with my hysterical screams while nurses bark incoherent commands and I struggle to get away. I don’t even realize I’m still holding the screw until someone pries it out of my fingers. Kicking, I shriek in a storm of fear for what’s going to happen.

  “Let go of me! Let go!”

  Pandemonium blurs everything as people flood the room, and the next thing I know, my feet are no longer on the ground. In a slip of a second, I’m forced into a wheelchair. A fear I’ve never known rips through me when leather cuffs fasten around my wrists and ankles, restraining me in the worst way imaginable.

  Tears spring from my eyes as I’m rushed out of the bathroom and into the brightly lit hall. Everything happens in flashes I can’t grasp as my senses fail. I’m being pushed so fast that the air whips through my hair, and all I can hear are my pleading screams, but they can’t possibly be mine because I don’t recognize the sounds barreling out of me.

  They wheel me down one locked hall and into another, and I’m finally pushed in to a small room. Horror strikes when the lights go on and I see the restraint bed.

  “No!” I scream. “Don’t do this!”

  They continue talking to me, but nothing filters in with four people holding on to my limbs. I’m unstrapped from the chair and hoisted onto the bed as I fight with every ounce of strength I have, but I can’t break free.

  Balling my hands into fists, I thrash violently while bloodcurdling screams tear through my vocal cords.

  I attempt to kick but can’t get more than an inch of movement as they secure the straps, locking my legs and arms down so tightly I can’t move.

  “Please, no! Let me go!” I continue to wail, but there is no one to save me.

  A sharp sting spears into my hip, sending a cold current of ice through my bloodstream. I look up to a male nurse hovering over me, but he dissolves into vapor as my muscles slacken and my voice fades until nothing is left but silence.

  SEBASTIAN

  There’s a strange vibe in the cafeteria this morning. Almost everyone is already eating when I walk in and grab my tray. Whispered chatter fills the room, but it’s so subdued that it piques curiosity.

  “Why’s everyone acting so weird this morning?” I ask when I sit in my usual spot next to Wes.

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?” I scoop a spoonful of rubbery eggs into my mouth.

  “Harlow tried killing herself.”

  A cannonball smashes right into my chest.

  What the fuck?

  I must’ve misunderstood him, but when my eyes flick to Max, my stomach coils. She’s visibly shaken, swaying back and forth.

  “What happened?”

  She doesn’t respond, but I’m too struck in utter disbelief to care about her mental state. “Max,” I state firmly, “tell me what happened.”

  “It was so scary.” Her voice trembles. “I heard her crying from the bathroom in the middle of the night . . . it woke me up. There was no staff outside the door, so I ran to check on her, but she had already slit her wrist.”

  “Holy shit.”

  Max’s eyes fill with tears, and Wes consoles her. I can’t comprehend the idea of Harlow doing that to herself—or anyone doing that.

  “Where is she?”

  “Isolation,” Wes says. “Or as they call it here ‘the quiet room.’”

  “What’s that?”

  “A safe room where she can’t hurt herself.”

  My appetite vanishes, and I sit back. Max wipes away a tear as I try to unscramble my racing thoughts. It’s nearly impossible to grasp a single one, but there’s no denying that each of them hold a common denominator of guilt. It consumes me. I’ve been nothing but a dick to that girl, giving her so much crap over the years, and never once considering what that could do to a person.

  What if this is my fault?

  “Can we see her?”

  “No, man,” Wes says. “She’s locked down.”

  “Where’s isolation?”

  “You know the hall to the left of where we get our meds?”

  I nod.

  “Down there.”

  I start considering ways to sneak in there to make sure she’s okay, but it all seems so distant, as if this is a horrible joke they play on the new kids here. I think back to yesterday, and she seemed fine. She was quiet and moody, but that’s how she always is. There was nothing out of the ordinary, so what the hell happened?

  I can’t fathom the type of pain she must’ve been in for her to actually try killing herself.

  “What did she even use?” I ask because everything in this place is so closely monitored. Hell, we can’t even be trusted with our own shampoo. The staff squirts a little into a paper cup for us so people don’t try to drink it.

  “A screw from the light switch.”

  “It’s so sad,” Jeremy murmurs, and I nod, completely disturbed by the visions playing in my mind.

  I’m shocked that something like this could happen. I mean, I know it does, I hear about it on television, but this is way too real. It’s weird, but somehow, over this past week, I’ve been able to convince myself that I’m not locked away in a mental ward. In just seven short days, I’ve become so used to seeing Max’s feeding tube that I almost forgot it was there. Being stuck in a place like this, even for a short period of time, has made me sort of immune to all the oddities and the reasons these people are here. This is a brutal wake-up call.

  “Marcus said that they’re moving group up this morning,” Wes tells us.

  “To when?”

  “I think right after outdoor exercise.”

  Looking across the table to Harlow’s empty seat is haunting, sending a visceral chill straight through my chest, forcing my eyes down to my eggs.

  “You okay?”

  It’s a total sham when I nod at Wes.

  I’m sucked inside a daze of festering self-reflection that does nothing but create regrets. It makes me sick to my stomach, and I wind up throwing away almost my entire breakfast before we head outside.

  There’s a somberness hanging over this place today. Everyone knows about what happened last night, and they’re all gossiping about it. Little do they know that I’m the one to blame.

  Jeremy tosses me the basketball, but I bounce it right back to him before turning over my shoulder and calling out, “Yo, Marcus.”

  He steps away from Shanice as I walk over to him. “What is it?”

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Why didn’t you go before you came out?”

  “Didn’t have to,” I tell him, and when he hesitates to take me inside, I urge, “Come on, man. I’m pinching it off here.”

  “Let’s go.” He sighs.

  After we get inside, I’m in luck when he veers to the left to take me over to the bathroom by the med station.

  “It’s a deuce, so it might take a while.”

  “Didn’t need to know all that,” he says, unlocking the door and pushing it open for me.

  As it slowly swings shut, I catch a glimpse of him walking off, and a trill of energy spirals through me. I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing or how I’m going to get down that hall, but I have to at least try.

  After waiting a minute, I crack the door open to find Marcus sitting in the med station, talking to another nurse. As quietly as I can, I sneak out of the bathroom and rush over to the hall Wes told me about, but the moment I peer through the small window, I see Dr. Benson and duck back into a corner to hide.

  A loud buzz sounds a second before the double doors open, and the moment he turns in the opposite direction, I slip through the doors before they close and lock behind me. Once I’m in, I look around, but it doesn’t appear that anyone is down here. It’s eerily quiet, and I start walking the short stretch of hallway. There is a small square window on each door that I peek in to as I pass—each one empty. The rooms are small with nothing but a bed, and there are no outside windows at all.

  When I hit the third door, I look inside and stop when I see her long brown hair strewn across the white pillow. My chest constricts painfully as I try to digest what I’m actually seeing. It’s like a horror movie. Her wrists and ankles are bound to the bed with heavy straps. She wears nothing but a white hospital gown, and she’s staring lifelessly up at the ceiling.

  A part of me wants to knock, but I don’t—I’m too scared. Nothing about this feels right.

  She blinks slowly, and a thick tear slips down the side of her face and into her tangled hair. The pit in my chest expands, and I resist the temptation to scream out for someone to unstrap her. It’s beyond frightening to see a person tied down like she is.

  She turns her head in my direction. Her red, swollen eyes meet mine, and I freeze.

  I want to look away, but I can’t.

  I want to yell at her through the door and tell her that I’m sorry, but I don’t.

  She’s expressionless as she stares at me like a ghost. After a beat, her face slowly crumples before she turns back to the ceiling and begins crying loudly. Tears freefall down her temples while she lays there bound and helpless and sobbing.

  Rattled to my core, I step away from the window. My hands shake at my sides, and when the heel of my foot hits the wall, the harsh buzz sounds again, and I jump.

  “Hey!” Dr. Benson calls as he rushes toward me. “How did you get in here?”

  I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes.

  “This is a secured unit. You aren’t allowed to be here.”

  I give him a nervous nod, and when he sees how shaken I am, he puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me away from Harlow’s room. “Are you okay?”

  I nod again.

  “Do you need to talk?”

  I can still hear her muffled cries as I shake my head. “No.”

  He gently squeezes my shoulder, and I swear it feels as if he’s squeezing emotions out of me.

  “I won’t tell anyone you snuck in here,” he says before tipping his head toward the doors. “You need to go.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter as I manage to put one foot in front of the other.

  When I punch the large button on the wall, the doors buzz and open. Not wanting to get into trouble, I’m cautious as I make my way back to the restrooms. Marcus is still distracted, so I kick the bathroom door open, and when he looks up, I walk over to where he’s sitting.

  “You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  My heart rate remains spiked as I follow him back outside. For the next hour, I stick to myself, unsure of how I should feel. It doesn’t seem real, but I know that it is, and it’s messing with me.

  When we are called inside for an early group session just as Wes had mentioned, I can’t shake my restlessness. I’m a bundle of anxiety with sweaty palms and fidgety hands. I press my fingers against my opposite hand to crack my knuckles, only to remember that I just popped them less than thirty seconds ago. The lack of release charges me up more. I can’t sit still.

  Dr. Benson takes his seat, but he doesn’t have his files with him today. When everyone quiets, he clears his throat before saying, “I thought it would be good to come together this morning to have an open discussion.”

  “About Harlow?” Jeremy asks.

  Dr. Benson leans forward and folds his hands together. “Yes. About Harlow.”

  “Is it true that she tried killing herself?” another guy questions.

  Everyone but me stares at the doctor as they wait for his answer.

  “Yes,” he states matter-of-factly.

  “Is she okay?” I look to Max, who’s sitting next to me. “I mean, is she going to . . .”

  “I just got done visiting with her. Right now, she’s just very tired.” His answer couldn’t be any more vague.

  “Is she still strapped down?” I ask when I find my voice.

  “How do you know she’s strapped down?” someone asks as I keep my focus on the doctor.

  “Because they always strap you down when you try to off yourself,” another person responds.

  My throat goes thick when I think about how she looked in that bed, but he manages to relieve a miniscule amount of my tension when he shakes his head. “No, she isn’t.” He then addresses the group. “Look, when something like this happens, it can stir up a lot of emotions and confusion in us. So, I’d like to take this time to talk through how we feel about the situation and answer any questions I can for you.”