Nineteen

Caging Felicity

Felicity Day One 10:10 p.m.

“This is your room,” the nurse said to me as I put my bag on the bed nearest the window. If it weren’t the double-sided window for the doctors to look in, I could almost fool myself into believing this was some luxury hotel. The walls were a neutral beige color, and random paintings of flowers were hung on the walls. There were even magazine and books by the bed. Nothing had changed in the last six years. I wasn’t sure if it was comforting or maddening.

“I’ll give you a moment, and then you’ll have to sign out,” she said, closing the door behind me. I sat on the bed and turned my back to him.

He leaned against the wall opposite me, still in his suit, though he was missing his tie and jacket. His black hair lay messily on his forehead, his green eyes tired.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him.

He crossed his arms, tilting his head in confusion. “For what?”

“This.” I lifted my hands. “I’m sorry that this is me. You are an amazing guy and I really like you. But this is the part where you walk away. You got me this far. Thank you. But—”

“Glad to see even after all this you’re still you.”

“What?”

He smiled. “You’re still you, Felicity. Still trying to run from me.”

“I’m not running. I’m giving you a way out.”

“Shouldn’t I ask first before you offer anything?”

“Theo.” Sighing, I brushed my hair back. “I’m not—”

“I make my own choices. If I wanted to leave, I could have the moment you ran away from the gala. I didn’t have to come to you. I did because this thing—you needing help—isn’t who you are. The Felicity I know snores, may have an addiction to wine, is the most hardheaded women I’ve ever met in my life, and is feisty and unbelievably beautiful. When I’m with her, I’m the happiest I can be and laugh at the dumbest things. I go from being this cold asshole of a person to a walking, talking cliché. I just keep thinking those were just the first few weeks I knew her. Imagine where I’ll be with her at the end of the year? The only thing stopping us from getting there is this one thing.”

Wiping my eyes, I nodded. “Well, it’s a pretty big thing, something you shouldn’t have to deal with—”

“Felicity.” He walked up to the edge of my bed and leaned in close. “When I said you’re mine, I meant it. Remember? I say what I mean. I chose scars and all. If it were me, if I were the one who had to be here, would you walk away?”

“No.” I didn’t have to think about it. I wouldn’t just leave him. I could accept him being the one with flaws, he was perfect as he was, and he wouldn’t have been holding me back. But I felt like I was this leech on his life.

“Do me a favor and just trust, and promise me you won’t run anymore. Not from this treatment and not from me.”

“I promise.”

He held my hands, and I knew then he was the only person alive who could break my heart, because I was completely in his keeping, and it scared the hell out of me.

“Mr. Darcy.” The nurse came back in. “We need you to leave now.”

Theo kissed my forehead then my hands before letting go.  “I’ll see you in twenty-one days. In the meantime, take a page from Nicholas Sparks, and I’ll write to you.”

“I’ll write back.”

He gave me one last look before leaving. I waited, not moving, for God only knows how long before I fell back onto the bed, tears spilling from my eyes.

Sometimes it felt like the only thing holding me together was my skin.

Day Five 9:17 a.m.

“Open for me,” the nurse said to me, and I opened my mouth wider, lifting my tongue for her to check. “Thank you. How are you feeling, Ms. Ford—”

“Harper, my last name is Harper,” I replied, reaching for my notebook again and curling up into a ball on couch. She frowned, glancing down at her chart.

“What do you think your name is?”

I sighed. She thought I didn’t know who I was anymore. My name was legally Felicity Ford. Part of me wanted to say my name was Angelina Jolie, but the last thing I needed was more medication and group therapy.

“My name is Felicity Harper and not Ford because I’m no longer on speaking terms with my father, not because I don’t know who I am.”

She gave me a fake smile. “I’ll make a note of that in your chart.”

“Thank you. When can I talk to someone who doesn’t have a medical license? Like friends? I have letters I want to send.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Ford, but no contact with the outside until your first twenty-one days are over.” 

I wanted to scream. But instead I took out my notebook and pen and I wrote. I doubted that he would ever get my letters, but I’d promised away. So I wrote anything I could think of. However, because of the new medication, my hands started to shake halfway in. Dropping the pen for a moment, I hugged my hand to my chest.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Glancing over to the couch, Mark laid there, reading one of the magazines.

“You’re not real,” I replied, looking away from him, but Cleo appeared in the bed right next to me.

“What is real? If you can see us, if you can feel us, then aren’t we real?” she asked me.

Shaking my head, I tried to concentrate. “Please go away!”

“Felicity, we don’t belong here, and you know it.” Mark sat up. “You aren’t crazy. Everyone else is.”

“No. Stop. Go. You are not real. Neither of you is real. Why are you here? I took the meds!” I screamed at them. I felt sick. I couldn’t go anywhere I wanted anymore. I couldn’t dance or drink or walk along the beach because I kept seeing them! I gave it all up so they would go away, and here they were, torturing me again.

“Felicity, clam down!” Cleo jumped off the bed, rushing to me, but I pushed her away. What was worse was that I could feel her flesh. She still felt real… like me. “If you don’t calm down, they will come—”

Just as she said it, two nurses showed up, walking to me slowly like I was some animal! Like I would jump at them.

“I’m fine.” I tried to remain calm. “I have a headache, and I’m a little frustrated that I can’t talk to anyone.”

“Would you like us to call your doctor? I’m sure he would be happy to speak to you.”

“No, it’s all right. Thanks,” I muttered, getting back on the bed. Cleo and Mark sat on either side of me. 

“The moment they know you see us, you know what will happen, right? More drugs, more shaking, more of this room. You’ll end up living here forever.” Cleo sighed, but I would not answer. If I stopped talking, maybe they would leave.

“It’s not that easy,” Mark replied, placing his arm on my shoulder. “And this place can’t help.”

Day Fourteen 12:10 p.m.

“Felicity, can I see what you’re writing?” my doctor, Dr. Butler, asked, but I shook my head, not even bothering to look up from my desk.

“Why?”

“It’s the one thing that’s for me. The one thing no else gets input on.  No one can judge it… so no.”

“Is that what you think we’re doing? Judging you?”

I spun around in the chair and smiled, though I didn’t want to. “Yes. You are. You’re trying to see if I’m normal. Do I still have hallucinations, am I about to have a breakdown. You write it all down and judge, and based on that, you decide whether I’m like everyone else or I’m defective. All I’m doing is writing a letter to a guy. I have no one else but this one man, and I can’t talk to him and I can’t see him and I can’t give him these letters, but I’m going to write them anyway because I’m leaving here next week.”

“Felicity—”

“My throat hurts from talking so much. Excuse me for not answering.” I glanced back to the book in front of me.

“He’s going to need ice for that burn.” Mark laughed and tried not to smile.

“Felicity, you won’t be able to leave until we start to talk about your issues.”

“My issues were a lack of medication, and we’ve talked about that, so I think I’m good,” I said.

“This guy really can’t take a hint.” Cleo played with the blinds. “You remember that teenager at the high school who kept coming up and asking you for a date, what was his name?”

“Andrew.” Shit, I answered her.

“What’s that? Who is Andrew?” Dr. Butler asked.

I shook my head. “I said, ‘aren’t you.’ As in, aren’t you going to check up on your other patients? Someone was yelling before.”

“Does the yelling bother you?”

I stopped wanting to ask if he was joking.

“Seriously? Who gives these people their licenses?” Mark laughed. “Of course yelling bothers her. It’s yelling, you moron!”

I nodded in agreement… fuck.

“Is something funny, Felicity?”

“Just your questions. Can I get back to writing now?”

I didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, I tried to focus, ignoring how hard it was to write when my hand shook more each day.

This place was making me worse, not better.