"20 07! 20 07!"

"Gentle as you take her blood. Where's an X-Ray when I need it?"

"Get her oxygen! Get me an IV!"

"Where are those CCs I asked for?! On the double! On the double!"

Thirty-seven horns.

They found a total of thirty-seven horns on my body.

I don't remember much.

All I remember is that by the time they carried me out of the building, and by the time the whiz of the helicopter blades sliced through the air, and by the time that the men in yellow got me strapped into the gurney, my lungs could no longer expand.

* * *

Mike and Sullivan sat in silence in cushioned chairs, feet away from Mary's bedside. The room itself was purgatory. The walls, chairs, floor tiles, blankets, and the bed itself were all glaringly white, blaring and bleached of any sense of warmth. Mary's tomato red face was all that kept them both rooted in reality.

The beep of the heart monitor blasted Mike's ears. Though the doctors had said Mary's condition was stable, neither monster could stop sweating.

Mike shattered the surreal atmosphere. "Sulley?"

Sullivan locked his eyes on the ceiling as he twiddled his thumbs, both his arms finally in casts. "Yeah, Mikey?"

Mike shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking a moment to reply. "Sul, I, I just wanted to say that, I am sorry."

Mike closed his eye. "I am so, so, sorry."

"For what?"

Michael looked up at his friend, almost unable to process his words.

"Are you delirious? I've been such a jerk to you!"

"It's my fault I have been working so much, never being able to see you—"

"Sulley wake up, it's not your fault! It has never been your fault. I couldn't," Mike twiddled his thumbs, looking at the floor. "I couldn't take it, the fact that we had lost Boo." Michael said.

"That she was dead."

His words stung the sterile air around them like a whip.

"And I apologize for making you think that it was your fault I was angry."

"Mikey, you didn't make me think anything—"

"Look at you! All these years I've pushed you away and you think you laid down this distance?" Mike wrung his hands, focused on the white floor tiles. "I'm am so sorry."

"It's ok, Mikey." Sullivan replied, gripping the arms of his chair, unable to look his friend in the eye.. "But it was my fault. I'm the one that let Boo—"

"Stop it, stop it, stop it! Sulley, you're really killing me here."

"What?" Sullivan squinted. "What are you saying?"

"Sulley, you're great, but sometimes I really just don't get you."

"What are you talking about?" Sullivan clenched his jaw. "Mike, Boo said it herself, I abandoned her—"

"No you didn't. I pulled you through the door. Because you were about to charge back into a raging fire in a collapsing house driven by the futile hopes of saving someone that was already lost. And I would have lost you."

Sullivan said nothing.

"There was no way you could have saved her. There was no way we could have saved her. The fire was too strong. The burning debris buried the entire room like sand in an hourglass, and we were helpless to do anything about it. She was gone." 
 Sullivan sat slouched in his chair, unable to accept Mikey's answers.

"And the good news is, you don't have to let yourself be haunted by this anymore. Boo is alive."

"Yeah." Sullivan said, falling softer, sickened by the sight of her frail, red self in the hospital bed. "I hope she stays that way."

* * *

Three days later, I was released from urgent care.

Apparently during my time in the hospital my pink kitty onesie was lost in the laundry.

How. The heck. Do you lose. A bright pink. Kitten onesie...

Oh well.

I walked out through the doors, gripping Mike's hand and lightly grasping one of Sullivan's arm casts.

I wore a fleece T-shirt. It was five sizes too big for me, the shirt coming down to below my knees. Though the shirt had four sleeves, two of them had been cut off and sown shut, for which I was grateful.

My hair was clean, light and fluffy, a luxury I had not been privileged to in days. On my feet were socks so large that wads and wads of wool gathered around my ankles.

I couched into my shirt.

"Unfortunately, that cough will take a couple of weeks to clear up." A voice grumbled.

Approaching us was a giant slug with white hair, a sweater, and diva glasses. She held a clip board and a clicking pen.

"Unfortunately, that cough will take a couple weeks to clear up," She grumbled.

"Eyyyy." I grinned hello, still wobbly.

She ignored me. "Congratulations, Mr. Sullivan. For once, an outbreak of terror in the public was not your fault."

The sound of her voice almost made me burst out laughing.

Sullivan shook his head at her comment, rolling his eyes.

"She, however, is on a streak." The slug pointed her red pen at me. "Honestly Mr. Sullivan, how many doors am I going to have to shred to keep this child out?"

"Wait." Panic darted in my eyes. "What?"

"And, Mr. Wazowski, there is now an impending law that will make it illegal to reassemble doors that have been officially shredded, just for your information."

"I understand."

"What?"

"We cannot keep having the public go into panic attacks like this."

"What are you saying?" I stepped back. "What are you saying?"

"Mary—"

"Look, kid," Female Jabba the Hutt said. "We cannot keep having these little games of hide and seek that lead to scampering into the wardrobe. We know you're not a danger. We know you're not a threat. You're not toxic. None of you are. But no matter how many pamphlets we hand out, no matter how many seminars we have over the anatomy of the human body, and no matter how many awareness rallies we lead, polls have shown that the vast majority of the public is still afraid of humans."

"But... But..."

Monsters--

"Kid, this is reality. Monsters and humans do not mix, and I don't think they ever will. Just like monsters will never be accepted into your world. So unless both parties give, we are going to have to accept the borders."

I broke eye contact with her, defeated.

The slug looked over her shoulder. "Where is that door shredder—"

"Wait!" I cried out, marching forward. Mike grabbed my wrist and held me back, his heels screeching against the floor.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

She ignored my question. "It's impressive, really. You were the first kid to breach, and now you've broken another record: the first adult to breach—"

"She's not an adult--"

"Stay out of this, Mr. Sullivan."

I smirked. It's not like I'm going to forget this place.

I can always come back through another door.

Moments later, two monsters pulled in a door that I recognized: Jackson's closet door.

I flipped.

"Hold on, you're shredding that door?!"

"That's the idea—"

"Oh please no, please no! Don't shred that door! It's not mine. It's my little friend's. He's only six-years-old. His life is so, so miserable, and I think that purple three headed monster is one of the best parts of his life right now."

"Kid—"

"He doesn't deserve to have his childhood taken away from him because of my actions."

"And how do we know you're not just going to wait and come right back through again?"

I froze.

She's right.

I bit my lip, scanning the doorway.

Unless...

I raised one hand, the other over my heart.

"I... I pr... pro... promise... to never... ever come back... to the monster world. Through that door, or any other."

Sullivan gasped. "Mary--"

The slug stared at me blankly.

"Ever again."

The slug thought for a few moments.

"For as long as I live."

Silence.

"Like forever."

It kept thinking.

"Forever and ever."

The slug didn't move.

"And ever and ever and ever and ever—"

She held up her hand to shut me up. "Very well." She rolled her eyes and waved her red pen at me. "But I'll be watching you, kid. Always watching. Always."