I woke up before the nurse came in. Alli's electronic clock said 6:43. Not enough time to go back to sleep, but too early to get up and start getting ready. Quite the dilemma.

I laid in bed and the thoughts wander forward in my brain. Horrible thoughts. Dark, dirty memories that stain my brain like dye.

My fingers brush the thick, jagged scar on my hip as I remember. There's a beast inside of me, scraping at my throat, ripping up my heart and chewing on my ribs, screaming let me out let me out let me out. There are tears in my eyes and my heart is beating out of my chest.

I want to smash my fist into the memory like a glass window and slap him. I want to scratch his cheeks until they bleed. I want to shriek into my own ear, "DO SOMETHING! WHY AREN'T YOU SCREAMING AND FIGHTING?" I want to reach up and rip every one of his teeth out as he hovers above my limp body.

But instead, memory me does the worst of all: nothing.

•••

Alli saunters into the cafeteria and walks up to the line. I follow closely behind her. Breakfast is gray oatmeal and strawberry toast.

At school, there's always those kids who don't fit in and they sit on the edges of tables, on the rickety seats, not quite with a group but not really by themselves. That is this whole cafeteria. No one is really sitting with their friends and talking, but no one is really sitting alone either.

I sit around a circular table with Alli and a girl named Shelby who won't stop cutting her food up into small pieces. She's as skinny as a twig and doesn't eat a single bite. A nurse sitting a few tables away notices as well.

It was a long, silent breakfast followed by a long, silent walk back to our room. Before Alli opens the door, I nod in the direction of the common room. She bites her lip, then turns that way.

She smiles at me.

"Thank you," she says.

I was right. Her voice is beautiful.

•••

In community group, I have to set a goal. Everyone is staring. My throat closes up.

"Um..."

"What do you maybe struggle with doing on a normal day?" Dr. Matthews prompts.

"I don't know. Basic stuff. Getting out of bed."

"Okay, how could you change that?"

"Fine. My goal is to take a shower and do a load of laundry," I decided.

"Good!"

I'm not like Alli. I'm not mute, I just prefer not to talk. Alli struggles (not psychically, but mentally) with speaking. The only thing she's said to me is thank you.

I glance over at her and smile. She returns it sheepishly.

After community group, Alli has her one-on-one therapy. She is scheduled for 8:50, while mine is 9:10. We see different doctors, though. She sees Dr. Matthews. I see Dr. Smith, according to Myah.

Since Alli is gone and I don't feel brave enough to visit the common room alone, I go back to our bedroom and continue with reading my book. However, my attention isn't focused and I eventually give up.

Instead, I fold all my clothes from home and the hospital (stringless sweatpants, loose great t-shirts, my fuzzy socks) and tuck them in my dresser. I reorganize the decorations on top.

When my fingers find the letter from my dad, I immediately tear up. I can't read it. Not now. Not again. I've only read it once.

And that's all I plan to read it.

I glance at the clock. It's 9:15. My heart races. I wipe my sweaty palms on my leggings and race down the halls. My therapy room is directly across the common room, so I find it quickly and slip inside.

"Hello, Marley. I was afraid you weren't coming," Dr. Smith says. "Hi, I'm Dr. Smith."

"Hi," I said breathlessly before sitting down in a hard plastic chair across from his desk.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

I press my lips together and think for a while. I reply honestly, "Sad. Homesick. Tired. Anxious."

He nods, scribbles something on his notepad. "Did you sleep well last night?"

I shrugged. "I woke up in the middle of the night a lot but fell back asleep. I'm just not used to sleeping here, I guess."

"And you said you were homesick? Who do you live with at home?"

"My mom and my sister." My voice catches when I say her name: "Samantha."

"Will you call them during visitation hour?"

I shrugged again. "Maybe. Samantha... is mad. At me."

He cocks his head and jots something down. "Why?"

"Because I... dunno."

"Yes, you do."

"Because I tried to kill myself." The words come out in a rush. They don't feel right in my mouth. Those aren't words I should say. Not Normal Marley, anyway.

But I'm Mental Ward Marley now.

•••

After therapy, I'm exhausted. Dr. Smith asked me a billion and one questions about my family and my school and my friends and my love life and my grades and my house and my city and my teachers and my enemies and more.

When I curl up under the covers, Alli smiles sympathetically. She takes a deep breath and says, "Therapy is hard."

I nod. "You smile a lot."

She smiles.