What It Takes

It’s the end of August and Keira has yet to be released. They tell her she’s close, that she’s doing great in therapy, responding to treatment, and following her meal plan. Of course, she doesn’t let them know that one of the girls, Brittney, who had been there longer discovered a way to puke after dinner when the bathroom is free for exactly five minutes. She doesn’t join Brittney every time, but occasionally, when she feels exceptionally fat, she will give in.
Other than her slip-ups, she agrees with the doctors when they say she’s improving. Since she told them the lie about Jordan raping her, she’s felt a weight lift from her chest. She never wanted Dillion to be persecuted for what he did to her. Not even right after, when she was most upset. All she wanted was his word, her trust in him, and his love. She garnered the first two, but has yet to prove the third.
Now she’s lying on a couch in the common room while a few girls sit at the table studying and Brittney lies by the window. Her studies are done for the day, so she lies watching stupid daytime TV. The actors are all equally dim, making jokes that only earn a fake laugh from the audience. She presses the channel button down one, onto the food network, but it’s blocked by a password.
“Hello, girls.” Sarah, the night lady walks in with her bag of schoolwork and a smiling face. “It’s really blustery out there. The air’s getting colder.” She looks across the room at the six of us, but no one pays much attention to her but Brittney, who likes to be friends with everyone. She gets up from her position by the window and hugs Sarah like she hasn’t seen her in months.
The rest of them don’t bother lifting their gaze. The night person stops them from doing what is it they need to do that mostly they can only get away with at night. Because of that, she isn’t their favorite. They mostly have a night person so no one commits suicide thinking they’re unwatched and free.
“Keira,” Sarah drops her bag and walks over to the couch. “What’re you watching?”
Keira quickly flips back to the previous channel. “Soaps.” She wonders if Sarah caught on, what she might be thinking, if she’s going to tell on her. She’s so close to getting out of this silly place, one trip at the finish line and she’s toast.
“How did your day go?” She asks this like an over protective mother would, her head tilted slightly, her hands crossed over each other, her eyes squinting.
“Good. Great,” I add for extra height.
“That’s wonderful, Keira. You’ve been here just as long as I’ve been, what, five months almost?” She acts like they’re coworkers, congratulating each other on how long they’ve lasted.
“Yeah, about that long.” She plays with her hands that rest in her lap, tilting her head down so her hair covers her eyes. “Hopefully no longer.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” Keira widens a grin while looking back up at Sarah. “Your hair looks great, by the way.”
Sarah’s cheeks flush as she runs her fingers over her short blond bob. “Thanks. I’m so glad you think so. I thought it was time for a change.” Her smile couldn’t get any wider.
If that’s a change for Sarah, cutting a few inches off the tips of her hair, than she really doesn’t deserve to work here. A change like that is nothing. Try having the person you love rape you, try having your best friend die, no warning, or try having two random people move into your home, or try killing yourself only to miserably fail. “Yeah, change is good.”
Sarah gives her shoulder a quick rub and bends down so she’s closer to her. “Don’t worry, Keira, I’m sure some good change is about to come for you too.” She walks away to the other girls, still smiling foolishly.
She didn’t expect Sarah to understand, but part of her hopes she’s right.

Three weeks later . . .
(In therapist’s office)

Dr. Roberts leans back in his blue chair, wincing a little. His back must be bothering him. It’s because he’s old.
Keira sits at the far corner of the couch adjacent to him, her left elbow resting on the arm, curling her hair with her index finger. She doesn’t know what to feel. Happy, excited, relieved? But she also feels nervous, anxious, worried. She’s ready to go home, she’s ready to face school and Dillion and her friends. She’s not so ready to face her mother.
“What are feeling right now, Keira?”
His deep, husky voice reminds her of Santa Clause. There was a Santa Clause at Central Park that would have a mile long line of eager children waiting for their wishes to come true. When her mother would take her shopping on Fifth Avenue she’d beg and beg for her to let her see this strange, white-haired miracle worker.
She’d imagine the scenario over and over. She’d sit on his lap. He’d chuckle, a strong and deep voice bellowing from his throat as he’d hold his large stomach and ask her, “What do you want for Christmas little girl?” And she’d reply, whispering the words next to his rosy cheeks, “I want my mom to let me eat more than one cookie on Christmas.”
Dr. Roberts squints his eyes and leans forward in his seat, his old hands coming together. “Before we let you go, we need to make sure you’re one hundred percent okay with this.” He leans even farther forward and she thinks he’s going to fall off the chair and break his back. “Keira, are you one hundred percent okay with leaving in patient treatment and going home?”
She blinks faster, her heart beating irregularly. “Yes.” She tries to steady her voice. “I’m ready to go home.”
He exhales a long, deep sigh and sits up straight in his chair. “Okay,” he claps his hand. “I’ll draw the paperwork and your ride to take you home will be here at three. Oh, and Keira,” his voice becomes less cheery, “If you feel like you can’t handle things as well as you thought you could, you can always come back. The doors will be wide open.”
She nods.
“It was a pleasure to have you hear. I hope you find what you’re looking for at home, but most of all, I hope you’re happy.”
Keira gives him a half-hearted smile and extends her right hand to meet his. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts.” She means it.