The Dandelion Effect

'This is for us now. Not them. We were always looking to prove something right? So let's prove to them we are more than they think. We win this time. So are with us or not, Logan? Choose your side.'

"Want me to help you step out?"

She let her head tip over to the right, her eyes traveling over to the young nurse who stood next to her. The woman had a very a pretty face with blue eyes and long blonde hair slicked back into a ponytail, her cheeks slightly colored with some light blush. Her lips curled upwards as she nodded, positioning her hands on the side of the tub and pushing herself upward while the nurse held onto her side.

"Here," The nurse handed her a towel which she quickly wrapped around her thin body. It had been two years. Twenty four months. 730 days. 17,520 hours.

She had gone from a size ten to a size four.

Those stomach flaps she used to cry about, those large thighs and dangling arms she couldn't help but hide were gone now. All that was left were scars and pity.

"Thank you." She murmured. The nurse held her by the arms as she took a timid step out one after another, rubbing her feet against the blue carpet that had been laid down. She patted herself down with the edges of the towel, from her arms to her legs.

The nurse grabbed another towel and flipped it over the girl's head, rubbing it carefully while making sure to dry her wet strands. "My name is Emilia. Nurse Emilia. They told me to watch over you for the remaining time of your stay. Your name is Logan right? It's really pretty. My little daughter's name is Frida, after the artist. You know? Frida Cahlo?"

She said nothing in response. The nurse kept chatting.

Emilia wrapped the towel around Logan's head carefully, making sure to grab every hair and include it inside the mesh.

The nurse looped her arm around hers leading her outside the small bathroom and into the hallway. Due to the small frame of time that each patient was given to bathe, the nurses had to make sure to dry them and get them going before the next one arrived. This was the routine for every psych patient that stepped into Windwood's Mental Facility.

Wake up every morning at seven on the dot, shower at seven thirty until eight with the assistance of one of the caretakers, breakfast until nine, then sessions with a shrink until ten. The rest of the day was for you to choose what to do.

Of course, that is until twelve when lunch is served, then at one again for your second session, then free for an hour, then at three there are visits (if you got any), then at four you have your group session, then at five you're free until six for dinner. You're monitored 24/7.

She couldn't even remember the last time she had a visit. Was it maybe four months ago when her cousins came to visit? She had heard one of them had gotten admitted into Yale. What month was that? April? Her birthday was in March and she could've sworn she spent it here, all alone. No calls. No gifts. Nothing. Not a word from people who she thought used to be her friends, not a word from her mother, not a word from her family.

She couldn't remember and she wondered if maybe it was better that way.

Her world had been filled with this silence. She only spoke when she had to. She only answered what she needed to. The only time she truly expressed herself were in the group sessions where you got to draw with crayons. She had never liked the idea or even the act of coloring, but they had to make sure patients would stab themselves with anything pointier than Crayolas.

"You're twenty right? If I hadn't read through your medical file I would've easily mistaken you for a sixteen year old. You look so young! I just turned twenty-nine last week. Almost thirty can you believe it?!" The nurse gave a short laugh and patted the girl's shoulder as they stopped in front of her room. "You're so quiet! You should speak more often, it will do you some good."

The girl gave her a fresh smile, one she barely ever gave to people she had just met. The nurse returned it with a large grin, grabbing the doorknob and turning it, letting the girl go in first. Logan went to sit on the white sheets that neatly lied on top of the bed, reaching down and tenderly stroking every crease.

Nurse Emilia opened the girl's closet, flipping around though the girl's various outfits. "Wow! You have really cute clothes! It's very lucky they let you wear whatever you want here. The last place I worked in only used white." She turned and frowned. "It was horrible. White t-shirt, white pants, and white tennis shoes. Even white undergarments!"

She was new and you could tell. Patients who hadn't reached severity in their cases were allowed to wear what they wanted as lost as it was approved by their supervising psychiatrist. When she first arrived here all she wore was white.

"Do you…" Logan started. "Do you always talk this much?"

The nurse completely turned around, giving her a slight frown mixed in with a smile.

Shit, she was going to cry. If she started to cry, she wouldn't know what to do. Had it been so long that she completely lost her tact? She had really grown mean in two years.

"Sorry," The nurse blurted out. "I speak a lot when I'm nervous."

She knew.

That was why. She knew. Cute Nurse Emilia had read her file and the circumstances which had led her here. It had been almost two years. Two long, long years. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she "healed". Had she at all?

Dr. Wilder said it would take time and that she would first would have to forgive herself. She would first have to understand how wrong it had been, how it wasn't the answer, how it hadn't been okay to have let that happen. How there were so many more options, how there were so many other solutions, how she had been in the wrong but could be healed.

Had he healed her?

Had he been able to heal her?

'Logan? Choose your side.'

"Oh," That was the only thing she could emit before standing up and walking over towards the closet. She took out a pair of grey jeans and a white, hoodless sweatshirt, along with a bra and underwear. She slipped them on without a care whether the nurse was watching, pulling the towel away from her body and hanging it over the closet's door. "I'm not… going to do something stupid if that's what you're afraid of."

This time the nurse kept quiet, but not for long. "It's not-,"

"Logan?" A voice from the other side of the door echoed. "Can I come in?" He didn't wait for a response. Dr. Wilder slipped inside the room, leaving the door open for a quick exit. "You need to come with me."

"Doctor, she hasn't eaten yet, I think it would be best if,-" The doctor gave the nurse a stern look which immediately told her it wasn't the most important matter at the moment.

"She can eat later." The doctor frowned, turning towards Logan one again. She couldn't tell if he was pissed or annoyed. Logan turned her head towards Nurse Emilia, giving her a small nod.

The nurse pulled something out of her pocket, extending it towards her. "Before you go, have this."

She handed her a black hairband, wide enough to tie up her long dark hair. Ever since she had arrived she hadn't cut it or dyed it once, her once short, red hair, now reaching all the way down to her waist. The only thing red about it were her messy tips which were junked with split ends. She quickly tied it all up in a bun, slipping on some red flats and walking out the door.

The doctor had never seemed so rushed to her. He had always kept such a calm composure for everything. He had always seemed like a handsome man with great taste and a lucky wife, someone who didn't get easily frazzled.

Even when she first arrived, he had kept his cool. And she hadn't been easy to handle. She had punched two attendants, giving one a bloody nose and another a black eye, only to be immediately sedated right after as he watched with cold eyes how she crumbled to the ground like a bird who had just been shot down.

But when she turned to look at him, he had such an ominous aura surrounding him she could help but be slightly afraid.

Obviously it had something to do with her. Was it her mother? Had something happened to her mother? Just by that thought her face went blank, her imagination running wild with scenarios. No, he would've told her right off the bat. Dr. Wilder knew that if anything happened to her mom it would be better to get it out right away. Scratch that. To medicate her before hand, then get it out right away.

"What happened?" She asked.

They kept walking with no response.

"What happened?" She asked again, a little more angrier than usual. He opened the door for her as they walked into her office, a suited man waiting for them, calmly sitting on a chair.

"Ms. Angeli. Please take a seat." He instructed, the doctor taking his own seat while she pulled the other one to herself. She had always found Dr. Wilder's room strangely comforting, a brown tone coloring the room, giving it the warmth it needed to survive.

"What is this about?" She muttered, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sweatshirt. She had grown to that habit ever since she was young, her hands twitching for some sort of movement, some sort of relief.

"Logan, this is not going to be easy."

Shit, it is something about her mother. How much did she want to bet it was something related to her. Oh God, that filthy fucking scumbag of a husband cheated on her! She knew it! He looked too good to be true, that lying son of a bi-.

"Your father's dead."