Psyche

When Jamie wakes he expects to see familiar orange walls, comic books lying haphazardly on the floor, and his bed covered with pencils and markers he forgot to put away. He expects to wake up in his room, but when he sees off-white colored walls with regular furniture and a second bed across from his, he stops the disappointment from coming before it devours him.

He should be used to this – it’s been a few weeks already – but he’s not.

“You sleep good?” Jamie blinks sluggishly till Nolan materializes in the bed next to his. He sits cross-legged on it, rubbing his eyes.

Jamie had thought when he got here they’d have him locked alone in his own small room. He got a roommate instead. “Only people with special circumstances get their own rooms,” the staff said. Nice to know they thought he wasn’t a danger to anyone.

For the first two days after Jamie’s arrival, he didn’t say a word to Nolan, but it didn’t stop the guy from constantly talking to Jamie like Jamie cared. He’s a funny kid with big eyes the color the sky is when a thunderstorm is coming. He never stops smiling. It’s probably why Jamie gave in eventually.

Nolan just turned 17 and Solstice is just one of many institutions he’s been to. He’s never told Jamie why, and Jamie’s fine without knowing, though he’s still kind of curious simply because Nolan never seems to be troubled by anything.

“I guess,” Jamie replies. He didn’t dream last night. He hasn’t dreamed of anything since he’s been here, no nightmares or good dreams. Nolan stares at him before looking at the ceiling.

There are some days Jamie feels apprehensive around Nolan. There’s a faraway look Nolan tends to carry, like a piece of him is gone. But he’s the nicest person (not including the staff) here, and pretty much keeps the more hostile teens away from Jamie. Jamie considers Nolan a friend in a strange way.

“Is it time to get up?” Jamie asks, yawning.

“No,” Nolan sighs. “I didn’t feel like sleeping anymore.” He suddenly reaches under his pillow and pulls out a folded, lime green paper. He opens it and Jamie catches a glimpse of words written with pink glitter ink.

“My little sis wrote me a letter,” Nolan laughs. “She says she can’t wait till I get home. I don’t know why. She usually hates me.”

“You’re still her brother,” Jamie says, and Nolan squints at him.

“True,” he agrees, before putting the letter back under his pillow. “Sometimes I think things will be so much better once I get home and other times I don’t.”

Somehow the room darkens and a tense atmosphere settles in. “What do you mean?” Jamie asks, and he wishes he hadn’t when Nolan’s grin slowly wanes off.

“People here think everyone who comes here goes home with a ‘brighter future.’ You ever thought maybe you wouldn’t? I’ve been in and out of these things since I don’t know when. My future’s already planned out. Mom used to say I’m gonna end up like my dad and I believe her now. A substance abuser with too much time on his hands.”

In a just few seconds the optimism Nolan has kept a hold on starts to struggle free and Jamie wants it to stop. Before he can tell Nolan he’s wrong, he won’t end up like that, Nolan adds, “You’ll end up better than me, Jamie. I can just tell.”

“Only if I let it,” Jamie suddenly says.

He finds himself repeating it throughout the day.

Only if I let it.