Love Letters & Suicide Notes

Everyone deserves to feel.

That was the motto. It was painted on a threadbare banner the staff insisted on keeping hung in the group therapy room. It decorated the otherwise plain wall, unless you considered the uneven paint job high quality decor. Granted, the way the paint moved from white to gray to stained ivory was problem the best shot at a conversation topic we had in this place, even when we circled up in the center of the room for a moderated discussion.

It was what we were reminded whenever we got too down ourselves for feeling a certain way. For example:

1. When Ellie said she didn’t know why she felt guilty for cheating on her boyfriend, Bryson, when her split personality, Nina, made out with random boys in the hallway, it was okay because everyone deserves to feel.

2. When Ryder didn’t know how to vocalize how he felt because his moods were swinging back and forth from day to day, that was okay, too, because everyone deserves to feel.

3. Holly spent most of her time staring out the window and decidedly not contributing to the discussion, but Dr. Emerson made sure to tell her as well that everyone deserves to feel even if they didn’t want to share it.

Currently, Dr. Emerson was using my personal favorite line, probably something he used almost as much as everyone deserves to feel:

“You’re not crazy,” he said. “You just have creative ways of dealing with difficulty.”

Ellie nodded a dismissive sort of nod, the kind we all did when we just wanted Dr. Emerson to move on, because it didn’t matter whether or not anyone said it: we all knew it was just psychobabble to make us feel better about ourselves and our afflictions because deep down none of this was “really our fault.”

It wasn’t Ellie’s fault that Nina decided she wanted to have sex with one of the boys on floor one, who coincidentally lived right next door to her boyfriend, but he was angry with her anyway, and apparently they weren’t speaking right now, and even as Ellie’s blue eyes teared up, it was difficult to feel anything but bored, since this was the same story she had virtually every week. The only thing that ever changed was the other boy’s name.

“It’s all just so confusing,” she said, sniffling through the on-coming tears.

Dr. Emerson nodded slowly and furrowed his eyebrows, making that “interested” face as he leaned toward her. “I sense there was some imbalance there for you.”

No shit.

Ellie wiped her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Her shoulders shook and caved forward as the tears finally broke. “Bryson’s just saying now that he doesn’t know if he can handle it anymore.”

Dr. Emerson nodded again. “Are you worried about whether or not he can handle it?” Ellie shrugged. “Perhaps it’s you that you’re worried about.”

The tears came to an abrupt stop as realization flickered in Ellie’s eyes, but an opening door cut off her time to respond. I turned around in my seat to see a boy standing in the doorway.

“Is this the right room?” he asked.

His hair was dyed black, laying across his forehead in contrast with his round, cobalt eyes. He was tall, but he was thin and frail, like somebody had stretched a layer of skin over a science classroom’s model skeleton.

Dr. Emerson’s eyes fell to his clipboard and then looked back at the boy. “Are you Calvin?”

“It’s just Cal,” the boy replied with a smile.

“Welcome,” Dr. Emerson said. “Please, sit wherever you like.”

“Cool,” Cal said. He strode across the room. The ends of the flannel shirt that sat way too large on his frame flapped behind him before he plopped down in the seat right beside me, already leaning forward like he was interested and settled in. “Sorry about being late, by the way.”

“Quite alright,” Emerson said. “Feel free to jump in whenever you feel comfortable, Cal.”

Cal nodded and shift his elbows down to his knees. He clasped his hands together and let them dangle in the space between his legs as his eyes surveyed the circle curiously. Emerson had turned to Ryder, who had taken to slumping back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. He always tried to look this disinterested. It wasn’t cool to try and work through your problems, and Ryder—considering he was practically kissing Bryson Alves’s ass—was obsessed with being the coolest.

“So, Ryder, you’ve been pretty quiet today.”

“Yeah,” Ryder huffed. He brushed a few strands of wavy brown hair out of his eyes.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I fucking hate this place,” he said. He broke into a grin and chuckled under his breath. If the rest of his little posse—London Kelly, Cash Irving, and the queen bee himself, Bryson Alves—was here, they’d have been chuckling and high-fiving right along with him, but they weren’t, and nobody else joined him.

Dr. Emerson nodded again, and he hummed a little. “You sound angry, Ryder.”

Ryder straightened up in his chair. “I’m not angry.”

“Really?” Dr. Emerson smiled bemusedly. “That’s not what I’m hearing.”

“Look, man—“ Ryder’s face narrowed with sudden frustration. “I don’t need you attacking me—“

Emerson’s eyebrows furrowed with intrigue. “Why did that feel like an attack, Ryder? Were you expecting that?”

Cal sat up straight and raised his hand. Emerson’s eyes drifted from the incredibly defensive Ryder to the new kid.

“Is it cool if I say something?” Cal asked.

“Absolutely,” Emerson said.

“Cool.” Cal cleared his throat. “With all due respect, man—doctor, I mean—maybe he doesn’t wanna talk.”

Finally, someone with half a brain! Ryder’s brown eyes widened to expose the white all around. Cal continued.

“I mean, people… we all have problems and shit, but we approach them differently.” He glanced around the room uneasily before he swallowed. “I don’t wanna start preaching or anything, since I’m just the new kid, but maybe Ryder isn’t… ready to talk.”

Ryder and Cal exchanged a smile, and Emerson sat back in his chair. His ever-questioning eyes set on Cal now, he cupped his elbow in one hand and tapped his lips with the other.

“Thank you, Cal.”

Cal nodded and rested his hands on his knees. “You’re welcome. I guess.”

Emerson opened his mouth to add something, but the timer on the chair beside him buzzed. He quickly smacked his hand against the stop button, and there was unanimous sigh of relief from everyone in the circle.

“Well, that’s all the time we have for today,” he said. “But I’ll see you all in two days, same time, same place, got it?”

Everyone mumbled half-hearted agreements before shuffling out the doors. As usual, I was last to leave the room, mostly because Ellie and Holly were roommates and sped out together. Ryder strode straight out of the building and toward the residence halls, leaving me, alone, to do whatever I wanted. Not to complain. I did prefer it that way.

As I was leaving, Cal had stayed behind to say a few words to Dr. Emerson, something about how he was late because he’d gotten lost or whatever—gave me flashbacks to when I first got here. I uttered a tiny laugh as the door shut behind me, and I continued down the hall.

Just before I was about to turn, loud footsteps rushed up behind me.

“Hey!” Cal called. “Hey! Wait up!”

I stopped walking and twisted around to see him jogging toward me with a ridiculous grin on his face.

“Hi,” he said. He panted between breaths, like a dog. I couldn’t tell if he was tired or just excited. “Sorry if this is weird—do you know where Dr. Slade’s office is?”

Everyone knew where Dr. Slade’s office was. Even if you weren’t a Red Zone kid, even if you weren’t a self-harmer, everyone knew Mitchell Slade—or as he preferred to be called “Mick.” Kids went into that office all time. It was the usual stomping ground for Bryson Alves and his little gang, and I mean, they went in there at least once a day, and they always come with a new prescription bottle, and well… I’m not implying that Dr. Slade was dealing drugs. I’m absolutely, positively stating that Dr. Slade was dealing drugs.

“If you go straight down this hall—“ I pointed my arm out straight ahead, and Cal’s head turned to follow. “You make a left at the end, and it’s about three or four rooms down. It’s room 190. There’s usually a plaque next to the door, you won’t miss it.”

“Cool!” He grinned so wide his eyes practically disappeared. “Cool, thanks, man. I’ll catch you later, man. Thanks again.”

Cal rushed off down the hall, practically slipping and falling as he rounded the corner.

I shook my head as his footsteps gradually grew softer and softer, until they were gone all together. I sighed.

“What a weird kid.”