Poison Arms

I was at a seminar listening to how it’s okay to eat. They were really lecturing us. It was something I didn’t particularly care about, but we had to take notes on what inspired us. For me? Nothing. I didn’t care about the person in the front of the room who’d battled anorexia for 10 years and is now clean. I didn’t care about the nurse sitting at the table across from me crying because her husband left her. I didn’t care about how bad off the rest of the people in this room were. I didn’t care about anything. It was hard to be emotionally attached to people, considering what had happened to the only two people I’d ever loved. Over the past 8 years I’ve kinda came up with this theory that if I never loved again, then I could never get hurt. I always thought it would be hard, but I’ve grown to hate almost everyone here. I’m very emotionally detached, from everything. I don’t find joy in anything, except music. How typical. I know, it sounds cliché, but I haven’t found anything that brings me more joy than sitting at a piano. Yet another thing I’ve found I have control over. I like control, if you haven’t noticed.

When I first came here, I was scared of everyone. I thought that whoever killed my parents was going to kill me too. I even went through a period where I thought that if I could kill myself before “he” did, then I’d get off the hook; but like I said I’ve never really been the suicidal type. I stayed in my room for the first 2 years almost. I remember being so scared that one day one of the nurses was going to walk in slowly, lock the door behind them, and carry out what they’d started. It never happened, of course. That was back when I was still young and impressionable. I went to a seminar, different than the ones they make me go to now, and the man had been in prison for 34 years. We were told he went there because he hurt people. He kept telling us that he didn’t do it, and I believed him with everything in me. He then went on to give a speech.

“I know that right now you guys are probably y-young and confused, b-but just know that it will get better if you let it. It can g-get better, but it’s all under your control. You’ve got a r-remote in your hand. You can change the channels, turn the volume up or down, or turn it off. You can’t be scared forever. You can’t play the victim forever. B-because one day there won’t be a game anymore. It’ll be j-just you against the w-world. If you want to be happy, y-you’ve gotta get out there and make it happen. No matter what’s wrong with you.”

He had a prominent stutter, but he got his point across to everyone. It wasn’t long after he got through to me that I left my room. I went to the courtyard and admired the sun on my face. I soaked in the warmth of the rays as they marinated my pale skin. I sat in the garden and breathed in the pure air. I then went to the sitting room and admired the actions of my surrounding peers. I spotted the piano, like a black bear in the middle of a snowed over field. I messed around with that thing for years; taught myself to play actually. I’d say I’m pretty good.

I turned in my notes at the end of the seminar and went back to my room. Almost as soon as I got comfortable, one of my nurses came in.

“Kellin, the doctor would like to see you.” She said.

I sighed and got up following her back to the doctor’s office. His name was Dr. Patterson. He was a nice guy, but he was very inconsiderate.

“Hi, how are you doing today Mr. Bostwick?” he asked sounding very unconcerned.

“Quinn.” I quickly corrected him.

“Excuse me?” his glasses fell to the tip of his nose and he shot me a look.

“It’s Quinn. Kellin Quinn. I don’t like Bostwick.”

“Ah, I see. So, still touchy on the “parents” subject then?” he said bluntly.

“No. I just like Quinn better, problem?”

He raised an eyebrow at my attitude. “None at all. Step on the scale please.”

I sighed and stepped on it facing the wall instead of the numbers. I really didn’t care to see what I weighed, and I figured my actions had made my intentions clear. They didn’t.

“146. You’ve gained Mr. Bostwick.”

Not only did he annoy me by announcing my weight, he got my name wrong again.

“Thank you Dr. Patterson.” I paused. “See what I did there?” The man shook his head. “I got your mother fucking name right. It’s Quinn. Kellin fucking Quinn, got it?” I said angrily.

“I apologize. Have a seat and tell me what’s been going on lately.” He said.

“Nothing really. I hallucinated about Brittany coming in my room the other day. I know she didn’t, but I saw it. Other than that, I’ve been okay for once in my life.”

“She did come in your room Kellin. She gave you your morning pills.” He said.

“Well, then I guess that didn’t happen did it.”

Dr. Patterson rolled his eyes and sighed. He got up and started touching me. Pinching my wrists, pressing on my ribs, tapping on my knees. “Any of that hurt?” he asked. I shook my head no with certainty. He made his way back to that big black chair of his. “You may go now.” He said shooing me away. I walked out of the door, and then I heard him call for the manager. So, I waited for them to shut the office door, and I put my ear to it.

I could hear a faint arguing. “He’s ready Bill. I’m telling you.”

“There’s no way.” The manager argued back.

“I’ve been observing him for days. I’m telling you he’s ready.” Dr. Patterson insisted.

I stormed back to my room trying to think of what they would be talking about. Ready to be admitted into a different hospital? Ready to be killed like my parents? Ready to be what?