Made
Just a Foot Up Out of the Doldrums
He stayed up all night thinking about it, finally crashing on the couch when the sun was coming up at 4. Only a few more details could be gotten out of her, that she hadn't ever told anyone else, and that she was there for six months until she managed to escape. He didn't know what to do. There was obviously so much wrong with her other than whatever damage Nick had done all those years ago.
Laila cautiously came down the steps, still wearing the same shirt and socks that she had on the night before. He stood up to make her some coffee, at least do something to help stave off the blow that was about to come.
"Laila, I think you need some serious help," he said by way of greeting. She was looking at him, but not saying anything, so he continued. "There's a place. It's called Ballington or something like that. It's just for women. I think you'd do well to go there." He coughed, trying to dispel the awkward air he thought would linger.
"Okay," she said.
"Just like that?"
"I've always been a bit 'sick'," she said. "But I was in Manchester for less than an hour before I had a panic attack. I think you're right."
He couldn't say anything to that.
Michael helped her pack the night before she was due to leave. She didn't have much stuff to take, just the duffle bag she refused to part with, and an old t-shirt of his that she thought he hadn't seen her take. He drove her the whole three hours away, deciding it would be better than taking the train with her. Frankly, he was a bit put off trains now.
She didn't say anything the whole ride up, so he put on his music, and she tried desperately to not laugh at his terrible dancing skills. He was nervous, sending her so far away, but she didn't seem to share his fear.
When they got there, to the little community just outside of Stoke, he signed her in while a nurse took her bag. She gave him a little wave before walking off, and he noted, not for the first time, how small and frail she looked in the background of the hospital.
Laila cautiously came down the steps, still wearing the same shirt and socks that she had on the night before. He stood up to make her some coffee, at least do something to help stave off the blow that was about to come.
"Laila, I think you need some serious help," he said by way of greeting. She was looking at him, but not saying anything, so he continued. "There's a place. It's called Ballington or something like that. It's just for women. I think you'd do well to go there." He coughed, trying to dispel the awkward air he thought would linger.
"Okay," she said.
"Just like that?"
"I've always been a bit 'sick'," she said. "But I was in Manchester for less than an hour before I had a panic attack. I think you're right."
He couldn't say anything to that.
Michael helped her pack the night before she was due to leave. She didn't have much stuff to take, just the duffle bag she refused to part with, and an old t-shirt of his that she thought he hadn't seen her take. He drove her the whole three hours away, deciding it would be better than taking the train with her. Frankly, he was a bit put off trains now.
She didn't say anything the whole ride up, so he put on his music, and she tried desperately to not laugh at his terrible dancing skills. He was nervous, sending her so far away, but she didn't seem to share his fear.
When they got there, to the little community just outside of Stoke, he signed her in while a nurse took her bag. She gave him a little wave before walking off, and he noted, not for the first time, how small and frail she looked in the background of the hospital.