The slow march down the hallway continued, Claire walking even slower now that she'd had external confirmation that something was "peeking out" the slit of the back of the gown.

*That guy saw me*, she kept thinking, *He saw my...*, but again she couldn't even bring herself to think the thought. She was too mortified, too humiliated. *He was so... how can anyone talk to me like that? What did I do to deserve this?*, she thought.

The nurse and the orderly came to a door at the end of the hallway, another metal door that required badge access to open. It opened into a room that was slightly less ancient in feel than the hallway had been. Unlike the hallway, the floor was carpeted. She instinctively curled her toes into it, but it did not give, it was worn and crushed from years of other people walking on it. Still, it was warm and welcome after the cold tile.

"This is the wing you'll be staying in, sweetie," said Pam, "it has everything you need --- bedrooms, bathrooms, cafeteria, common areas..."

They were in a break room, and sitting area with multiple chairs and tables and couches. There was an impossibly old TV, muted and tuned to some shopping channel. There was a large commercial coffee pot, that had clearly been sitting turned on for hours, filling the room with the smell of burnt coffee. The couches had a worn look, like thrift-store furniture. There was a shelf of books, all of which appeared to be heavily-used romance novels, and a rack of magazines, all of which were the kind of thing you normally see on supermarket checkout aisles, also years old and heavily used.

*It looks like an Old Folks' home in here*, Claire thought, remembering the times years ago she'd visited her great-grandmother, *They wouldn't let her leave without supervision, either. It was for her own good, they said. She was 90 and she'd been in there for years and years. Oh God, I could be here until I'm 90...*

There was a murmur of female voices. At the other end of the large room, too far away to hear clearly, Claire could see a group of other patients sitting around talking to a nurse. She felt a weight in her stomach. She wasn't ready to sit in a group with a bunch of strangers. She wasn't ready for anything.

"That's the group therapy session, sweetie," said the nurse guiding her, "you'll be joining it soon. But first let's continue the Grand Tour!"

They walked over to another area adjacent to the common room, Claire feeling somewhat relieved she did not have to join the group session just yet, but also wishing she could simply *sit down*. It contained a sort of counter, or desk, behind which another nurse was seated.

"This is our nurse's station. This is where you can find one of us if you ever need anything, sweetie, day or night. This is also where you'll get any outside prescribed medications, like allergy medicine and birth control, but only after they've been reviewed and approved by the Doctor. Any new *psychiatric medications* might be given here, depending on the prescription, or they might be administered directly by a nurse. All of that is in review right now."

They walked down another hallway. Pam took Claire right up to the door of a room, with "217" in metal numbers on it. "This is going to be your room, honey."

Pam opened the door, and Claire was taken aback by the state of the room and its furnishings. Even by the standards of *this* hospital, it looked like it had been lived in too much and cared for too little. There were six metal beds, not modern hospital beds, *the old kind*, thought Claire, the kind with metal rails, not plastic. There were six small wooden dressers, very scuffed and scratched. There was a small table with some chairs around it. The room was kept warm by ancient metal radiators along the wall. There were large windows, metal-barred of course.

"How many patients live in here?" Claire asked. She imagined the room crowded, filled with noise and chatter. And she had no idea what her roommates were going to be like. Were they like her, sent here for the wrong reasons, or did they *belong* in here? Was she going to feel safe sleeping in a room with five strangers?

"Just you and one other young lady, about your age," said the nurse, "we have a lot of vacant spots in the hospital these days. There's not as many girls that need to be here, as there used to be."

*I don't need to be here*, thought Claire. She sat down on the nearest bed, eager to get something solid under her. The mattress felt thin, more like a pallet than a bed. The metal rails were cold against her thigh. She could smell the rust.

"Don't get comfortable yet," said Pam, "I've got more places to show you."

"When do I get issued clothes?" asked Claire, "to put in my dresser?"

"Oh, sweetie, *you* don't get any until the Doctor says you can have them. Until then we'll change you into a new clean gown whenever you need one. You'll be allowed to have your hands free while you sleep, and for bathroom breaks --- but until the Doctor says otherwise we have to put the cuffs back on after. Here, honey, let me see your hands."

Claire held out her bound hands for the nurse to see. "Change these," the nurse said to the orderly, "so she sees how it works."

The orderly reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors, and cut the tie on Claire's wrists. Involuntarily, she shook her wrists, feeling the freedom. Then she remembered, like a person remembering a briefly-forgotten problem upon waking up from sleep, and her hands moved automatically around behind her back. Her fingers felt the fabric of the two sides of the gown and held them tight together, making sure it stayed closed. She fumbled for the strings, trying to find them and tie them while she had time. *It's like trying to tie your shoes behind your back*, she thought, *I don't think I'm going to have time...*

"That's right baby, stretch out for a minute. But don't get used to it," said the nurse, "here hold them back out for us!"

The orderly produced not another pair of zip-ties, but a pair of stainless metal handcuffs, and put them on Claire's wrists. In spite of the weight and the clanky metal, these were better than the ties, she realized. They allowed slightly more freedom of movement of the hands. Not enough to get her hands behind her back, though, as Claire soon discovered.

Claire was not surprised at all by this, at this point. She simply nodded and then hung her head, and followed the nurse back out the door.

"Now, honey, you'll be able to leave your room whenever you want, and go to the other patient-accessible areas. That includes the breakroom that we just saw, and the bathroom. Now for the bathroom you're gonna have a towel, a bar of soap, a little bitty bottle of shampoo, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, sanitary supplies, and hair brush. It's your responsibility to keep track of all these, and to hang your towel up to dry after use so it doesn't get moldy. You get new towels on Tuesdays and Fridays..."

While Claire recoiled at the thought of moldy old towels, and also at the idea that she was going to even be here long enough to need all of this stuff, Pam led her into a large and very "institutional" bathroom. The whole room looked like the inside of a drained swimming pool, like it was designed to be flooded. The walls and floor were all made of the same tile. There were several toilets and showers, each mercifully in their own little stalls, *just like at the gym*, Claire thought, *but there's no lockers*. Clearly someone in her position was not allowed to have anything that needed to be locked up or kept safe. Suddenly, she remembered, in all the commotion she did not know where any of her *stuff* was. Her phone, purse, wallet, money, identification, it was all missing. It was all taken from her in the ambulance, when they made her change outfits. She wondered if it was all sitting somewhere in the same laundry bag with her clothes. *I'll never see my phone again just like I'll never see my panties again*, she thought.

The room also had another feature that Claire had not seen in a gym, and which gave her a sinking feeling to behold: a row of old, metal, clawfoot bathtubs along one wall. These had both faucets and showerheads on flexible metal hoses. They had no curtains around them; anyone using them would be exposed and public for everyone to see. Claire shuddered. The tile felt very cold under her feet. She wondered who used these, and if they did so of their own will.

Next was the cafeteria. It looked exactly like the cafeteria of every school Claire had ever been to: Formica tables, stacks of plastic trays, the bustle of kitchen staff, the smell of hot food. The nurse announced, "this is where you will have three meals a day. A schedule of the meals and today's menu is written here," she gestured at a whiteboard on the wall, "make sure you do not miss meal time or you will have to wait for the next one."

Claire was hungry but it did not seem to be meal time at the moment. Her ambulance had arrived at her job shortly before lunch, and now lunch was over --- she'd missed it. She'd have to wait for dinner.

"And now," the nurse announced almost excitedly, "it's time to go meet the other girls!"

Claire had a look of silent dread on her face.

"Don't you fret, sweetie," reassured the nurse, "I'm turning you over to your group now. Nurse Laura will take it from here. But, if you need me, just ask for Nurse Pam. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow anyway, you're one of my *special* patients. I take care of all my little babies."

Claire took a good look at Pam. She looked about 60, her dark reddish hair was clearly not naturally that color anymore, and it nearly matched her burgundy scrubs. "Take care, honey," said Pam as she and the silent orderly walked away. She patted Claire on the back. The touch was gentle, and that somehow made it worse. It reminded Claire of the gown, as if she needed a reminder.

*She knows*, thought Claire, *she could have tied those strings. It must be written down on my chart not to do it.* In spite of her empathy, Pam was clearly not someone who was going to bend any rules.

* * *

Cautiously, Claire approached the group. She felt like she'd just been dropped off for her first day of school. Eight women sat in a loose ring of chairs. Some slouched, some sat upright, all facing a nurse who stood at the edge of the circle in green scrubs, holding a clipboard. This nurse was younger than Pam --- maybe forty, dark hair pulled back, sharp face. She didn't smile.

She turned, and her eyes quickly looked over Claire --- the gown, the handcuffs, the bare feet --- and then she nodded as if Claire's condition was something she expected. She gestured to an empty chair. "Have a seat, Claire." Her voice was calm, clipped, professional, and disinterested.

Claire sat down, the carpet rough under her feet, the metal handcuffs clinking softly as she laid her hands in her lap.

The other patients glanced at her. The patients were wearing an assortment of pajamas, bathrobes, even scrubs like the ones the nurses wore. No one was wearing just a hospital gown. No one was barefoot. Everyone wore socks, bedroom slippers, or both. No one was in handcuffs.

One girl in particular caught her eye. She was pale, not unhealthily so, but like the natural paleness of someone who spends most of their time indoors, in dark places like basement bars and the public library. Her dark hair looked too black to be natural; clearly it was dyed. She wore a white terry-cloth bathrobe and matching slippers, and that seemed to be all. No pajamas were visible under it. The robe's belt was tied in a single loose half-knot --- a knot Claire wouldn't have trusted for one second --- and the girl plainly didn't give it a thought. Claire couldn't decide which she envied more: the robe, or the unconcern. She leaned back in her chair, in a posture that was both relaxed and defiant, taking up more space than the other women, like she was in her own living room and everyone else was the visitor.

She looked like she was waiting for something. Her legs were crossed, one slipper dangling precariously from her toes, as if she didn't care whether it fell. *How can anyone be that relaxed in here?* Claire wondered. She looked about Claire's age, maybe a little younger. Her expression was flat, but her eyes --- the kind of grey-green eyes that looked a different shade under every kind of light --- were alive and watchful. Briefly, those eyes turned on Claire. They took her in just like the nurse had, as if this mind also was analyzing her.

Laura turned to the black-haired stranger. "Misty, why don't you continue what you were saying."

The black-haired girl remained silent. A few of the other patients glanced at her. She didn't look at Laura. "I wasn't saying anything."

Laura made a small note on her clipboard. "Avoidance. That's alright. We can come back to you."

Claire didn't understand what had just happened, but all the other patients had turned to stare at Misty. Her slipper dropped on the carpet with a slight thud, where it lay a few seconds before her foot slipped back into it.

*Who is she?*, Claire wondered.

Laura moved on, her tone smooth and practiced. "Now, as I was saying, today we're focusing on acceptance. Accepting where we are. Accepting the help we're given. Accepting responsibility for our choices."

Claire swallowed. The words felt like they were aimed at her even though Laura wasn't looking at her. Without warning, Laura turned directly to Claire, "And now for our newest member. Is there anything you'd like to share with the group, Claire?"

Claire was like a deer in headlights. She folded her hands in her lap, the cuffs cold against her skin, and tried to shrink. She didn't know the rules here yet, like everyone else presumably did. She didn't know what she could say that wouldn't make things even worse.

"I... ugh... ", she stammered.

"Start with the basics, Claire. Tell us who you are, your age, where you're from, what's been going on in your life. School. Work. And then tell us how you got here." All of the other patients were now staring at her, except for the black-haired one, Misty, who seemed to be looking away, her mind somewhere else.

Claire suddenly found herself unable to look anyone in the eye, and spoke to her own feet:

"My... name is Claire M-Michelle Allman." She rarely spoke her middle name, and hearing it out loud reminded her of her mother telling her that it was like a little magic spell to give her strength. She felt like she needed it. "I'm... 23. I work at... I work at... J. Dunbar and Company... Human Resources... I'm... I help people, I answer people's questions about their benefits... I help people file claims for... for... *mental health*..."

With the words "mental health," she felt tears filling her eyes, and buried her face in her hands. She knew they were all still looking at her.

Someone must have looked like they were about to say something, because Claire heard the Nurse say, "Give her space, ladies. Let her finish."

When she could collect herself enough to speak, she continued, "I'm here because I made a mistake. It was my mistake, but it was a little one, and I don't need to be *here* because of it! You must know someone who can... fix it? Get me out of here?!"

"Thank you, Claire," said Laura as if Claire had not just asked her a direct and concrete question. "As you all can see, we all have a ways to go towards accepting reality as it is. We're all going to be working on it together."