Claire remained sitting in the breakroom after Laura had dismissed the group. All of the patients were "free to go," to go back to their rooms or mill about the wing. As they shuffled off they could hear faint echoes across the room and down various hallways. She thought she could hear them talking about her.

"Did you see how scared she was? I wish Laura would be nicer to her, she doesn't look like she could handle much...," said a voice.

"Shh. She'll hear you!" said another.

The voices faded away, until the only sound left was the buzz of the lights overhead in the drop-ceiling and the occasional metallic clank of the radiators.

There was no planned activity until dinner. Claire didn't know what to do, so she just stayed where she was. She thought about going to her own room, but this would involve extra walking, and walking meant worrying about the gown. It was better to stay here. She sat in her chair, staring at her hands in the metal cuffs, and contemplating her situation.

In spite of her state of exposure --- bare feet, bare legs, the gown hardly covering her thighs, short sleeves, the open back --- she was not cold. Quite the contrary, she was if anything feeling a bit too warm. Like many old buildings with steam radiators, every room was either too hot or too cold, and this one was too hot. You could smell the heat. Claire had perspired more than usual during the ordeal of the group session, and the gown now clung to her sweaty skin in ways that made Claire even more concerned about how it might act if she stood up. Another reason to stay put.

While she was thinking about this, someone spoke her name. "Claire?"

She looked up. It was the girl from the therapy group. The dark haired one, in the white bathrobe. This outfit actually made a lot of sense in this room today. This person wasn't dressed like this for no reason, she knew this place well, and she was dressed for the "climate" in here.

Claire took a second to respond. "It's Misty, right?"

"That's what *they* call me," responded the other, "I prefer to go by Mystique, or Myst for short. And trust me, I can hear if you don't say it with a 'y'." Claire chuckled at this joke, out of politeness.

Myst came and sat down near Claire, not in a chair but on the floor, taking off her slippers and crossing her legs like she was sitting around a campfire. This afforded her a closer position to Claire than even the nearest chair did. Claire looked down at her. She was all knees and elbows, like a spider-monkey. The robe accommodated all this movement, somehow. Claire wondered if she had *anything* on under it.

"So, new girl," Myst asked with great curiosity but no detectable contempt, "I want to know. What did you do on your first day, to end up like this? *Everybody* comes in the front door in zip-ties and a hospital gown. The gown tells me you must be what they call a *Special Project*, I know because I'm one too. But the cuffs, those are probably *punishment* for something..."

"If we're both the same kind of patient," Claire asked, "why did they let you have a robe and slippers? Can I get a robe and slippers?"

"Every project is different," explained Myst, her voice softened, "it just means we don't get treated like everybody else. It doesn't mean we get treated like each other."

"Oh," said Claire, her hope evaporating. She was off on the wrong foot already. She was already being singled out.

"Now, how'd you get those cuffs?" Myst's curiosity was unsated. But Claire detected something else in her voice: not morbid curiosity, not pity, but empathy.

"Well, he said I wasn't being cooperative. Said I needed to be shown who's in charge."

"Who said?"

"That doctor," said Claire, "the one with the brown hair, and stubble. You know him?" she carefully avoided mentioning anything about his piercing eyes, or how his touch felt.

"Oh, I know *all* about *him*," said Myst knowingly.

"Anything I need to know?" asked Claire.

"In due time, Claire. In due time. You've got a lot to learn about this place. You should lie down. Come on, I'll walk you to our room."

"*Our* room?"

"Yeah didn't Pam tell you? They put us odd ones together. We're gonna be roomies!" Myst sounded girlish, almost excited.

Claire was relieved that her roommate, if she had to have one, was at least going to be someone she felt like she could talk to. Someone who wouldn't talk down to her.

"Myst," she said nervously, "can you... can you help me tie my gown closed in the back? The strings have been untied since I got here, it keeps coming open..."

"Did you ask the nurses to tie them?"

"I... uh... tried, but I couldn't. Nobody was listening to me about anything else, why would they listen to me about that? And it's so embarrassing, I didn't even want to have to talk about it..."

"You're talking to me about it."

"Yeah, but you, you're like... a person."

"Alright let's get these tied," said Myst, rising to her feet and leaning in, "here Claire, don't get up, just turn sideways a little... there."

Claire couldn't believe it. Someone had just done the one thing for her that she'd been trying to get done for hours.

"Oh Myst, thank you..."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure I'll end up owing you plenty of favors. Let's get you down for a quick rest before dinner."

"You sound more like a doctor or a nurse than the ones here," laughed Claire as she got up and started to walk, and realized she didn't need to worry about the gown now.

"*I'll* be a therapist eventually, if I ever get out of here," said Myst, "I was in my senior year at State, studying psychology. You know, back in the outside world."

"Oh. State. That explains everything!" Claire joked. *State University* was her own alma mater's in-state rival in basically every sport. Claire had spent four years cracking jokes at the expense of that school and its students, and it was a hard habit to break. It felt good to have something to joke about.

"Oh I see what your deal is," said Myst with a smile, "you're one of those stuck up rich girls from down at the U!"

"Hey, I'm not rich! I got a scholarship! I was a straight-A student once..."

"Oh yeah, I know your type. You're one of those little goody-goody girls. Y'all gave me hell in high school," the playful jests continued as they walked down the hallway. There was no malice in these remarks, just blowing off steam that seemed like it'd been boiling for a while.

"You said *y'all*! I *thought* I heard a southern accent! You're not from around here."

"You got me, I'm not! I'm a southern belle turned rebel. A runaway debutante. And you're a good girl gone *bad*, don't we make a pair," Myst briefly dropped all pretense and let her natural drawl come through.

"That's wild how you can turn that on and off," said Claire.

"You have to. People make judgements, assumptions, when they hear that accent. Expect you to act a certain way," as she said this they arrived in the room. Myst sat down on one of the beds. "This is my bed here, and that's my dresser there," pointing a toe at the nearest dresser, almost reaching it, Claire thought. "Take any other bed you want."

Claire sat down on the bed directly across from Myst.

"Oh," said Myst, "you really want to be that close? You seem like someone that needs your space."

"Normally I am," said Claire, staring at the floor and her own feet, "but here I feel like I might need someone to talk to when I'm trying to go to sleep. Not right now, though, I'm exhausted," she covered herself with the threadbare blanket and turned away from the window which was the room's only source of light as the ceiling lights were already off.

Myst lay down on her own bed, and stared silently up at the ceiling.

"How long have you been here?" asked Claire.

"Oh... about 9 months. Seems like a lot longer. I've been in and out of hospitals since I was 14, and none of them were as much of a shithole as this. Not even the ones that I thought were bad when I was in 'em."

"Why? I mean, why were you in the hospital..."

"Oh, various reasons. Anxiety. Panic attacks. Always thinking people were out to get me. At one point I ran away from home, lived on the street..."

"Is that how you ended up here?"

"Nah," Myst sighed, "I actually got stabilized. They put me on meds that worked, I got back to school, got back to life, went to State, decided to become, you know, a therapist so I could help other people too, and then..."

"And then what, Myst?"

"It's a story for another time, Claire, you're not ready to hear it yet."

"I understand," said Claire, "I don't expect you to open up to a stranger on the first day."

"I'm not protecting me, Claire, I'm protecting you."

"Protecting me from what? From who?"

"Don't worry about it Claire, just get some sleep. I've got some business to attend to while you doze."

* * *

"Claire, Claire, wakeup," said Myst, "it's time to eat. You don't want to miss dinner."

"Oh, already? I was out like a light!"

The cafeteria was a cacophony of clattering plastic trays, clinking silverware, and people milling about. *Just like high school*, thought Claire.

She wondered how she was going to eat with her hands still handcuffed.

The cafeteria worker saw her, and said, "Oh I see we have someone special with us today! Here, honey, we have this for you," and handed Claire a paper bag instead of a tray.

Myst, meanwhile, received a tray with the normal evening meal, which in this case was a cube of meatloaf, a scoop of clearly instant mashed potatoes (no gravy available), obviously canned peas-and-carrots, and a dinner roll that had been slightly burned while heating it up.

Both of them were also given little paper cartons of milk.

They sat down at a table where no one else was sitting. While struggling to keep the clanking of her metal handcuffs to a minimum, Claire opened her bag, and found it contained a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, a small plastic bag of potato chips, and a chocolate chip cookie. *Do they think I'm six?*, Claire wondered. The sandwich, when opened, turned out to be bologna and American cheese on white bread.

Myst noticed Claire's expression and said, "Oh it's not you, this is just what they feed everybody that's handcuffed, or if they don't trust you to use utensils, or hold a tray." It was not encouraging that this situation was common enough for them to have a special menu for it. "Eat," said Myst, "it'll make you feel better."

Claire lifted the sandwich with both hands, and took a bite. The bologna smelled and tasted of childhood. There was no mayo or mustard to moisten the dry sandwich bread. The bread stuck to the roof of her mouth as she chewed. She wasn't sure how much of this she was going to be able to stomach, but the taste of food --- any food --- reminded her how hungry she was, so she continued to eat.

Feeling a growing thirst, she picked up the little milk carton and contemplated it. It was exactly as she remembered, with the little cartoon cow and everything. She fumbled with it, trying to open it. The handcuffs clinked loudly.

Myst leaned forward, holding up her own carton, demonstrating, and muttered softly. "Pinch the corners. Not the middle, make the seams pop..." as she opened the spout.

Claire mimicked the motion, awkwardly, wrists bound close together. The carton resisted --- then, suddenly, the seam gave a soft *crack* and opened.

"Oh!" Claire said, surprised. "It worked."

"Told you," Myst said, leaning back with a small, satisfied smile. "You did it."

"Thanks," said Claire, who was never more happy to drink 2% milk in her life.

* * *

Back in the breakroom, most of the other patients clustered around the TV, which had been set to the HGTV channel by a staff member who took the remote control away with her when she left.

Claire sat further from the TV, not looking at it, and tried to keep herself calm by reading an issue of *People* magazine from 2019. It wasn't working. She set the magazine down and stared blankly in the general direction of the screen. A couple in a city that wasn't identified, but you could tell was probably San Francisco, toured a renovated Victorian rowhouse that was probably worth more money than Claire would ever make in her life.

Myst sat on the couch next to Claire, legs crossed, dangling her slipper again and silently watching.

"Let's do something," she said, "let's see if any of these still have anything in them," pointing to a shelf of boardgame boxes next to the books.

"I don't feel like playing," muttered Claire.

"Come on, it'll help you relax."

None of the games were playable. The Monopoly box had no money in it. The Chess and Checkers box was missing a bishop, two rooks, six pawns, and only had five red and seven black checkers. The box that appeared to be a deck of cards contained no cards, but a folded up piece of paper. Claire unfolded it, and sighed when she saw someone had written, "Don't forget --- you're here forever" on it.

They returned to the TV. The husband was sold on the house but the wife wanted something single-story because she didn't think a house with stairs would be safe for any future child they may have. "If he makes her live in that house," Myst muttered, "I bet she kicks him down the stairs."

* * *

Later, they sat in their room, staring at the ceiling and talking idly.

With a click, the lights in the room turned off, as if someone down the hall had thrown a switch that turned off the lights in all of the rooms at once.

Claire didn't realize she'd already gotten used to the buzzing lights in this building until the room fell silent. Now all she could hear was the sound of shuffling footsteps out in the hallway, and the occasional clanking of the radiator.

"10 PM," said Myst. There was no clock in the room, or anywhere else Claire had seen, so she knew Myst actually told the time by these lights going out.

"Lights out, girls," said a gruff female voice from the door. It was the night shift nurse. Claire could not really make out what she looked like from her silhouette in the door. She sounded like someone who'd been smoking cigarettes for 20 years. She stepped into the room and revealed herself to be a short, stocky, middle aged woman, with short cropped gray hair that had probably once been red, wearing short sleeved scrubs that revealed muscular forearms and tattoos. She wrote something on a clipboard. She looked at Claire, as if sizing her up, and said, "I see you're our new one. I'm Jess, and I'll get you through the night. Let me know if you need anything. Oh yeah, I almost forgot! Give me your hands..."

Jess removed a ring of keys from her pocket, and removed the cuffs from Claire's wrists. "Thank you," she nearly sobbed, it felt so good to get them off, even though she knew they'd be back on in the morning.

Jess left as abruptly as she'd entered.

"Myst, am I ever going to get out of here?" Claire asked softly, holding back tears.

"Sure you will. We *all* will." And Myst drifted off to sleep.

Claire lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling while Myst slept. Just when it seemed like she was drifting off, Jess barged into the room again, glanced briefly at both patients, and wrote on her clipboard again. "Go to sleep, sweetie," she said to Claire in a voice that was half whisper, half cough. Myst didn't wake up. Claire wondered how anyone could sleep in this place.

* * *

"Rise and shine, ladies," said another voice. This time it was Pam again. The new morning sun's first red rays were slanting in through the window bars. Claire guessed it was about 7:00 AM.

Myst sat up in bed, hair disheveled, eyes blinking to get used to the light, and stared at Pam with the annoyance of the unwillingly awakened. "Let's get it over with, Nurse," she grumbled.

"We'll do your morning routine in a minute, Misty," Pam said. Claire could see Myst tense up slightly at the mention of her name. Pam continued, "first, though, I've got a surprise for you, Claire."

Claire, who'd already realized that a "surprise" in this place was unlikely to be anything good, said nothing.

Pam continued "I don't have to put the cuffs back on you today!"

Claire was shocked. *How? What had changed?* She dared not ask. But she had to. She screwed up her courage.

"Am... am I going *home*?" she said meekly.

"Oh baby," Pam said with what sounded almost like genuine sympathy, "that's for the Doctor to figure out. All I know is your hands stay free until further notice."

Claire realized that Myst was looking at her with something that looked like pride, accomplishment. Myst looked away when she realized Claire was staring at her. *Did she have something to do with this?*, Claire wondered.

Pam continued, "I do have one thing I've got to do. Stand up for me, sweetie."

Claire carefully got out of bed. The gown was still tied in the back, but even tied it was more revealing than she was comfortable maneuvering in. She stood nervously, facing Pam.

Pam took a pair of scissors out of her pocket.

"Turn around for me, baby," said Pam.

Claire didn't know what else to do, so she turned around.

"Hold still now, let mama get it with the scissors..."

A snap, a click, and Claire realized that Pam had just used the scissors to cut the strings on the back of the gown. Her hands, thankfully freed, automatically raced back behind her to clasp it shut.

"W... what? Why?" she stammered.

"Doctor's orders, baby," Pam said, "I don't make the rules. All I know is from now on whenever I give you a fresh one to put on, I'm supposed to do this to it."

Claire said nothing. She realized that she'd merely traded one indignity for another. Now instead of her hands being imprisoned by the cuffs, they were going to be constantly busy minding the back of the gown.

"Ok, Misty, it's time to get your medicine," Pam said, "Let's go, sugar." Myst got out of bed and threw on her robe over the pair of blue striped pajamas she'd slept in. She followed Pam out the door like a sullen teenager.

"Claire," Pam called back as they left, "you're free to roam about. You can go to the breakroom for morning TV time, until breakfast."

*Breakfast*, thought Claire, *my hands are free! I'll be able to eat real food*, as she stood there next to the bed, her hands still tightly clutching the back of the gown. Her hands! *They... they're going to expect me to carry a tray now.*