Claire did not dare to leave the room without Myst. She sat on the bed and waited for her to return, staring at her own feet. It was impossible to tell how long she waited, since she had no means of telling the time.

*Am I allowed to just sit here like this? Could I just stay here all day if I wanted to?*, she asked herself.

She lay back on the bed and tried to relax. Not go back to sleep, just relax. It did not help.

She tried staring out the window. Through the bars it opened onto a bleak courtyard, dead in the winter chill. It gave her no comfort to look at it. There was snow on the ground and ice on the park benches. She shivered in her thin gown, as if she could feel the cold in spite of the heat from the clanking radiator.

Finally, Myst returned, followed by Pam. Myst had a blank and slightly dazed look on her face, and she looked like she'd been sweating. Claire looked at Pam expectantly, as she assumed it was now her turn for whatever had just happened. Pam recognized her expression, and said, "Oh sweetie, your prescription isn't written yet. I'm sure I'll have something for you tomorrow."

Claire didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned. Maybe they weren't starting her on any new drugs yet because they still weren't sure how long they were going to be keeping her. Maybe it wouldn't be long. On the other hand, whatever red tape was holding up the Doctor from deciding what medications she should be on, was also going to slow down any decisions.

"Enjoy breakfast, darlins'," said Pam as she left the room.

Myst, having seemingly collected herself already, closed the door. She said, "we'll go in a minute, Claire, let me get changed," and took off her robe and threw it on the bed. Before Claire could say anything, Myst had stripped off her pajama top and dropped her pants to the floor, standing there in plain white cotton underwear as casually as if she were alone. *Odd*, thought Claire, *all that pale skin and not a single tattoo. She seems like someone who'd have one.* Claire also thought she saw a band-aid, partially covered by the panties.

"What?" asked Myst, "I hope you aren't scandalized by seeing me in my unmentionables. We're roomies, Claire. Had to get those PJs off, they're really cranking up the steam this morning. And, so you know, my meds make me feel hot sometimes," as she put the robe back on.

"At least you *have* underwear," Claire joked, referring to her own state.

"Not done yet!" Myst turned away, did something inside the robe with her hands, and her bra came out and landed on the floor. A shake, and her panties dropped out of the bottom of the robe. Then --- Claire would later swear she saw it --- Myst picked up both, one at a time, *with her toe*, and flipped them into the laundry hamper in the corner.

"You... walk around like, that?" Claire asked, incredulous that Myst would do this on purpose.

"Cooler this way, airflow!" said Myst as she stepped back into her slippers. Claire was amazed at her unconcern. "Let's go!"

Myst opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, then turned back to wait for Claire to follow her.

Claire got up slowly, carefully, clasping the back of the gown closed with both hands. One bare foot at a time, she entered the hall. She could feel the draft on the backs of her thighs as a reminder that she wasn't dressed so much as *wrapped*.

Myst slowed her naturally brisk walk to match Claire's pace. She stayed with Claire, keeping an eye on her, watching her pass each turn in the hall, like a sheep dog, or a mother duck watching a duckling waddle across a dangerous road.

They turned a corner, and there was "Old" Bill, fiddling with the attachments on a vacuum cleaner.

"Mornin', sweetcheeks! Gettin' used to how they do things around here?" he said, grinning with obvious pleasure.

*That man, how can he talk to me like that?* Claire thought. *But there's no one to stop him. Nobody cares.*

"Bill," Myst said, not even slowing down, "I swear to God, if you hassle her again I'm gonna kick you in the nuts."

"Like to see you try!" said Bill.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Myst muttered quietly to Claire, slightly bragging. "He's all talk. Leave him to me if you need to."

For the first time, Claire felt like someone in this place was genuinely looking out for her. The doctor didn't care, the nurses didn't care. But Myst would protect her.

At the food line, Claire carefully picked up a plastic tray with one hand, while continuing to clasp the gown in the back. Down the line she pushed it, as the staff slopped scoopfuls of food onto it. The foods on the menu included scrambled eggs, oatmeal, hashbrowns, and little breakfast sausages. *Like Liz used to make*, Claire thought to herself. None of it looked particularly gourmet, the eggs were almost certainly powdered, and the sausages were clearly burnt, but Claire was so eager for her first hot meal in over 24 hours that she nodded enthusiastically to each cafeteria worker. Finally, a glass of orange juice.

Claire briefly forgot what was about to happen next. But only briefly. She'd reached the end of the line, now she would have to carry this tray to her table. She dared not let go of the back of the gown even for one second. Slowly, gingerly, she picked up the tray with just her right hand, while her left kept to its place behind her back. The tray was heavy, much heavier than before it had become fully laden with food. *Why did I take so much?*, she asked herself.

She walked even slower, one step at a time, holding the heavy tray as steady as she could. The juice glass rattled. She didn't want to spill it. Everything was plastic, of course, so there would be no broken glass, no shattered dishes. But the embarrassment of spilling it was hard to think about. Everyone would see her. They might not even let her have another tray...

Just then Myst reappeared, sliding in beside her like she'd been watching the whole time. Without asking, she lifted the tray out of Claire's trembling hand.

"Here," she said quietly. "I've got it."

Claire let out a breath. "Thank you," she whispered, softly and automatically.

Myst set the tray across the table from her own and nodded toward the seat. Claire sat. The powdered eggs were lukewarm and rubbery, but they were the best thing she'd tasted in days.

* * *

After breakfast, Claire followed Myst back into the hallway. She was starting to trust her implicitly but cautiously. *She's the only person in this place that seems to care what happens to me. But why? Why does she care?,* Claire wondered.

"What happens now?" Claire asked as she trundled along slowly.

"Shower time," said Myst, "then morning activities."

"What kind of *activities*?"

"Oh you know, art, music, that sorta stuff. It's my favorite time of the day. They let me use crayons!" Claire couldn't tell if Myst was being sarcastic.

"Where are we going now, to our room?" She was slowly mapping the place in her head. A part of her wondered if she could find her room now without being shown.

"Yeah, to get our shower stuff."

* * *

In the bathroom shower stall, Claire turned the "hot" knob all the way clockwise, and waited for the water to heat up before adding in the cold. That's how the showers had worked in her freshman dorm, she thought. You had to really pump the hot at first to get it going.

She waited, and waited. The water became very slightly lukewarm rather than freezing, and stayed that way. Finally, she called over the stall to Myst, "when does it heat up?"

"It doesn't! You think they trust *us* with actually hot water? Girls would be burning themselves alive, is what they'd tell you if you asked."

Claire shuddered at the thought of this, and then shuddered again at the thought of that tepid water washing all over her. But she felt filthy after spending one night in this place, so she stepped in against her better judgement. Her whole nervous system recoiled in shock. It was like jumping into a swimming pool in the early morning, or the beach when it's too cold to swim but you wade in a little anyway. She washed as quickly as possible, noting the smell of the soap. It smelled... medicinal. Clearly designed to fight infection rather than soothe the skin.

"What *is* this stuff?" she called out.

"You know in that movie where the kid says 'fuck' and they wash his mouth out with soap? I think it's that," said Myst.

Claire pushed the plastic shower curtain aside and reached for her towel. She lifted it to her face and took a small, habitual whiff. It wasn't mold or mildew --- just nothing. A blankness. The absence of the sweet, homey fragrance she was used to. Even that, she realized, was denied here.

Claire wrapped the towel around herself and paused. "Hey... this thing covers me better than the clothes they give me here. Maybe I can just wear this."

"Don't even think about it," Myst said, tying her robe closed. "I'm not in your same situation now, but I've been in it before. You'll put that gown on, or they'll put it on you. Ask me how I know."

Claire did not like the sound of that at all. She also did not think "situation" was a strong enough word for what she was in.

* * *

Activity time today involved going to the art room. The walls were decorated with patient drawings, all done in crayon. *Like we're in kindergarten. One more thing here that is just like that*, she thought.

"Here," said Myst, pointing at one drawing, "here's a few of mine!"

Claire was amazed. Myst had somehow managed to create, using only a few crayons, what looked almost like publishable art in a comic book style. Claire didn't read comics much but her sister Liz certainly did, and these looked exactly like the covers of the older ones, the worn out old yellowed ones from before she was born. The drawings were not, of course, of superheroes. But the style was unmistakable. She stared at a self-portrait of Myst. *It's beautiful*, Claire thought.

"You look like... what's her name, Superman's girlfriend!" Claire exclaimed.

"Lois Lane," said Myst, "and now if only he'd come and rescue me from this awful predicament."

*That's it! That's more like it*, Claire thought. She was not in a situation, she was in a predicament.

The next Myst drawing was of two girls that Claire recognized from group therapy, but didn't know by name yet. One looked really young, and had hair that was clearly about the same shade of brown as Claire's, but streaked with orange dye. The other looked about the same age as Claire and Myst and had hair that was so blonde, it was almost white. Myst had captured all this perfectly.

"Oh, them... they're..."

"Nikki and Anna," said Myst, "sometimes the other girls in here pose for me. Those two are ok."

"This was done in the hospital? They're not even dressed like patients," Claire noted. Nikki was wearing baggy jeans and a t-shirt that seemed to have something written on it Japanese or Chinese or Korean, presumably not actual letters but just the hint of them. Anna looked like she was trying to revive 00's style in a way that was half Catholic-school cheerleader, half punk princess, a look that said "I'm in a band." Myst had conveyed this perfectly.

"Oh, I know," said Myst, "I pictured them in what they'd be wearing if they weren't in here."

"But what about you?" Claire asked, nodding at the self-portrait. Myst had drawn herself in a hospital gown.

"That's different," Myst said. "When it's me, it's more like... a diary."

"Myst... all of you seem to have such nice hair, how do you keep it up? They only give you one hairbrush and that funny smelling shampoo..."

"Oh, yeah. Pam must've forgotten to tell you. There's a salon in here. One of the *very* few little perks of the outside world. They also do toes!" said Myst, directing attention to her clipped and painted nails showing out of the end of her open-toed slipper.

*That's odd*, thought Claire, *they make us dress so horrible but they let us keep our hair and nails and makeup going like it's the outside world? For what? For who?!*

"Ladies," a nurse's assistant announced, "quit dawdling and grab some crayons!"

Claire couldn't think of anything to draw on her piece of white paper. She just doodled little hearts and flowers, to pass the time.

After they'd been drawing for a while, Myst nudged Claire gently and said, "Hey Claire! This one is me, done like Nikki and Anna."

It was a drawing, all in black crayon, of Myst sitting alone on a stoop in front of a brick building. Almost alone --- she was accompanied by a large dog, probably a pit bull. Myst was wearing a black camisole, black miniskirt, black fishnet stockings on her white legs, and black combat boots. Her eyes looked intense. A single cross, her only jewelry, hung on a pendant around her neck.

"Is that your dog?"

"Yeah, that's Shadow. We met on the street, when I ran away. He guarded me at night while I was sleeping in storefront doorways and hidden under park-benches. He's still down south with my parents, I was always gonna bring him to live with me when I could manage to find a bigger place, but well, *this* happened. He's 10 years old now. Hopefully I'll get out of here while there's still a couple of years left with him."

"Oh, Myst," Claire's heart for the first time felt a crack for Myst, saw her newfound guardian as someone who experienced pain and loss, "I'm so sorry, I can tell you miss him. My sister, Liz, had an old dog, Biscuit, that lived to be 13! I miss that old beagle, still..." Claire cried a little, then cheered up to ask, "and is *that* what you wore when you were on the street?"

"Oh hell no! That's how I'm gonna look when I get outta here!"

* * *

At that moment, Pam poked her head into the door. "Claire, sweetie, come with me."

"I'm going home!" Claire whispered to Myst, hopefully.

As she followed Pam out the door, Claire repeated, "I'm going home?" forlornly.

"Oh darlin' it's none of my business when they send you home! But you have a phone call."

Pam escorted Claire to the nurse's station, and handed her a corded desk telephone receiver. Claire had semi-expected a phone in a conference room, like the ones at work. Somewhere you could close the door! Or at least a desk or table, or a chair to sit on. No, she was going to have to stand at the nurse's station in the common area, one hand holding the phone headset to her ear, the other holding her gown closed in the back.

*I need to stop being surprised about stuff like this*, she thought.

It was Liz!

"Liz! Where have you been? Why did you take so long to call me? I've been in here all night, nobody will tell me anything, I don't know why I'm here, I don't know how long I'm going to be here..."

"Claire," said the voice on the other end, "I called as soon as I found out! Do you have any idea how glad I am to hear your voice, to hear that you're ok?"

"Please Liz, tell them I don't belong here! Tell them I can go home..."

"Claire, of course I've told them that. But there's a lot of red tape for them to go through. I can't get any answers either, other than that you're still being evaluated."

"Liz, I need answers!"

"Claire, you'll be the first to know when I have any. Until then I just need you to get plenty of rest, follow your Doctor's instructions, and don't be afraid, ok? I need you to do that for me. Can you do that?"

"Oh... Liz...," Claire was starting to break down. Tears were welling in her eyes.

"Claire, promise me. Promise you're going to rest! For me."

"Alright," said Claire, briefly collecting herself, "for you."

"Ok, sweetie, I'll be in there to visit you as soon as they'll let me!"

"Ok."

"Goodbye, Claire."

"Goodbye, Liz."

As soon as she hung the phone up, Claire began crying again, "I want to go home!" choking on her tears.

Pam said, "Claire, darlin, let's get you to your room and let you get some rest. You should just sleep in the rest of the mornin'"

"Pam! Please! Let me go! Let me out of here, I want to go home!" Claire sobbed.

"Boys!" Pam called. Two absurdly muscular male orderlies appeared on cue. Claire wasn't even sure if it was the same two she'd seen the previous day.

"Escort this young lady to room 217," said Pam in a businesslike voice, "and make sure she arrives safe and doesn't get lost."

"Claire," Pam said very softly, almost whispering, "if you don't go with these gentlemen, they're big enough to pick you up and carry you there. I'm just trying to spare you the trouble."

Too distraught to respond to Pam, Claire silently started walking in the general direction the orderlies were directing her. She did not say a single word to the men leading her. She walked the hallway dejectedly, one bare foot at a time, not noting any passers by. They were almost at her room. They were at the threshold of her room, when she heard footsteps approaching. Purposeful, confident footsteps that somehow sounded almost like someone walking on a hard floor instead of this old threadbare carpet.

"Claire?" said a voice. It was a voice she knew, but not one she expected to hear, or particularly wanted to hear. It was *him*, the Doctor. The man who actually decided if she stayed or if she went. She had to compose herself. She had to look like someone who did not need to be here. *Has he already seen me crying? Is it too late?* Her stomach dropped. If he'd seen her crying, it was over. Nobody listens to crying girls. She snapped to attention, stood straight and faced him, both hands clasped together behind her at the back of her gown, her toes pointing inward.

"Y-yes," she answered as calmly as possible. For a heartbeat she thought he might say something that would help. Something that would make sense of all this.

"I see you are under quite a bit of stress. Don't worry, Claire, I'm going to make sure you are well *accommodated* here. Tomorrow we'll start a new course of medications for you, based on our observations of what you need," he scratched something on a clipboard with his pen. He was wearing the bluest shirt she'd ever seen, Claire noticed, under his white labcoat.

*What I need is to not be here*, she thought, but did not say.

"Be gentle with this one, gentlemen," he said to the orderlies, "she seems fragile."

The instant all of the others had gone, Claire threw herself down on her bed, face down, and buried her face in her hands.

"What's eatin' you, sugar-britches? Or should I say, lack thereof...," said a male voice. It was Bill, peeking in the open door. No one had thought to close it. To her horror she remembered. She was lying face down on the bed, with her hands at her face. Her mind raced. *The door! My gown! Everyone can see my... Oh God... everyone can see me like this!*, unable to even say to herself what she was really thinking.

Without acknowledging Bill at all, she got up out of bed, pulled up the covers, got back in bed, pulled the sheet all the way up over her face, and resumed crying. With no one to shush her, no one to calm her down, nothing left to lose, she sobbed uncontrollably. She turned over again and buried her face in the pillow to muffle the screams. She'd lost whatever faint hope she was still clinging to, of a quick and easy end to all this. This was going to take as long as it was going to take. And nobody was ever going to tell her anything.

She drifted off to an uneasy sleep, until she was awakened by Pam just before lunch.

Staring at her Salisbury steak, Claire caught herself thinking that she'd been in the hospital a very long time, before it occurred to her she'd actually been there almost exactly *one* day. She didn't bother mentioning this to Myst.