Looking forward to seeing Billy and learning more words was the only thing that got Hazel through the day. Each day here blended together.
In the morning there was group therapy. Hazel never participated because she couldn't speak but she also didn't like hearing about the scary things the other girls said. Somebody always had to leave the room crying.
After group therapy was art time. It was the only part of the day Hazel actually liked. They were supposed to draw what they were feeling but she preferred drawing pretty things that she knew were outside, like flowers and butterflies.
The other girls drew a lot of black things. Hazel didn't like the color black. She preferred pink and yellow and green. The nurse always berated her for drawing pretty things instead of how she really felt.
What was she supposed to draw? Her mother's dead body? The bloody knife? Or the horrible, crooked-toothed smile of the killer? It was better to draw nice things.
Lunch came after art, then individual therapy, yard time, more individual therapy, free time (which Hazel also spent drawing), dinner, and visiting hours. Hazel never had any visitors. Most kids didn't but there were a few who got regular phone calls from family living a few hours away.
After dinner they got sponge baths since regular ones were a waste of water and were expected to go to bed at 8 PM sharp. It always took Hazel much longer than that to fall asleep, even with the sleeping pills.
She sighed wearily. It was only free time right now. There was still a long way to go before she could see Billy.
Hazel pulled out the crayons—they weren't allowed to have markers because of stains or colored pencils because of the time a kid stabbed a nurse with one—and wondered what to draw. Billy's golden eyes came to mind.
She had never seen a color quite like that. Her father's hazel eyes had been more on the green side.
The moon and stars poured out of her crayons across a dark blue sky. This little twenty-four pack of crayons didn't have gold but it did have a dandelion yellow, which would have to suffice. Billy's eyes and toothless grin ended up on the face of the moon.
"Why would the moon have yellow eyes? That's weird," Cindy, the girl who bit the nurse, scoffed over Hazel's shoulder.
Hazel ignored her and continued to draw. Despite knowing she couldn't speak, Cindy didn't like being ignored and snatched the drawing away.
Fury she hadn't felt in a long time bubbled up towards the surface. Normally Hazel was rather apathetic about everything. How dare she? What right did she have to steal that drawing?
Her little hand reached out to take it back but a cruel smile lit Cindy's features. She had something bad in mind. Before Hazel could do anything to stop her, the drawing had been ripped into a bunch of tiny pieces and thrown into the air like confetti.
"You're so lame, mute girl!" Cindy yelled. "Nobody likes you!"
Hazel wanted to say that nobody liked Cindy either but the words wouldn't come out. It wasn't being mean; it was the truth. Nobody here liked each other at all.
She did the only thing she could and launched herself at the other girl with flying fists. Cindy screeched and tried to defend herself but it was as if Hazel was possessed by the ghost of a boxer.
"Help!" she cried pathetically. "The mute went crazy!"
Nurse Moore heard the commotion and despite Hazel's burst of strength, was able to restrain her easily. That was the difference between a child and an adult. She shrieked wordlessly, wanting to be set free, but it was useless.
Hazel was taken to the isolation room. She hadn't been in here for at least a few months. She wanted to cry. The isolation room was locked from the outside. She would never be able to meet with Billy now!
No amount of kicking or screaming could stop her from being locked up. A single tear slid down her cheek as she slumped against the padded wall in defeat.
Isolation always lasted a minimum of twenty-four hours. Not only was Hazel locked in, she was guarded by an orderly. Security guards patrolled the isolation wing more often too. There was no way she was getting out of here.
Billy would think she abandoned him. He probably wouldn't bother trying to meet her again after being stood up. Even if she did see him at yard time later on, she didn't have the words to explain herself.
He would be angry for sure. Everyone was always angry with her here. Cindy had been right—nobody liked her.
It wasn't always like this. Her parents loved her. She was friends with other kids at her preschool and some of her parents' friends' children. But nobody wanted a mute. Her uncle certainly hadn't.
The only one who had treated her like a real person since her life had been ruined was Billy. And now she had lost even that.
There wasn't a bed in isolation. There wasn't even a bathroom. They checked on you every so often to see if you needed to go and strictly escorted you there so escape was impossible.
Isolation was for the violent kids. There wasn't a single thing in this room but padding on the walls, floor, and door. A single Plexiglas window let the guards know if patients were trying to hurt themselves or needed to use the restroom.
Aside from food and bathroom breaks, those in isolation were alone with the whiteness. Hazel hated that whiteness.
White was supposed to be a pure color, like freshly fallen snow. Nothing was pure about this place.
If she ever got out of the hospital…when she grew up she would make sure there wasn't a single white wall in the house. Not even the ceiling. White would only remind her of here.
She sighed and closed her eyes. She was in for a very long night.