The air conditioner clicked on with a loud tick sending gusts of cool air into the small, grey room. The stream of air caused the cream-colored curtains to move ever so slightly, allowing small rays of sunlight to attack Carrie’s face. She threw an arm over her eyes and willed herself back to sleep, but it was no use. She was awake. A long sigh escaped her lips as she opened her eyes and rolled over. The clock on the wall read 8:30 am. Her whole body ached as she propped herself up on the ridiculous amount of fluffy white pillows. A cup of water beckoned to her from the bedside table. She lifted the cup to her dry lips allowing the room temperature water to slide down her throat. Her stomach rumbled in disappointment that the water wasn’t a piece of delicious food for it to devour. Breakfast time wasn’t until 9 am. A loud growl emanated from her stomach in consternation at having to wait.
She grabbed the TV remote and pointed it at the tiny TV attached to the wall across from her bed. As the screen slowly lit up, she could make out the figures on the screen. Friends was on. One of the crew had found themselves in some sort of situation, and Joey had a turkey stuck on his head. The audience's laughter filled her tiny room with a joy that ended with the TV screen. She turned her head to the side and stared at the clock as the second hand clicked around. One. Two. Three. She stared at the hand for so long that it started to look like it was moving backward. If only time could go backward. Things would be different. Her thoughts invaded her skull. How did I get here? Where did I go wrong?
Carrie sighed again and slowly slid her legs out from under the covers and over the side of the bed. As she sat there, she stared at the tile floor. Square, white tiles with tiny flecks of grey sprinkled throughout. Her brain began to see little ghostly faces in the tiles like a haunting Rorschach test, a screaming woman in one, a crying little girl in another. She flicked her eyes around the tiles trying to find more faces. A few specks were starting to form into a familiar face. Her same dark eyes. Her same sharp nose. Her same heart-shaped mouth. Except it wasn’t. The eyes were darker. The nose was too sharp. The mouth twisted into a horrifying grimace. Carrie shook her head, trying to unsee the little face staring back at her from the tiles.
The door opening startled her. A woman in blue scrubs entered the room. Carrie’s eyes flicked to the clock. 8:45 am.
“Good morning, Carrie,” the nurse beamed.
“Hi Heather,” Carrie said as she laid back on the bed and presented her arms for the usual routine. Heather got to work unwrapping the bandages on Carrie’s wrists. Carrie stared at the window, willing herself not to look down, but her eyes had plans of their own. The long red cuts ran from the base of her palm to the middle of her forearm. They were angry and deep. Heather gently cleaned the stitched-up skin. The sting of the alcohol caused Carrie to suck in her breath through her teeth involuntarily. Heather’s soft, brown eyes gave her a look that said she was sorry, but there was much more than that in the look. There was pity. She hated that look. Everyone she encountered here gave her that fucking look. I wasn’t looking for pity. I was looking for a way out. She looked away as Heather finished her work. A rage was starting to fill her chest that she couldn’t explain, and she didn’t want to take it out on Heather.
“All done,” the nurse said. She patted Carrie’s arms and headed towards the door. “They will be right in with your breakfast. A little birdie told me that they have pancakes today.” She winked and left the room. Joy. Pancakes. Carrie shoved her freshly bandaged arms underneath the covers so she wouldn’t have to stare at them anymore. They were a constant reminder of how fucked up she actually was. She had researched this method for weeks and knew it was foolproof. She had thrown on some 90s pop, consumed an entire bottle of wine, laid down in the bed, and cut herself long and deep. The euphoria she had read about was just starting to sink in when her best friend had popped into her dorm room for a surprise visit. Carrie could still hear her screaming. Now, she was in this room. This room was meant to help her recover. She resented every corner of the hideous little room, from the flecked tiles to the popcorn ceiling. But most of all, she resented herself. She rolled over as the tears streamed down her cheeks onto the pile of pillows. The door clicked open behind her.
“Who wants pancakes?” a friendly voice asked. Carrie sighed and closed her eyes.