I’m going to call you this week. When I first started speech therapy last year, Karen made me write a list of goals. It felt stupid at the time. Calling you for a long, meaningless chat about everything and nothing at the same time was number one. I’ve been practising in the mirror like a fucking dork ever since.
I think I’m ready now.
Get ready, beautiful.
We’ll be back in a couple of weeks to see you again. You looked so tired last time. Get some sleep, baby girl. I know it’s fucking hard, this recovery bullshit. I’m going through it with you from the outside world. We can compare notes soon.
The first time we met, you said that having a quirky brain isn’t a bad thing.
Remember that now.
You took this scared little boy and made him whole again. I’ll love you until my very last breath, and even that won’t stop me. Donec mors nos separavit. Touch your scars right now. I’ll do it too. Can you feel me there?
I can feel you.
Fuck, Brooke. Come back soon.
I love you.
Your Elijah. X
EPILOGUE
JUDE - 3 YEARS LATER
Bad Life - Sigrid & Bring Me The Horizon
Hefting the duffel bag over my shoulder, I take a final glance around the small bedroom. Plain walls and linoleum floors meet anti-ligature bed sheets and a distorted, plastic mirror. Even after all this time, the precautions of a standard psych ward remain. It’s been a hell of a ride to get here.
Today is a special day.
After 1095 days, I am being discharged.
Flicking off the fluorescent overhead light, I turn my back on the four walls that have listened to my fears, hopes, nightmares and sobs for the last three years. Endless nights when I felt like giving up, throwing in the towel and letting death take me to peace at last.
So many times, I wanted to succumb to the person inside my head that kept us both alive for all this time. It was a constant battle to remain in the driver’s seat of my own life. Nobody could reconstruct my identity for me. I had to do it all myself, piece by painstaking piece.
I owe my life to Patient Seven.
But Jude Farlow is walking out of here, tall and fucking proud.
Strolling down the quiet corridor of Clearview’s mixed ward, I make a beeline for the nurses’ desk. The other patients are eating lunch, giving us some time to say our goodbyes. Living with the same doctors, nurses, and orderlies for three years grants you a certain bond.
“Jude!”
Behind the desk, Nurse Holly waves me over. She’s bouncing up and down on her toes, clutching a piece of paper in her hands. I drop my bag and steal it from her.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes!” she shouts. “I passed the interview. I’m off to medical school.”
We exchange high fives as I scan the confirmation letter again. It looks a lot like the one I received a decade earlier, starting me on a path that I never would’ve believed at the time. I even helped her prep for the interview, happy to be doing something useful.
“Congratulations. Told you!” I grin at her.
Her smile drops slightly. “I know I should be happy to see the back of you, but I’m gonna miss your handsome face around here. It’s been a long three years, eh?”
“Careful,” a voice interrupts. “She’ll be asking for your number next. I don’t have time to go back to art therapy instead of beating her up for trying to steal you.”
