Page 157 of Desecrated Saints
I don’t have to turn around to know Brooklyn is approaching. She smells like oil paint and the cheap soap the hospital provides to wash paintbrushes with. Scarred arms wrap around me from behind as her lips graze my neck.
“Damn, busted.” Nurse Holly snickers. “I’m old enough to be his mother, Brooke. But I’m flattered you think I could pull such a charming gentleman.”
The two women embrace, squeezing each other tight. I watch Brooklyn subtly wipe her eyes when they break apart again. Nurse Holly doesn’t bother hiding her emotions. She’s played the maternal role since our first day, even as the ward matron. Despite her big heart, she runs a tight ship here.
“Got everything, kids? Doctor Richards should be here to escort you out in a moment. He’s just signing off the discharge papers and checking your travel arrangements.”
Brooklyn double checks her suitcase before throwing her old leather jacket on. We’re granted a moment of privacy as Nurse Holly bustles off to track the doctor down. Nestling herself into my side, Brooklyn lets out a contented sigh that obliterates three years of tedious therapy and painful separation.
“Your sister used to let us raid that vending machine before group therapy.” She points towards the machine at the end of the corridor. “The least disruptive patient was awarded with a snack of their choice.”
“Isn’t that blackmail?”
“Or good crowd management.”
I scan the empty recreation room where each night, patients gather to watch the approved selection of movies. We never ended up there often. There’s a courtyard outside, protected by a high-security fence, not unlike Blackwood.
Beneath the floodlights and thick cloud coverage, we spent many nights planning our future. Not just mine and Brooklyn’s though. There are four other lives caught in this spider’s web. After a long time apart, their lives are about to begin too.
“Will you miss it here?” she hums.
“No,” I answer easily. “I can be grateful for surviving Clearview without missing it. This place was my first posting when I qualified. I was never supposed to live within these walls.”
“I’ll miss the sedatives.” Brooklyn snorts at her shitty joke. “The real world is a hell of a lot more complicated than this place. We’re jumping from a fishbowl into a giant fucking ocean.”
With nobody watching, I press my lips to hers. “I won’t let you drown, princess. We’re gonna swim as far from the past as we possibly can. This is the beginning of the rest of our lives.”
“No kissing in my ward, you hooligans!”
We break apart at the sound of Doctor Richards’ voice. He’s a grey-haired, stout man with an acid-tongue and fierce devotion to his work. Not to mention the world’s most eclectic fashion taste.
Today, he’s wearing his pink slip trousers—bright, lurid fuchsia. All discharge orders are printed on pink hospital paper. It’s his little way of celebrating each life that he’s saved.
Doctor Richards claps his hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? I have four very impatient men camped out in my car park. Anyone would think I’m running a B&B in here.”
“A B&B would have better food,” Brooklyn teases.
He grins at her, pulling his well-worn smile lines taut. “You can eat everything you want now, Brooke. Do think of us poor, tortured souls surviving off beans on toast when you’re living the high life.”
With an eccentric flourish that matches his wacky personality, Doctor Richards officially signs our lives back over to… us. I hold the discharge papers in my hand, needing to verify they’re real. His smile is understanding.
“Are you ready to face the big, bad world?”
Both picking up our belongings, we follow him through the ward’s complex security system. Nurse Holly waves from the back office where she’s fixing a cuppa, tears shining in her eyes. I knew she wouldn’t wave us off. Saying goodbye is hard for the staff too. People who work in mental health are fucking underrated.
Brooklyn grasps my hand tight as we leave gleaming corridors and treatment rooms behind. The exit awaits, real and terrifying. Life begins on the other side of those doors.
“I understand you’re off on a trip.” Doctor Richards inspects us both over his spectacles. “I’ll be in touch when you return. It’s important we keep things up with regular check-ins and continued therapy.”
He seems taken aback when Brooklyn drops her bag and throws her arms around him. After a second’s hesitation, he hugs her back with a little chuckle. This man has quite literally saved her life these past three years. Mine too, one excruciating step at a time.
“Keep this one in line, Brooke. He’s a troublemaker.”
“I will, doc. See you soon.”
Leaving the man that pieced our minds back together behind, I hold the door open for Brooklyn. She ducks beneath my arm, tears already soaking her cheeks. At the bottom of the wide marble steps that lead to Clearview Psychiatric Unit, a huddle of misfits impatiently waits.
Eli is the first to spot us. Beneath his trimmed head of curls, he removes a pair of sunglasses to reveal his incandescent happiness. Tugging on Phoenix’s shirt sleeve, he points up at us. His strong, unwavering shout is the biggest change.
