Chapter 6

"I'm good," I responded to a sixth question of "How are you?" It was what I was being asked by everyone this morning. 

We started the group at eight, but I slept through most of it. It wasn't my fault — my new meds made me constantly tired. The rest of the day went so slow. Our rooms were locked, but that didn't stop me from sleeping on the cushioned chair in the group room. Sleep was my happy place. Unfortunately, every half hour someone woke me up for something different. First it was meds, then group; the list goes on and on. 

There was one thing that lit me up, though: music therapy. There was this woman named Kate that came in, and with her she brought instruments. Fortunately for me, I had been learning the ukulele at home, before all this happened.

You wanna know something amazing? I found myself smiling as I played "Riptide" for her. DJ, who was super cute with his dreads, sat beside me and harmonized with Kate. It was a precious moment that I looked forward to every time I saw Kate come in with her cart. 

I called my mom after this and told her everything that had occurred. I was so excited that I forgot I was angry at her. To be honest, I had planned to never talk to her again, but that didn't happen. 

The next couple of days were the same; that was until Allysa came in. You see, Allysa came in for drugs, and guess who her roommate was — you guessed it, me. At night we sat on our beds and talked. A lot of the time, we talked about drugs and sex. It was interesting to say the least. It's where I learned everything I know about drugs. 

It's also where the dare came in. You see, Alyssa dared me to take a knife from school, and that's exactly what I did. 

A month after I got out of that first mental hospital, I sat in my third-period cooking class. I had taken a knife before and cut myself in the locker room at school. Now, I faced intense urges to cut, but my mom had found the weapon a couple weeks ago. If only I could sneak another knife into my backpack. Unfortunately, the only knife we used making the fig bars was a huge carving knife. (Don't ask me why.)

While washing the dishes, I snuck the knife under my apron into the pocket of my hoodie. As I made my way to put it in my backpack, I was so scared of someone noticing the bulk under my apron. Thankfully, I made it to my seat without anyone pointing it out. Of course, I was paranoid as I looked around. 

Then I fucked up. As I transferred the weapon from my pocket to my bookbag, someone noticed. Jalaka. 

"PLEASE, please, don't tell anyone," I whispered, trying to persuade her. 

"Kayla, what are you doing with that?" Jalaka asked. 

"It's for a project later. Please Don't tell anyone," I begged, desperate to leave the conversation and get to the bathroom to mutilate my wrists. 

"Kayla…"

"Please, Jalaka. Look, we'll talk later. Okay?" I said it more to reassure myself than anything. 

Jalaka twisted her lips. "Okay, sure."

Unfortunately, I knew she wouldn't keep her word. 

At the end of class, the teacher called me up.

"Come with me to the office," she instructed. 

Anger filled my head and I couldn't think straight. Instead of lashing out, I forced myself to follow. 

"So you took a weapon from your cooking class? Is that correct?" the vice principal asked as I sat in his office. 

I nodded. 

"And you threatened someone in the process."

"What? No way," I defended.

The principal raised his eyebrow. "Sure."

"No, really; I didn't threaten anyone," I opposed. 

He shook his head sorrowfully. "I wish kids would just be honest. You all are so predictable."

"I'm being honest. I only took the knife for the feeling of power," I lied. 

The principal just ignored me. "Just sit here until the police and your parents show up."

"The police?!"

"Let's see: possession of a weapon, theft, and threatening your classmate. It adds up to a lot."

"Can I at least grab a book from my backpack?" I asked in desperation. 

He nodded, although watched me closely as I got up from the chair, walked over to the table that my backpack rested on, and unzipped it. After finding the book, I took my seat again. 

A couple minutes later the cops came. I was asked a lot of questions, then escorted to their patrol car. I saw my mom and Him on the way out, tears in all of our eyes. Surely, I was a disappointment. Since the cops had taken my phone, I had no way to call anyone for support. I felt hopeless and weak and just wanted the reassurance that everything would turn out okay. Unfortunately, I didn't get that. The cops were respectful and tried talking to me, but it wasn't the same. 

And this is how I ended up at my second mental hospital.