Hannah sure as hell isn’t leaving the ward today, Jordan thinks.
She’s sitting in a corner of the quiet room, slowly combing her hair with a dreamy, far-off look in her eyes.
“She went in this morning,” Michaela tells Jordan. “Voluntarily.”
He tries the door. It’s not locked. But when it opens and he pokes his head in, Hannah doesn’t notice him.
“Mother,” she says, “don’t let Conn have another piece of cake. He’ll be sick. No, just put it where he can’t reach. Sorry, love. It’s for your own good. I know, I’m cruel, aren’t I? Here, have a sip of ale and a bit more bread if you’re hungry. Though I can’t see how you could be. Are you hollow, my little goose?”
“Creepy, right?” Michaela whispers.
Jordan ignores her. He hasn’t been around for med pass lately, and he wonders if Hannah’s been refusing her medications.
Michaela steps closer to him, and he smells the bright lemony scent of her shampoo. Unlike Hannah, Michaela always takes care of herself. Brushes her hair. Wears the lipstick that staff finally agreed to let her have. Blush, too, on cheekbones above her hollow cheeks.
She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Sometimes I don’t even think she’s schizophrenic. It’s more like she’s a mad genius. Whenever she’s stressed out, she just disappears into the Middle Ages.”
“I don’t think it really works like that,” Jordan says.
“It’s a killer coping mechanism,” Michaela says, unswayed. “Total and complete escape. I don’t know why she picked medieval wherever, though. I’d take a yacht in the French Riviera, anytime after 2010. Better drugs, better hygiene. Not nearly as many rats.” She glances over at Jordan and smiles. It’s a strange, almost mocking look she’s giving him. “You think Hannah doesn’t have any control over it, don’t you? Well, I don’t think you give her enough credit. She’s not just some fragile, damaged girl, you know. She’s a survivor. A freaking warrior. Because it’s people like us—the ones who people like you think are broken—who are fighting for our lives every single day,” Michaela says. “And that makes us stronger than you will ever understand.” Her finger makes one quick, hard jab into his sternum.
Jordan nods and backs up a little. He knows that Michaela’s right. It’s plenty easy to paddle downstream.
“Conn,” Hannah calls. “Stay close to home!”
“I should go check in with the charge nurse now,” Jordan says.
“Remembered you had other patients, did you?” Michaela asks lightly.
He can hear her laughing as he walks down the hall. As he rounds the corner near the nurse’s station, his phone buzzes.
It’s a text message from Ellie.
what r u doing saturday?
He hesitates only a second.
seeing you
She sends a shooting star emoji.
Jordan tucks the phone back into his pocket before someone yells at him for looking at it. Now he’s got a date with a funny and sane girl from North Carolina who’s studying how physicists can program particles to assemble themselves, or to have certain physical properties, or something like that—he was a little drunk when she was trying to explain it to him.
Now that he knows Ellie, she doesn’t remind him of Hannah so much. But he tells himself that’s a good thing.