Chapter 15

“I don’t like being a boy,” Mila said courageously.

“That’s something we can discuss,” Dr. Poklopsy said, setting his notepad on the desk. He was both bored and frustrated with this particular case, and was eager to stamp a cured sign on the patient’s butt and pass them back to society. Only yesterday they’d had to turn down a cannibal for lack of bed space. “I’ve been wanting to discuss something else with you, first. I’m relisting your status here.”

“What does that mean?” Mila asked, chewing her thumbnail.

“It means that I think you’re confused, but I don’t think you’re a danger to yourself or others. We’ll be releasing you at the end of the week.”

“Releasing me?” Just like that, she was getting out of here. Just what she wanted; so why did she feel so panicky? “Where will I go?”

The doctor shrugged vaguely and said, “That depends. I can give you the names of good therapists in your area, and perhaps you can go home.”

“No, I can’t go home,” she said immediately, alarm spreading through her veins and adding to the general panic closing her throat.

“Well, you mentioned a job before. Perhaps you can get your job back and do what most young people your age do,” he suggested.

“Which is what?” she asked, mortified.

“Rent an apartment. What about that friend you mentioned, the one you roomed with?”

“She went away to college,” Mila answered.

“Hm, well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“But... what about my vitamins? I thought we were going to talk about...”

“Now, now,” Dr. Poklopsy interrupted, “that will be something for you and your long-term therapist to discuss. I wish you all the best.”

He stood up and came around the desk to hold the door open. Feeling sufficiently dismissed, Mila got to her feet and shuffled through the doorway. When she turned back, his door snapped shut in her face and Mila suddenly felt the same sense of loss she had when ShayAnne had screamed at her.

Alone. Again. She gathered the folds of her hospital gown and held them to her body as she walked. She didn’t have any clothes. She didn’t have any money. She didn’t have any friends, or any family she’d consider going home to. This was a nightmare in so many ways that her brain was already compartmentalizing it to deal with in layers, to prevent a complete psychotic break right here, right now. Instead she breathed deeply through her nose as she had the night she’d plotted to leave her mother’s house, and prepared to start her life again.

She wondered how many fresh starts she had in her.