The girl had long hair. It was once thick and full, but now lay stringy and greasy down her back. Her clothes were plain, hospital issued. Her eyes were wide with fear. Always.
She liked to be alone in the room. They couldn't touch her there. Her bed had become her safe place. The sheets were stained from night sweats and urine. She didn't like to leave the bed often.
Her knees were to her chest, arms locked around them when she started rocking. She was crying but hadn't noticed. Someone came into the room and stood above her, said her name. She didn't hear them.
When I saw her my breath caught. I stood outside her room and watched her through the window, silently crying. I hadn't wanted to come. This place was haunting. I remember wanting to leave the moment I stepped inside.
I talked to someone that held a chart in her hands while we walked down the aisle away from her room. She seemed important, knowing. Someone that knew how the girl in the room had gotten that way. But she had no answers for me.
How did she get like that? Has she always been that way? What happened to her?
The woman with the chart only shook her head at me with sad eyes before walking away. I was alone outside the room again, looking in at the girl through the window. Through the looking glass.
She'd moved to the other side of the bed, into the corner. Her hair hid her face, swaying gently as she rocked. I saw her soiled clothing and sheets and could bear it no longer. I tried the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. Why hadn't she tried to leave?
The girl kept her head down, oblivious to my entering. It felt like miles between us as I walked toward the bed. I grew sadder as I approached, but stronger. I had to help her.
I stood next to her and smelled the sorrow on her skin. She still hadn't looked at me and I hesitated a moment before reaching out to touch her shoulder. I spoke to her gently, "Dear girl...let me help you..."
She stopped rocking, slowly raised her head. Her face was mine.
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