"It's not a big deal!" Vesper protested bitterly. "I had it under control, I was fine!" She sat swinging her legs irritably off the chair she'd been offered, sipping an energy drink through a straw, and glaring at anyone who dared make eye contact with her. Unfortunately, only Marie remained in the room with her and Marie was the sort of person who was easy to blame things on but then welcomed an apology the minute Vesper calmed down.
"I know this isn't pleasant for you Vesper." Marie was sorting through her paperwork whilst Vesper's parents were outside speaking to the doctors.
"It's completely unnecessary!" Vesper groaned folding her arms in frustration and setting down the Redbull can on the table now empty. "It was just a little bit of vertigo that's all!"
"Vesper it's not forever it's just a precaution. If it's that pointless then there's no harm in doing it and getting discharged promptly for it being unnecessary is there?"
Whilst being almost overly understanding to any situation Vesper found her in, Marie had a habit of being hyper-logical. It was a trait that Vesper greatly appreciated most of the time when it came to convincing her mother of things, but she was quickly discovering the flipside of that particular temperament was she found it hard to argue her case with bravado. The truth of course was that she had no idea what would happen if she was checked in as an overnight patient, she prided herself in her outpatient status and she knew how easily an overnight patient label could mould into a residential patient one.
"I'm not staying overnight," she said finally, sounding more like a stubborn child digging their heels in than she would've preferred. "That wasn't part of the agreement, all the therapy sessions, all the medication, that was supposed to keep me as an outpatient."
"Vesper," the way Marie's tone softened rang alarm bells in Vesper's head immediately.
"Don't," she said immediately, "don't try and make me feel better about this."
"Vesper, right now it's just for the night," Marie finished her paperwork and slid it into her drawer. "It's not forever."
Vesper drummed her fingers on the table trying to keep herself calm. That could mean multiple things, but as Vesper took a breath, she decided to take it as optimism and not an ode to her imminent demise.
"Okay," she said reluctantly, "just twenty-four hours, until everyone else feels better about my feelings."
Marie smiled at her and held the door open for her "I think that's pretty mature of you Vesper."
"Don't patronise me, Marie."
"Sorry Vesper."
"It makes me seem like I'm heading off to be hung," Vesper trailed after her and she heard Marie softly laugh in front of her without turning around.
"I've spoken to the doctors about your accommodation for tonight," she stressed the word 'tonight,' "and we've decided to just put you in a spare bed as it's just for one night as long as it's okay with yourself."
Vesper hated the illusion of choice, but she also knew that none of this was Marie's fault, so she just nodded: "that's fine."
"Are you going to tell my parents?" She said after a moment as they kept walking.
"I can if you want me to?" said Marie.
Vesper shrugged, one of the rare occasions of her life she fumbled to make a decision. "I don't know," she said eventually. "Maybe. Just… maybe not right away. Let them talk to the doctors first. You- you never know, maybe they'll change their minds."
Marie nodded, but didn't verbally agree with Vesper's wishful statement. Marie walked down the hall, unhurried. "Alright, that's no trouble I'll wait, but I think they'll feel better once they know you're being looked after. They were worried, Vesper."
Vesper made a noise of mild annoyance in her throat, pushing a couple of strands of dusty blonde hair out of her face, but she didn't reply. It wasn't that she didn't understand why people were worried— she did – she just wished they could keep their worries out of major decisions about her life. Their worry clung to her, like stubborn dust after a spring clean, it made her feel heavy. It was as if their lack of faith in her increased her fragility. She was tired of being someone people worried about.
Marie pushed a door open at the end of the hallway and revealed one of the multipurpose wards in the hospital. Vesper had seen several hospital wards in the last two months and she had to admit they all looked exactly the same. As always there was a line of beds against the wall in a neat row, each separated by pale blue privacy curtains that could be pulled closed with the sort of metallic scrape the occurred when you accidentally sawed through your eggs on a plate with your knife. A couple of the curtains were drawn, but the rest were open revealing their currently full beds. Vesper fought not to make eye contact with anyone occupying any of them. Around the room machines beeped rhythmically, their subtle sounds ever-present, a constant in the strangely still room —heart monitors, IV drips, the occasional hiss of oxygen being delivered.
Marie watched her a little too carefully for Vesper's taste as she sat on the edge of the bed, letting her hands fall to her sides.
"So, what do I do now? Stare at the ceiling until someone decides I'm fine again?"
Marie smiled sympathetically, acutely aware of her discomfort. "You can read, or write, or sleep, or complain endlessly if that's what helps, but if you want my professional opinion I'd recommend resting as much as you can."
Vesper opened her mouth to protest but Marie held up her hand.
"I know that's hard, and that rest won't fix everything, but it won't make it worse."
Vesper made a disagreeable hiss of air through her teeth. "I wouldn't be here if I could rest Marie."
"I know," Marie said, still standing by the door. "I didn't just mean physically I meant mentally too." She hesitated, then added softly, "You know Vesper, I'm proud of you."
Vesper blinked raising her eyebrows. "For what? Sitting on a bed without flipping a table?"
"For being scared and doing it anyway."
Vesper stared down at her hands for a moment without speaking. After a moment she nodded and tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat.
Marie didn't push any further, instead she just reached into her bag and pulled out a small paperback. "I thought you might like this" she said, setting it on the nightstand, "I was going to give it to you next session but now feels more pertinent."
Vesper glanced at the book and read the title: The Bell Jar.
"Light reading," said Marie with a teasing tone in her voice.
Vesper let out a proper laugh despite herself, "wow Marie that's dark, I approve."
"Call me if you need anything," Marie said gently. "Even if it's just to yell at someone."
Vesper nodded once in response, "thanks," she murmured. She was fiddling with the cuticles of her nails sinking into herself in a way that made her look like she wanted to disappear. Weakness, the thing she hated more than anything in the world, she looked weak.
Marie had turned to leave, but just before she got to the door, Vesper managed to make her vocal cords work again and got out a strangled, "hey Marie?"
Marie paused in the doorframe turning to look at her concernedly.
"I don't want to be here forever." The words were almost inaudible, but they felt so heavy the air pressure of the room seemed to change, crushing in around Vesper as she spoke.
"You won't be," said Marie with so much confidence that Vesper felt the need to believe that she wasn't just reassuring her. "Everyone leaves eventually Vesper, I promise," and then she left.
Somehow Marie's words of promise didn't bring the warmth and confidence that Vesper was used to instead a small curl of unease corroded its way around her temple. Looking for a way to shake it loose she curled her feet up onto the bed and picked up the book that Marie had left her. She really did appreciate the distraction from her own thoughts and books helped her vanish them from her mind. She flicked through the opening few pages and was just really getting into the pull and pattern of Plath's writing when something made the curtain on her right that separated her from the bed next door moved. She put the book face down on the bed pages splayed out to keep her place just as the occupant of the bed pulled the curtain back.
"Hello stranger," said the boy with curly dark hair and slightly wonky glasses sitting back onto his bed as he hooked the curtain to hold it back. "I thought I recognised your irritable tone."
She had a moment of confusion before she could place his face, "James?" she said not sure what emotion she should be trying to convey in her tone.
He nodded with a grin, "Vesper, right?"
She nodded hesitantly.
"What are you doing here?" she said after a moment of pure bewilderment.
James shrugged, "not dying?" He said with an amused tone, "like everyone else here."
Vesper shook her head still trying to make sense of the scene in front of her.
"I thought you were just getting your stomach pumped?" she said furrowing her eyebrows.
"I thought you were an out-patient," he countered back without a beat.
"I am!" she snapped immediately, "I'm only here for the night."
He gave her a look which might as well have had 'yeah right' written across his forehead in sharpie, "and I was getting my stomach pumped."
"You don't stay in hospital for a month for just getting your stomach pumped," she said matter-of-factly.
"Well, let's see if you go home tomorrow," James said with a little bit of challenge in his tone, "then we'll both be liars."
She frowned, "I'm just here for observation, that's all."
"As am I."
She huffed quietly and opened her mouth to retort, but James beat her to it.
"Do you argue with every bed neighbour you have, or am I just special?" he asked, adjusting his glasses up onto the top of his head balancing them in the dark curls that stood up unruly at the top.
"I don't make a habit of having bed neighbours," she said flatly, "and I don't argue."
James raised an eyebrow. "Right sure, and I'm just here for the nutritious hospital food."
A reluctant half-smile tugged at her lips, turning up the corner, and she quickly buried her face down in her book again; as if reading Sylvia Plath could somehow protect her from answering any more of his prying questions.
"I liked you better being wheeled away from me briskly in a hospital bed," she muttered.
"I can see that," James said, stretching out on the bed like he owned it and folding his arms behind his head. "That checks out, most of my best moments end up with me being wheeled away in a hospital bed."
"People that end up in hospital to get their stomachs pumped are a waste of space and taxpayer resources," she mumbled rolling her eyes at him.
He put his hand to his heart dramatically as if he had been shot. "Me? A burden to the taxpayer? I didn't choose to be here," he said with a very convincingly wounded tone.
"You chose to be here when you went too wild and drank too much," she reprimanded, but she couldn't hide the smile that had settled uninvited on her features like a butterfly, fleeting and delicate.
She looked back at her book properly; the pages were already curling slightly where she had dropped it on the bedspread when she'd arrived. A noise was irritating her ear drum and after a second of trying to drown it out she looked up with a sigh. James was adjusting his pillows in his bed with a great deal of attention and the rustling was making it impossible to read, she set the book back down and swung her legs round to face him properly letting them dangle off the bed.
"Do you think they tell everyone they're just here for a night?" she asked suddenly, not looking at him but more at a spot over his right ear.
James, shockingly, didn't answer right away, and when he did it wasn't with his general humour coated tone.
"I think they tell you what you need to hear," he said finally. "Whatever they need to say to get you to stay."