"Alright, miss Anais, it looks like you're coming along nicely in your overview." a female nurse said energetically as she skimmed over a few pages attached to a marked up clipboard.
"Zara." the recipient in the chair blankly responded.
"I'm sorry?"
The girl sighed frustratedly and adjusted herself in the chair, gripping the handles as her eyes locked onto the nurse's. "My name, it's Zara, I don't go by Anais anymore. I told the other nurse that and the one before that--both of them said they would change it, and clearly, neither did."
"O-oh! Well, let me be the break in the chain then." the nurse chimed happily. She pulled a Black pall-point pen from her pant pocket and quickly made a note on the papers regarding the recipient's name, then ended the statement with a clear, abrupt period to signify the change was noted. She put the clipboard underneath her arm and pulled up a seat, much to the dismay of Zara due to the horrid sound of the awkward, dull wood squawking against the floor. Zara sighed quietly and slowly set her head upon her arm as she tiredly looked at this woman.
There was no doubt about it, Zara thought. The past few days had been an absolute living hell, and the very people that were meant to help her were simply making it worse. The trials and questions never seemed to have a break, and they continually pushed her into giving detailed responses to questions she didn't want to answer. Then, they would give her one of those painfully lame cookie-cutter compliments like "You're doing great!" and "You're coming along nicely!" The real truth is that these people didn't care, and they never will. Odds are, these happy-dappy nurses and overly nice doctors were just playing the role, and if you didn't notice how each of their pasted smiles faded as they walked out the hospital room after another interogation, you too would fall victim to their false narrative. These people were getting paid to listen to children gripe and moan about their frantic, botched up lives, and they tried to bake the role as best as possible, only for it come out of the oven as an overly obnoxious knock-off of legitimate concern.
"So~" the nurse started as she got her pen and clipboard ready, "how are you feeling today, Zara?"
"Ah, you know. Still hate life with a dying aspiration to kill everyone who made me reach this point." Zara muttered. "It's pretty peachy."
And there it was. The fake concern on this woman's face, Zara thought to herself. She's gonna look at me like I'm a poor, crazy kid, and then she's gonna ask me if I'm taking my meds.
The nurse uncomfortably shifted her position in the chair. "Well, Zara, I feel inclined to ask, have you been taking the medication we assigned?"
Zara smirked at her punctuality, but it quickly faded. "I know you want me to tell you that I have, but unfortunately, I have not. I don't like what they do to me."
The nurse made a note of this. "How do they make you feel?"
"The first one makes me numb. The second one--it makes me anxious--it's hard to have a logical thought."
"Well, those are some minor side affects that we see a lot of other patients, who are taking the same line of medication, experience, and with some, these affects eventually faded after a continuous dosage."
These words flooded the left side of Zara's head and came out the right side just the same.
"What's the point of all of this?" Zara asked, she slowly glanced down at her light blue, cotton scrubs.
The nurses' brows lowered. "What do you mean-"
"Why am I here? I'm not a lunatic, I'm not some person who went through horrible trauma, I just.." she started, then trailed off. Her fatigued eyes closed.
The nurse saw the restlessness within Zara and placed her clipboard on the stand beside her bed, then turned back to face Zara with her hands clasped together. "Zara, you're not here because you're some kind of lunatic. You're here because people wish to help you, sweetheart."
"Well MAYBE I didn't ASK to be helped, and everyone should just piss off!" Zara shouted. Adjacent to the hospital room was the reception desk, and through the crack of the door, two heads edged over to see what was the matter. This was something every nurse and doctor did often, because they were used to it, and from previous experiences, they know they cannot pretend they don't hear it. Typically, when an inpatient started yelling or thrashing about, the staff would have to jump and detain the person before they harmed themselves or someone else. And though this situation was not super common, it still happened. With that being said, even the slightest upward shift of tone within a voice turned a lot of heads on that floor.
"Miss Rivas. I know, you don't want to be here. But just because you are does not mean something is wrong with you, nor does it mean the nurses and doctors think something is wrong with you. You're here because nobody wants to see you unhappy.." the nurse said softly as she leaned in, trying to comfort her.
Zara scoffed. "Tread lightly, lady. I'm here because I was happy, not because I wasn't. The whole deal with David was nothing of anyone's major concern and if people actually wanted to see me 'happy,' they should have minded their own business."
She paused as tears slowly started to roll into her eyes. "He loved me. He was the only person in my life who loved me, and all of you ripped him away from me."
"Zara, Mr. Luke was much older than you, and you are still under the age of 18. In the criminal world, that is called pedophilia, and it requires immediate action." the nurse said sternly.
Tears started to run down Zara's cheeks. "Ah, yes. 18. The number of legality that means practically nothing once someone reaches it. If I was 20, dating a 70 year old, nobody would bat an eye, but dear LORD, god FORBID, I date someone slightly older while I'm considered to be a 'minor.' You don't care about the age difference between people, you only care about babying this generation. Well, I've got news for you, woman, this isn't the damn 40's anymore. There were kids I went to school with who, by the age of 14, had already lost their virginity 20 times over, and if you hadn't had a threesome by now, you were a loser. I had friends who told me that older men were the best men to date and have sex with because they liked youth, and some even went as far as saying girls who were under 15 were much prettier than girls their age. David told me I was more beautiful than any girl in her twenties, thirties, forties--he said he wanted to try everything with me before I too got old like him, and that I should embrace my body before I can't use it anymore, and that he can help me do everything. And I liked it."
The nurse was astonished at how badly Zara was utterly brainwashed. And that is why, as she was talking, she made a note on her clipboard under the section "Additional Notes," inscribing the words "Immediate Sexual Abuse Therapy Needed." The nurse rose up from her chair, her clipboard nestled tightly to her abdomen and looked at Zara with upmost concern, but forcing a slight smile in the process so as to not seem condescending.
"Well, Miss Rivas, I think we're done here for now. I'm going to speak to my colleagues about when your dismissal is to occur, and I will also inform them of the--the problems you're facing with your medication. As well as the name change. And once I get some answers, I'll be sure to relay them back to you as soon as possible." the nurse smiled.
Zara also rose out of her chair, but much slower than the nurse. She rolled her eyes and nodded at what was being told to her, and gently crawled into her bed.
The nurse turned and made her way for the door when Zara noticed it.
There it was. Right on cue.
The smile fell off the woman's face as she left.
"Zara." the recipient in the chair blankly responded.
"I'm sorry?"
The girl sighed frustratedly and adjusted herself in the chair, gripping the handles as her eyes locked onto the nurse's. "My name, it's Zara, I don't go by Anais anymore. I told the other nurse that and the one before that--both of them said they would change it, and clearly, neither did."
"O-oh! Well, let me be the break in the chain then." the nurse chimed happily. She pulled a Black pall-point pen from her pant pocket and quickly made a note on the papers regarding the recipient's name, then ended the statement with a clear, abrupt period to signify the change was noted. She put the clipboard underneath her arm and pulled up a seat, much to the dismay of Zara due to the horrid sound of the awkward, dull wood squawking against the floor. Zara sighed quietly and slowly set her head upon her arm as she tiredly looked at this woman.
There was no doubt about it, Zara thought. The past few days had been an absolute living hell, and the very people that were meant to help her were simply making it worse. The trials and questions never seemed to have a break, and they continually pushed her into giving detailed responses to questions she didn't want to answer. Then, they would give her one of those painfully lame cookie-cutter compliments like "You're doing great!" and "You're coming along nicely!" The real truth is that these people didn't care, and they never will. Odds are, these happy-dappy nurses and overly nice doctors were just playing the role, and if you didn't notice how each of their pasted smiles faded as they walked out the hospital room after another interogation, you too would fall victim to their false narrative. These people were getting paid to listen to children gripe and moan about their frantic, botched up lives, and they tried to bake the role as best as possible, only for it come out of the oven as an overly obnoxious knock-off of legitimate concern.
"So~" the nurse started as she got her pen and clipboard ready, "how are you feeling today, Zara?"
"Ah, you know. Still hate life with a dying aspiration to kill everyone who made me reach this point." Zara muttered. "It's pretty peachy."
And there it was. The fake concern on this woman's face, Zara thought to herself. She's gonna look at me like I'm a poor, crazy kid, and then she's gonna ask me if I'm taking my meds.
The nurse uncomfortably shifted her position in the chair. "Well, Zara, I feel inclined to ask, have you been taking the medication we assigned?"
Zara smirked at her punctuality, but it quickly faded. "I know you want me to tell you that I have, but unfortunately, I have not. I don't like what they do to me."
The nurse made a note of this. "How do they make you feel?"
"The first one makes me numb. The second one--it makes me anxious--it's hard to have a logical thought."
"Well, those are some minor side affects that we see a lot of other patients, who are taking the same line of medication, experience, and with some, these affects eventually faded after a continuous dosage."
These words flooded the left side of Zara's head and came out the right side just the same.
"What's the point of all of this?" Zara asked, she slowly glanced down at her light blue, cotton scrubs.
The nurses' brows lowered. "What do you mean-"
"Why am I here? I'm not a lunatic, I'm not some person who went through horrible trauma, I just.." she started, then trailed off. Her fatigued eyes closed.
The nurse saw the restlessness within Zara and placed her clipboard on the stand beside her bed, then turned back to face Zara with her hands clasped together. "Zara, you're not here because you're some kind of lunatic. You're here because people wish to help you, sweetheart."
"Well MAYBE I didn't ASK to be helped, and everyone should just piss off!" Zara shouted. Adjacent to the hospital room was the reception desk, and through the crack of the door, two heads edged over to see what was the matter. This was something every nurse and doctor did often, because they were used to it, and from previous experiences, they know they cannot pretend they don't hear it. Typically, when an inpatient started yelling or thrashing about, the staff would have to jump and detain the person before they harmed themselves or someone else. And though this situation was not super common, it still happened. With that being said, even the slightest upward shift of tone within a voice turned a lot of heads on that floor.
"Miss Rivas. I know, you don't want to be here. But just because you are does not mean something is wrong with you, nor does it mean the nurses and doctors think something is wrong with you. You're here because nobody wants to see you unhappy.." the nurse said softly as she leaned in, trying to comfort her.
Zara scoffed. "Tread lightly, lady. I'm here because I was happy, not because I wasn't. The whole deal with David was nothing of anyone's major concern and if people actually wanted to see me 'happy,' they should have minded their own business."
She paused as tears slowly started to roll into her eyes. "He loved me. He was the only person in my life who loved me, and all of you ripped him away from me."
"Zara, Mr. Luke was much older than you, and you are still under the age of 18. In the criminal world, that is called pedophilia, and it requires immediate action." the nurse said sternly.
Tears started to run down Zara's cheeks. "Ah, yes. 18. The number of legality that means practically nothing once someone reaches it. If I was 20, dating a 70 year old, nobody would bat an eye, but dear LORD, god FORBID, I date someone slightly older while I'm considered to be a 'minor.' You don't care about the age difference between people, you only care about babying this generation. Well, I've got news for you, woman, this isn't the damn 40's anymore. There were kids I went to school with who, by the age of 14, had already lost their virginity 20 times over, and if you hadn't had a threesome by now, you were a loser. I had friends who told me that older men were the best men to date and have sex with because they liked youth, and some even went as far as saying girls who were under 15 were much prettier than girls their age. David told me I was more beautiful than any girl in her twenties, thirties, forties--he said he wanted to try everything with me before I too got old like him, and that I should embrace my body before I can't use it anymore, and that he can help me do everything. And I liked it."
The nurse was astonished at how badly Zara was utterly brainwashed. And that is why, as she was talking, she made a note on her clipboard under the section "Additional Notes," inscribing the words "Immediate Sexual Abuse Therapy Needed." The nurse rose up from her chair, her clipboard nestled tightly to her abdomen and looked at Zara with upmost concern, but forcing a slight smile in the process so as to not seem condescending.
"Well, Miss Rivas, I think we're done here for now. I'm going to speak to my colleagues about when your dismissal is to occur, and I will also inform them of the--the problems you're facing with your medication. As well as the name change. And once I get some answers, I'll be sure to relay them back to you as soon as possible." the nurse smiled.
Zara also rose out of her chair, but much slower than the nurse. She rolled her eyes and nodded at what was being told to her, and gently crawled into her bed.
The nurse turned and made her way for the door when Zara noticed it.
There it was. Right on cue.
The smile fell off the woman's face as she left.
