by NOD GHOSH
Kicking her shoes off with a howl, DeAnne voices her concerns to anyone who'll listen.
"Why isn't anyone helping me?"
She sits on the edge of the bed swinging her legs. Most of the people in the place are beyond caring about petulant suicidal young girls. It's been more than ten minutes since she saw a staff member. Perhaps she could...there's a sharp piece of...no. She looks at people on the other side of the ward.
Peggy sits stock-still, her little seagull eyes staring straight ahead. There's a brown rubber ring under her bottom, for piles.
Reg makes a "zzzzzzzzz" noise, mowing the imaginary lawn near his bed. He plants flowers made of tissue paper in Heather's underwear drawer. Everyone knows Reg is in love with Heather.
DeAnne thinks of love, and is desperate to know where Shane is.
He promised to visit this morning.
Just after eleven he walks in looking sheepish.
Violent curses rain down on his head. Curling his bottom lip he looks towards the floor like a village idiot.
"You don't really love me, do you?" she balls up her emotion and throws it at him to catch. He is silent.
It never occurs to DeAnne to be civil to her ex-boyfriend. It never occurs to her that Shane is only here out of a sense of duty. It never occurs to her that Shane could disappear from her life like a puff of wind.
And all the time, she feels like she is falling.