What the Doctor Ordered
She's just a sick girl. She's just a sick girl. She's just a sick girl. She's just a sick girl. She's just a sick girl. She's just a sick girl. She's just a sick girl.
Sweaty and clammy my fingers stick together as they knot with each other over and over again. Over and over I clasp them together, twisting so my knuckles pop and the joints audibly snap. How I wish I could break them each in turn. Nine tells me to sometimes, whispering words that make me want to simultaneously dismember myself and ...
She's just a sick girl.
My mother grabs my shoulder to steady me, to stop me. I can't stop moving or else Nine will break my fingers for me. It might feel good, but Mom wouldn't like that. I rock back and forth on the bench we're sitting on because the motion silences Nine. Nine is quiet for now.
She's just a sick girl, she's just sick.
The words repeat over and over, like everyone needs to tell me. Is there a sign on me? The nurse passes, and she murmurs it to my mother. She's just a sick girl, she says, her eyes passing over me like I'm not there. The doctor rushes by, but not without muttering to my mother, "She's just a sick girl." Like he's telling her it's OK.
Nine is my friend, Nine only wants me to feel better. I feel fine, but I could feel better says Nine. If only I were to break my fingers, if only I were to push a little harder when I cracked my knuckles.
"Baby stop, you're going to hurt yourself," My mother says. What she really means, she doesn't say. She wants me to stop from trying to feel better so people will stop saying I'm sick. I'm not a sick girl. I'll be better soon, Mom.
She's just a sick girl. I get up, rocking to myself as I walk to keep in time with Nine's murmured caress. "To the bathroom," I mutter, keeping my eyes away from my mother. Nine says it's time, so I climb the stairs. We're in a corridor upstairs alone when Nine says it's time, it's the right place. I offer my hands up clasped like in prayer, ready for Nine.
The siren blares like a fire alarm with a low battery. It's best to do this quickly, so I begin flexing my fingers to pop my index finger out of place. The cacophony of commotion breaks through my reverie, inducing another quick snap before they come and tell me I'm a sick girl. I'm getting better with each snap.
"Don't hurt her! She's just a sick girl," cried the nurse who was clasping my hands together. Where had she come from? Reduced to nothing, I fell to the floor at the feet of guards and doctors, all equipped to sedate me. How had I gotten up here? How - oh. Oh, no.
I hadn't gone up the stairs with Nine. I'd ... The nurse had a bloody lip, but her eyes were still kind. "Take a deep breath, we'll give you your medication and the voices will stop. Take a deep breath," They echoed in unison, somehow, before the lights dimmed once more and I heard nothing, and felt nothing as the Thorazine rushed through me.
I'm just a sick girl.