trapped moths are pained stories in need of telling

there is beauty in the slow breath

that comes from letting go of

the things you’ve been holding

with clenched fists

— Raquel Franco

I tap on the door frame three times and wait until the girl looks up slowly, apparently lost somewhere in the realms of her own thoughts. I gaze at the circles under her eyes, the messy, wavy light brown hair that ends in the middle of her forearms, and the delicate frame that seemed to get a little smaller since the last time I had seen her - an army green t-shirt pulled over a long-sleeved white cotton shirt, leaving way too much space between her and the soft material. My eyebrows furrow, scanning the white knuckles as her hand holds on tightly to the bed sheets, the notepad and pen by her side all but forgotten.

A bad day?

I decide not to play subtleties with her. No point. We were both suffering because of the sickness that settled too deeply in our bones. Pretending did neither of us any good. She frowns and then winces. Without realizing it fully, she scratches at the top of her right hand where a big, square bandage sticks to the skin, faint blue and purple bruises coloring the edges and spreading from under it.

Yeah, you could say that.

She looks down at her hand and the reddened, marked skin there and sighs, making herself stop what she's doing.

New meds are always a bust.

She looks up at me and tilts her head a bit.

And what are you doing here? On this fine, glorious day in the asylum headquarters?

My eyebrows lift, impressed.

Be careful there. You're starting to sound like me.

She frowns in dislike.

Ah, and we wouldn't want that, would we now?

I bite on my lower lip so I don't grin as I hear the tones behind the words.

Sarcasm, darling? Please stop. Now that is just straight flattery right there.

The sides of her lips twitch slightly, and I take it as a good sign.

There you go, some regular people's facial reactions. There might still be a chance for you.

Normal folks would have missed you.

She rolls her eyes.

Define normal.

Good point.

I watch as she moves her knees close to her chest and lifts the covers almost all the way to the neck, covering herself up, her body language feeling deflated and tired. She trembles slightly, and my eyebrows crunch together again. I walk over and sit next to her. Then, I tap the sheets where I believe her knee is, hopefully in a comforting way.

Is that your way of trying to lift my spirits?

Morgan's eyebrow arches in a judgemental manner, and I shrug my shoulders lightly.

I have a limited range of human interactions. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Her shoulders shrug too, and she stares to the side, her gaze lingering on the window and the clear Autumn sky behind it. The wind seemed to settle down more now that I was out of its eager reach. Of course.

Don't be. You're doing better than my parents and all my friends put together. Not that there are that many left by now. I don't blame them. I feel rather boring even to myself.

She inhales deeper and rests her chin against her knees, her body still shivering. I stand up automatically, grab a blanket from a nearby chair, outstretch it in the air, and lightly let it fall over the sheets. Morgan doesn't seem to notice, and I sit back on the plastic chair, not really looking for any reaction from her. I cross my arms, and my head tilts to the side as if I was listening to something that probably no one else could catch. Since I started to hear voices in my head and then later after meeting Charlie, my senses had heightened not just in the physical spectrum but also when it came to empathy. Often, it brought me even bigger migraines when I had to listen to too many things at once, but surprisingly, it had a good side to it. It meant that for some bizarre reason, I could be helpful to someone instead of just causing chaos and dislike. Maybe that's why I connected so well to Clair and her silent grieving. Because I could tap into her feelings and emotions, and not just because I could relate to her story - I think that was why I saw all those visions of her life before in my thoughts. I was closed in many ways when it came to interacting with other people, but there were also many doors that opened in me since my demons became louder and extremely vocal. When one door closes, someone else unexpectedly opens a window.

And this was my window.

That's why now, my eyes widen as I sense too many things in one blow, invisible bricks falling one by one over my head, making me wince. I look at Morgan and feel a wide range of her feelings. I sense loneliness and guilt, almost perspiring from her skin, cursing through the blood and nearly crashing her bones. Such sadness in such a young body. My heart starts to beat faster as I feel something else I didn't fully realize before. I can almost smell it. Sickness. Worn-out cells and structures. And there was something else. It tasted nasty. Both sour and bitter flavors in my mouth as if I had a pill on my tongue for too long. I shiver and feel nauseous. But again, it doesn't come from me. I swallow, and the taste goes away as if it was never there, quickly replaced by all her emotions again, hitting me one by one until it feels like someone has knocked all the air out of my lounges, throat tightening as if I had just spent many days in the desert, scratching mercilessly like sandpaper. I must have made a strange sound because Morgan turns around and looks back at me, alarmed, while her sadness and loneliness still swirls around me. I shake my head at her in surprise and worry and then lean in with urgency, slipping onto the bed and resting my head on her knees, my arms wrapping around her legs and back. I feel pain, love, and concern spilling out of me in waves, gushing all over the bed and Morgan's curled figure, slushing against the floor and sinking into the walls. It feels like everything that bursts out of me wants to explode, covering every inch on its way.

I'm sorry that he's gone.

I choke out, my throat still tight and dry.

I know how much you loved him. I know how it hurts... how that pain and sorrow wants to rip you apart... and how it never truly lets you go. Trust me, I know.

My voice is barely audible when I whisper into her knees, my arms holding her with every ounce of bruised, tattered love I still had to give.

I'm so sorry, Morgan. I can't do much... but I'm here... I'm here.

I think of her little kid brother and hold on to her as tight as my arms will let me. I feel like I'm not only consoling her but myself in the process as well. I sense it as I hold her even tighter, as all the warmth in my body expands and spreads out to her, trying to coat her every fiber into something warm, safe, and familiar. Something that she used to know before her entire world came crashing down. I sense her slight form freeze for a moment into a sharp, rough stone, and then, I nuzzle my face deeper into her knees, fingers holding on tightly to the sheets - as if I was trying to hold an earthquake in place before it started. And soon enough, it comes. Her body trembles and shakes uncontrollably. Bulldozers tumbling down the mountain, bouncing off the cliffs, and falling into the sea, causing countless ripples into the tides. The images fill my mind just before Morgan starts to sob uncontrollably, howling into my hair, leaving wet traces of tears on the side of my neck, and into the material of my hoody. I sigh slightly, feeling full to the brim as if the whole universe of pain and ache nestled itself into my bones - my body taking in the sorrow that seemed to have no end. I help her lift above the waves in these raw moments that come with being vulnerable with another human being.

I failed in so many ways in my life, making one careless mistake after another. But this I could do. I could help lift her pain, hand in hand. My fingers trace her back soothingly, and more of her tears roll down, the sobs gradually becoming less erratically until it's just soft, small teardrops staining her cheeks. She sniffs several times and strokes the side of my arm as if mesmerized by the movement - I know the simple action brings her comfort. Maybe it's easier for her when she imagines comforting me instead.

I left snuffs all over your jacket and blouse.

She says in a muffled, hoarse voice, sniffing a few more times. And then she starts to awkwardly release herself from my embrace. This time, I let her. I feel the tides calm down and pass. For a second, I look out the window above her head and imagine the weight that holds her down lifting in the air in the form of a big, red balloon. My imaginary fingers cut the string that's attached to her waist and watch as it glides outside, not caring about the glass in front of it, but simply sliding past it and disappearing into the cold Autumn sky. I knew it was only one of many pains that invaded her chest, but it was a good start. Every little helps. I look back at Morgan and smile lightly.

No big deal. I hear a nice pattern on the fabric always makes it look more interesting.

Fashionable even.

She laughs out surprised, after everything that had just happened, and grabs a tissue from her nightstand, blowing her nose with impressive power.

Then you're definitely trending now.

She finally notices the blanket, surprised, and smooths it out several times as if wanting to gain back some control. I smile with warmth at her and gaze at her curiously, my mind already realizing some things. Loudly. Very Loudly. It was her voice I'd heard in the park next to the hospital. Maybe I felt it even then before stepping into the building. I remember staring at it as Charlie stood next to me, feeling and sensing that whatever I heard came from the walls inside the impressive structure in front of me. Though I never actually thought I would be lucky enough to find the source of it. Not until I sensed her and all the emotions running through her tired body. I just knew. Gently, I tap her leg under the blanket to catch her attention, feeling that she needed personal space to calm down and regain some of the dignity that her outburst caused - at least that's how it felt to her, I can tell.

And I was never the one to hover, the introverted parts of me not wanting to intrude.

I need to go now. A certain male nurse will have his lunch soon.

Free food for the wicked?

Something like that. Plus an order of temporary awkwardness.

I say before I can stop myself, and she lifts her eyebrows before pulling them together into a scowl.

What did you do?

Why do assume it was my fault, little girl?

I stand up and dust off some imaginary dirt from my jacket. And then I cross my arms with the corner of my lips slightly lifting.

The better question is, why do you bother to ask me about the obvious?

True.

She waits a moment, then tilts her head again, not fooled.

So what did you do?

That's none of your concern, and I assure you, I have papers for it from MY asylum.

Good to know.

She nods, judging me without any remorse. I gaze at her for a while, taking her whole frame in. The body language, the emotions - but feel nothing out of the ordinary.

You look better. I believe it's safe to let you be?

She crosses her arms, calculating something for a moment.

If you tell anyone about what happened here, I will find you and haunt you down. This hospital bed will not stop me, trust me.

Oh?

My smile grows.

I will heal and get better, even if it's just to kick your ass. Repeatedly.

I couldn't be more proud if you were my own flesh and blood.

See you later, stalker.

Morgan mumbles and sighs like a tired parent of a misbehaving child, and I salute her, which earns me a dramatic eye-roll and then leave her room. Alright then, let's have a little frisome in the nurse's room.

Me, him, and the pink elephant smack in the middle.

___________