Leave a Trace: Book Two

Chapter Seven: Emma Scott; Part Two

Chapter Seven: Emma Scott; Part Two

Rosabelle, Sixteen years old, her third day in rehab

My shrink walks with me down the hallway, my arm resting in a sling.

"It's cold in here." I mumble, my eyes locked on the floor. My face is hidden by my hair.

"I know." She says. "Cold air kills bacteria. Did you know that?"

"Bacteria? This is a mental hospital. People with mental illnesses don't have bacteria."

"I know." She says. "How are you today?"

"I miss Vanessa." I whisper.

"I'm sure she misses you too." She smiles softly. "But your roommate is really nice. Her name is Emma."

"What's she in here for?" I ask.

"How about you ask her that?" She stops in front of a white door. "This is your room." She opens the door.

A girl with very wavy dark brown hair, almost black really, and brown eyes sits there, tracing a pattern on her white blanket. She looks up at the sound of the door opening.

What if she's mean? What if she's just like Alyssa Fisher? That girl made a t-shirt of my naked body. What if this girl is just like her?

"Come on in, Rosabelle. Emma is nice, right Emma?"

"I guess." She says dully, looking back at her blanket. She's really thin. I wonder if she has an eating disorder or something.

I step into the room, looking at the empty bed.

I drop my duffel back on it with my right hand.

"Emma, this is your new roommate, Rosabelle. Rosabelle, this is Emma. She's going to be your partner through this. She got here three days ago too. You guys bond, and I'll come get you in a little while for dinner."

Dr. Wilson walks out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Emma and I fall into an awkward silence, and I hide my hair with my face.

What if she thinks I'm ugly too? What if she thinks my ribs are weird too?

My eyes well with tears and I look away.

"You have pretty hair." Emma says softly. My eyes snap to hers. She looks hesitant. Scared, even, and I notice a big bandage wrapped around her thigh.

"Thank you." I whisper. "So do you. Do you dye it?"

"No." She sniffles and looks down at her blanket.

"Well it's pretty." I climb into the bed and look down at my own covers.

She likes my hair? She doesn't think my hair is ugly?

"Did you cut your thigh?" I ask. She looks at me.

"What?"

"I asked you if you cut your thigh." I whisper.

She looks wearily at me.

"Yes." She swallows. "But I couldn't get the bleeding to stop, and my Dad panicked and called the cops." She looks down with a frown. "Did you cut your shoulder?"

"Yup. Nicked an artery."

"Did it hurt?"

I hesitate. "I'm used to it." I whisper. "You know if you put cornstarch on a cut it'll stop bleeding?"

She frowns. "Cornstarch?"

"Yeah. They use it on dogs when you cut their nail too short."

"How did you learn that?" She asks.