Chapter 19

First impressions matter.

They’re not meant to, so we’re told. Don’t judge a book and all that. But, unfortunately, they do. They matter.

Which was why I was surprised that I was the one chosen to greet out new resident. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with me, not that some duct tape over my mouth won’t cure, anyway, but Dr Connors wasn’t one to grant me any honours. Nor did he think of me much at all, other than as a subject for his various experiments. I mean treatments.

Yeah, that.

So, when he wanted me to welcome Leeloo (where do I know that name from?) into the asylum, I was, somewhat shocked.

All new patients had a ‘welcome’ committee when they arrived. Well, committee was perhaps a strong word. There was a meet and greet with one of the incumbents, at least. It made the transition from the real world to institutionalism easier. Not that many of them – or us – were sure was counted for the real world anymore. But, that was why we were in here. To be educated. Cured. Shown the way.

Halefuckingluliah.

Shock therapy, Room 101 and whatever dark secrets it held, and our little cells with the bright lights and nicely padded walls (all the better to stop you bashing your head in, my dear), were what passed for treatment. It wasn’t a treat, and the pain inflicted – especially by some of the orderlies – was meant. So, I suppose it earned its name.

So. Leeloo.

She came in smiling, being led, thankfully, by Jeremy. I think he might have been the reason she’d been placed with me. He had a sense about the residents. He knew what they needed and was willing to give it. That was when Connors and his cronies weren’t there to ensure only the best mistreatment was in supply.

She walked over to me before Jeremy had the chance to introduce us, seemingly knowing already that we were to be paired up for a time. It would only be a slack handful of days before she was able – or allowed – to go off on her own and make this place her home away from madness. Or was that the other way around?

She hugged me, wrapping her longer than expected arms around me tightly. After a few seconds, the time it took me to remember what an embrace felt like and remember there was a strict no touching rule (tell the orderlies that), I hugged her back. It was a moment of bliss, broken only by Jeremy’s subtle clearing of his throat, but it seemed to last an eternity. When we separated, it felt as if an eternity had passed since it had happened.

Leeloo looked at me with tears brimming in her eyes. She went to touch my cheek, but hesitated, the issue with the contact apparently apparent to her already.

“I’m sorry, Sin,” she said, gently.

I frowned, of course. Jeremy hadn’t said my name. I was sure Connors wouldn’t have given it. I was Patient 247 to him. Or was it 427? Did it matter? We were numbers. An income and a way to test some of his more abstract theories on the human mind.

Jeremy had already walked away when she spoke, so didn’t hear her use my name. No one was close, so there were no witnesses. I wondered if I’d been mistaken. I’d had my happy pills only a couple of hours earlier, so it was a possibility.

But I wasn’t. I could tell. The tears were real. She knew something. She knew me.

I shook my head and exhaled sharply. Nothing going on. Nothing happening. Just the tablets messing with my serotonin levels. They fiddled with the dosage regularly, and the mix. Sometimes it would be two of one, and one of another. Other times it could be five, all of different colours or sizes. We had to take them, whichever form they were given in. Tasers and batons made sure of it.

By the time I’d composed myself, Leeloo was already sitting over in the corner. The Cornercopias, that friendly little group ever fascinated by the smudge on the floor in the – you guessed it – corner, had automatically vacated the area to make way for her. There’d been no words exchanged, and nor was there any sense of animosity towards her for making them move. They had simply swapped the corner for the side, their eyes never leaving the nondescript smear they worshipped.

I sat beside her, wondering what to say. Usually, I had no issues. Words were currency in the hospital and, because we were effectively captive, so only had our small numbers to converse with, we were rich. I had little trouble thinking of things to say, especially when one of my friends was telling me about their lives and families – not always factual, though they weren’t necessarily aware. I would encourage them to speak. I’d prompt and cajole. Hours could pass.

Often, it was the only way to get through a day.

So, why were my words hiding in corners, now? Why did they not want to come out and play?

“It’ll be fine, Sin,” Leeloo said.

She was still smiling, but her cheeks were wet, and I fancied I should be able to see a rainbow in her eyes.

What?

“I mean it. Don’t worry. You’ll do what you need to. You’ll make it all right again.”

I could sense the weight in her words. The honesty, if not the truth of them. How could I make ‘all right’ everything I needed to? All those people who had died because of me?

But, she believed it. And she had the knowledge, somehow, to mean it.

I had to turn away. My own eyes were prickling, and I wasn’t one to show emotion, especially to someone I’d just met, no matter how much they seemed to be aware of every part of me.

Composed, I turned back – to empty space.

The chair beside me was empty. I stood, sharply, looking around. Leeloo was… gone. Even the Cornercopias had wrenched their attention from the floor and were looking around as confused as I.

Leeloo was gone. There was nowhere to go, but she’d gone.

So, first impressions are important. Her first impression will last.