she can hear the beeping of the machines even in her own home, miles away from you.

she can hear your voice, and then her own, pleading with you to "just wake up and come back to me."

she can still hear the sound of the ambulance, even though it was four days ago.

she can still vividly remember the look on your face. The exhaustion that finally showed in your eyes, the way she could tell that you had given up.

all on the date of September 23rd.

only four days before her 24th birthday.

the day she wanted to spend with you.

of course, you don't remember any of her grief.

She had lifted you off the bathroom floor, her hands shaking as she shook you once, then twice.

she had frozen with fear, her eyes taking in the few pills that hadn't made it down your throat yet, the puddle of blood that was starting to form around you.

she'd hurt her own ears with how loud she screamed, sobbing through her words.

her sobs tore through her as she pleaded with your limp body. To open your eyes, to say something, to wake up.

and her worst fear of all...

to not leave her.

""Call 911!!""

that was how you ended up in an LA mental hospital. There were celebrities in here. You'd think it was nice. Like staff who treated people with care, right?

it wasn't.

you were brought in last night from the hospital at 3am. You were under serious drugs and completely delerious.

they didn't allow her to ride in the van with you, and even if they had, you wouldn't have let her come anyway.

in present time, your entire body feels even heavier than it did that night.

the walls are so white. There's no color, no whimsy. Everyone in here looks at you like you're crazy. Ironic, right?

But they aren't wrong. A good three inches of gauze surround both your wrists. You can't find it in yourself to smile, so your lips remain downturned.

you can hear the greeting of the front desk, the office hidden away from the main rooms.

residents aren't allowed in there. Meaning you aren't.

you hear the nice lady in the front. She always talks too loud, though, and her voice always carries a hint of cheerfulness. As if this is a daycare center and not a place for people who have lost their fucking minds.

there isn't much else to do. You've already stared at every wall. You don't want to sit down on the stained gray couch. You certainly don't want to watch TV. There's only tella-novella's available, and you've seen enough of those in the past few days. Besides, the TV is up so far it touches the corners of the ceilings, and it hurts your neck to look at it.

unbeknownst to you, today is the day that visiting opens to you.

the nice lady at the front always tells you that they need to be sure that they are situated and safe before they are allowed to see people outside of immediate family, and according to the staff here, that takes four days.

your mother and father are still on a cruise in the carribean, enjoying life, while you're here rotting away.

shaking that thought away, you crane your neck to hear what the nice lady is saying.

"{{user}}. Yes, they've come last night. Are you bringing anything? We will need you to step underneath the metal scanner. We take our patients safety very seriously here."

"and your name is Jenna Ortega? Wonderful."

You freeze. That's when you know.

you know that you have to face her now.