She yawned and opened her eyes. She saw the bleak white room around her, smelled the antiseptic, and for a moment was unsure of where she was. Only a moment, though.
She slid her feet out from under the covers, and lay there for a minute feeling the cool air from the fan dance across her toes. If she had been somewhere else, it might have been enjoyable. As it was, she just sighed and sat up, put on her socks, and walked across the room to her industrial-sized suitcase. No one unpacked here, because no one could be sure if they would stay for five months or five days; there was just no point in trying to get comfortable.
Once she was dressed, Ellie walked down the hall to breakfast. There were a couple kids there, but most were still asleep. That’s one aspect of her old life that she’s retained – she cannot sleep late. Ellie took a piece of slightly burnt toast from kitchen and sat down by herself at a table. After what seemed like an hour of staring blankly at her plate, Ellie looked up and noticed she was alone – everyone else had already left breakfast. In the past, before all of this had happened, being alone bothered Ellie more than anything else. Now it’s just a part of her everyday life.
They all stared as she walked into the classroom. No one judged, but everyone gazed, twenty pairs of eyes seeing through her to the core. It was her turn to speak, to let out anything she needed to say. She was staring at the ground, trembling and whispering, no one hearing her words, but everyone still listening. Then her head rose, and along did her voice. She stopped shaking, and as she spoke, she grew. When she finished she sat down, tears slipping down her cheeks for the first time since she got to the hospital. And that’s how she knew she would be okay.
Ellie found strength that day, something she thought the drugs took away from her. And that strength allowed her to not only live through this, but to become a better person.