“Luna,” I whisper, and the singing stops. “Luna, it’s me, Romeo.”
“Romeo,” she whispers back.
“Are you okay?” I ask. My fingers sliding amongst the rusty vent.
“Yes, are you? Did you get to keep your jacket?” she asks, her voice sounding a little louder as if she’s scooted to her vent on the other side.
Looking down at my arms, I don’t want to tell her no. She did all that just for me to keep the straitjacket.
“Yes, I have it,” I lie.
Quietness takes over, both of us sitting there.
“You’re bipolar,” she states and I frown.
“What is that?”
“When I was in the doctor’s office, I looked at your chart when his back was turned. He thinks your bipolar, like me,” she informs. I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like something out of a science book.
“It’s where we have dangerous moods, or something. They say we’re insane,” she continues, the news making me feel sad. I pick at the paint on the wall, not sure what to say.
“Why are you in here, Luna? What did you do for them to, you know, want to see what was wrong with you?”
Silence falls between us for seconds, minutes, maybe even an hour. She doesn’t reply. Laying my head against the wall, I begin to get sleepy again, my butt hurting from the cold hard floor. I should go back to bed, who knows what the doctor will have me do tomorrow. Hopefully my dad will come get me out of here.
“Hey Romeo?”
“Yeah?” I startle myself awake.
“Will you be my other sunflower?” she asks, and the corner of my lip corks up. Her and I both bipolar, turning toward each other in place of darkness.
“Yeah, I’ll be your sunflower.”
The next morning, I watched Luna draw from across the table. She would look up at me and smile every once in a while, and I’d smirk back. Luna Wild was the only thing that made me happy, I didn’t want to leave the hospital, so I kept acting out, hoping they’d keep me, but my dad showed up to break me out right on the twenty-four-hour mark. He signed some papers, made a follow-up appointment, and I was handed some medication to help balance my unnatural mood swings.
Sitting in the back seat of the car, my dad just shakes his head, mumbling under his breath. It feels weird being out of the hospital and in a car. I thought I’d enjoy the sunshine, the fresh air, but I don’t. The familiar smell of cigar smoke is oddly comforting though. My father is not happy, embarrassed probably that his son is sick. That’s what they tell me anyway; I’m sick.
“Romeo, don’t tell anyone about that place or about what went on. Nobody needs to know that you’re… you know… different.” He glances in the rearview mirror, his beady eyes piercing through me.
Glancing down at his shoulders, his fitted suit reminding me of the riches and power he has. If word got out that I had a mental disorder, his reputation among the men he works with would fall greatly. He’s ashamed of me, and it hurts to know I can’t do anything about it. Biting down on my emotions, I grip the orange bottle of pills in my hand. I feel angry, sad, and confused. The doctor didn’t fix me, and these pills aren’t going to work. I already miss Luna, she made me feel normal; happy. I can still see her crazy blonde hair, green eyes, and that damn song she’d hum all the time. I never did figure out what it was.
“Just take the pills, and try to act… I don’t know, more like your brother.” He sighs, turning down our street to our house. Kieran isn’t normal, he has anger issues as well, but compared to me, he’s Mr. Perfect. My dad always pushed me to follow in his footsteps, and after this… he’s going to want a carbon copy of my brother. We pass houses that all look identical. Two-story ivory colonial. Hedges of bushes up against the houses, a white wooden door with a golden knob. Only our house had a red door.
“When you go inside, smile, hug your mother and just act happy. Okay?” He continues to talk, pissing me off more. He should just drop me off at the hospital and tell everyone I ran away, it’d be best for everyone. He pulls into the driveway and my mother comes rushing out the front door. She looks glamourous in a blue dress and heels, my brother wearing nothing but a pair of sweats stands next to her with his arms crossed. Taking a deep breath, I plaster a smile on my face, feeling lost more than ever.
I don’t know what’s worse. Knowing I’ll never be happy, or having to act like I am for everyone else’s sake.
Romeo
15 years later
Sitting in my high back leather chair on the far side of the living room I stare at the cherry wood door, my right hand slowly fumbling the orange medicine bottle as I wait for my company to arrive.
Looking at the pills, I grit my teeth thinking about the time I was admitted into the psychiatric hospital, the flower girl with the crazy blonde hair. I’ll never forget it; I’ll never forget her. She made an impression on me for some reason or another, and I’m not sure why. There were hardly any words spoken between us. I’ve even went as far as looking her up a couple times, but always came up empty-handed. Luna Wild doesn’t exist.
Standing, I slip the pills into the pocket of my Armani pants, my feet padding across the room to reach the wet bar in search of a drink. Grabbing the McCallan, I pour three fingers worth and take a sip. Glancing straight ahead, I see myself in the mirror hanging on the wall. Hair disheveled and in my face, concealing my haunted eyes, my unbuttoned shirt showing my
