When: November 13thWhere: Gold Valley Medical in a hospital roomWho: @amsnight

Waking up in a hospital room was a lot less dramatic in real life then it was on TV. The lights weren’t nearly as bright, in fact it seemed like they’d been dimmed. The room was surprisingly quiet there wasn’t a lot of beeping or doctors talking about her state or family or friends fretting. There wasn’t a weird breathing mask over Tia’s face or any IV’s in her arms. The only part that felt accurate to how TV described waking up in a hospital to be like was the pounding in her head. It felt as though someone had hit her over the head with an iron rod. She was about to rub her head when someone spoke up, pulling her attention to her left bed side.

“What happened?”

Tia jumped a little and winced when she moved her head too quickly to see who was there. Once she opened her eyes again she saw the familiar face of her friend and sorority sister Amara. Tia looked to her hand momentarily asking herself the same question as she tried to remember. The events for the day were monotonous for a moment, nothing stuck out that would explain why she’d be here. Until her eyes landed on her left ring finger which was wrapped in gauze. Then it all came rushing back. Her face went bright red with embarrassment as she moved her hands to cover her face only to wince at the pain of trying to bend her left ring finger. She gave a sheepish smile to Amara and used her right hand to cover her face.

music is therapy.  the sellers of it become therapists, like bartenders and liquor.  there’s a particular intimacy about a counter between yourself and the person trapped behind it.  if the building feels warm, if the setting is right, and your heart is split raw until near exploding...  gatsby has heard more secrets here than he cares to mention to most beyond his dearest and other half.  a sacred bond builds between him and his customers.  thus his preferred term for them, guests.  more friendly.  less regarding transactions, for there is more here than money.  he’s held hands and spoken softly to others on a higher occurrence than the amount of times he’s exchanged product for purchase.  

that is to say, this isn’t uncommon.  gatsby barely bats an eye as he watches the woman speak, shifting from side to side as though trying to softly rock the tears back into her eyes before they can fall down her cheeks.  everything about her makes gatsby think of knots.  built into her twisting fingers.  flickering eyes.  the pout of her mouth that looks ugly with her frustration and her grief, becoming altogether a new kind of beauty.  

emotion is beauty, isn’t it?  

gatsby’s never seen anything more lovely than mortals when most true and raw to themselves.  

     “they must be powerful people to you,” he speaks after a long moment passes; enough time for her to spill more if she so desires.  but her throat stays locked.  another knot built into her, temporarily or permanently gatsby isn’t hurt.  “if you listen to them like that... they’re powerful.  massive.  they want to own you and you’re hesitating.  or, if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.  talking to a stranger about it instead of someone you know or one of them.”  

it’s a blatant guess.  brave and bolder than he often is, more like the words indigo spills once free of her job and surrounded by those she wants to pick apart before death finds them.  her speaking through him, gatsby thinks.  half of whole; it happens enough that he’s not entirely surprised.  only struggles to know what he should say next in the silence that blossoms between himself and this young woman, the solemn darkness that leans towards awkward as they peer at one another.  finally he shifts.  picks up his pack of gum from the counter side closest to himself and brings it over to her.  

    “berries.”  a pause.  “i think.  take one.”

     “of course you don’t.”  

noah doesn’t know what she walks into half of the time when she goes from room to the room in the sorority.  chaos, hilarity, something tragic.  it’s like each space is a separate play all being performed at once, and noah’s the rotating audience.  seeing amara ten seconds away from falling apart – that’s more than tragic.  it’s knives in her heart until every beat feels like it hurts too much, like she wants to tear it out to take care of these girls better.  there’s no hesitation as noah crosses the room and slips to her knees in front of where amara sits.  she takes both of amara’s hands into her own.  thumbs to her wrists, moving slowly back and forth against her racing pulse.  

     “listen hon, i don’t know what’s been going on with you.  it’s not my business unless you want it to be, and i’m not about to beg you to spill.”  she says it as calmly as she can.  a measured voice, one paced more to match the motion of her fingers instead of the thundering in her ears that speaks of a bubbling panic.  “but if you’re upset, whatever it is or whoever it is that thinks they can claim you is wrong.  we only belong to ourselves, okay?  not our parents, not our siblings, not our boyfriends or girlfriends.  you belong to you, and that’s it.  period.”

sighing, noah brings amara into her arms.  tightens her grip around her like she’s afraid that too loose, and she’ll vanish into smoke.

     “you didn’t hear it from me, but if someone’s pissing you off and they’re in my class, i can give them a bad grade.  karma.”