#offeredlamb

the sofa is cold. palms spread over the cushion at either side of her hips and emily shifts uncomfortably where she's expected to stay. wait for the newest in a long, continual string of doctors who she's been reassured have a careful touch and good intentions. here for the sake of progress..

but even progress makes her nerves stand at attention. somewhere, in the back of her mind, grace's soothing voice is replayed. she'd promised her a movie. that they would paint the walls of her room bright, vibrant colors the next weekend she was free from work. she had promised her that the trip wouldn't take more than an hour and she'd see her soon after. but that was the problem. when her held hand was relinquished and she'd been called brave, emily swallowed on the pulse her anxiety fluttered. beat back a rush of nausea and let mostly clear eyes pick out the tiny, doodled flowers at the toes of her sneakers instead.

she wasn't going with her. not this time.

leon is nice, but his hands lack the warmth of grace's and his weight, still beside her, fails to assuage the rising tempo of her silent unravelling. in a building so antiseptic, the lights above them cold and glaring, she makes it to the waiting room with whatever sliver is left of a weak resolve. and then.. " .....i don't want to go back there. " where the last two children had been led, their parents in tow and conversation turning towards the cough that's lasted two months for one and a low grade fever that'd sprouted late last night for the other.

fingers begin their curl, short-bitten nails scratching the underside of stitched leather that's given all the chances of her own bottom lip, tugged by teeth into a gathered worry. " can we leave ? " bravery has its limits and hers shrinks under the flash of a stethoscope. " i wanna go home. "

the sofa is uncomfortable. the backs of her legs stick to the unnatural material, leaving her to fidget while she waits. catch a stray edge of lifted.. leather ? plastic ? the feel is off, rubbed between thumb and forefinger before tugging. until what was small is large. proof she had been here. proof while she counts the span to one minute, then two, and loses track someplace before five. grace is gone, off to clear a path or find something she'd forgotten, and the room is silent without her.

or it had been, for a stretch.

an open door, near silent footsteps, she'd have missed them if she hadn't grown used to needed perception. an adjustment that lifted her head, turned it so, and tracked the approach with caution, " ..grace ? "

before the voice came, she'd known it wasn't her. felt the surge of panic seize a grip at the curve of the cushions and inch emily nearer a retreat that wouldn't last long or go far. this room is a mystery, size and shape a confusing labyrinth she has no context to base off of. if she'd been there before, she didn't remember.. cold wood and a cold couch and the air stinking with some old, ingrained sickness. but she'd run if she had to. stumble until the path ended. feel her way across the floor on hands and knees and—

" @v0id0ut ? " quiet, but hopeful, what had verged on panic capsizes quick for an alternative. one big, deep breath of a feeling. shuddered relief, emily abandons the now gaping cleft she'd forged beside her for the sake of raised arms, hands outstretched and fingers in a hesitant splay. " neil ? " a second wasn't necessary, she'd heard him and shed her concern in a scoot forward, " i think something bad happened to the doctors. " and the patients. and that lady with the sweet voice who'd once told her she was adorable with offered sweets and a stroke to her cheek. by the sound of it, no one was spared past that door that should've been blocked. maybe he'd seen grace on his way in ?

it's cold out here. there's something wet on the ground, displaced by a hesitant step that settles in the center of it with hollow curiosity. grace is asking her a question but the world feels large and hungry where she's placed. somewhere new to pat her hands. across a table she finds a paper, loose but torn at the edge. there's old rings in the wood, a short-clipped nail traces it twice before she answers, " no. " comes out soft. quiet. it's a secret shared with the walls and the warmth of a touch smoothed down her arm. leading to a seat she doesn't immediately take.

" where are we going ? " someplace she hasn't been before. where tile will give way to carpet, she hopes. where the echoes of a far off wail can't reach them. another in a long line and gooseflesh is on the rise. it stipples across her chest and the narrow of her spine. until emily is shuddering and an over-sensitive ear works itself down against her shoulder. grinds out what isn't meant to be there. one big scoop and she's back in the room. she's edging the backs of her knees against the sofa and, before sitting, pauses long enough to chew her lip with absent wonder. " i'm not supposed to leave this wing. "

the late night adventures of little girls, their fingers laced and their giggles poorly muffled behind one another's hands.. she can remember them, though they'd begun to fog in their margins, blotted out like so much else. tiptoeing where they oughtn't, it'd been harmless adventure. and then it was over. it was done and the details are too murky to make out while focused elsewhere. here with @riphalos and her tender leverage, depriving those noises of the fear they'd have otherwise earned.