Chapter 17: Zoya
While the others sit around the circle of candles, taking a break, I sneak the journal again and read another entry, hoping that Tanveer doesn't notice.
September 8, 1981
Last night I was punished. There's a women who murdered her husband. She got moved to my room, to the bed right next to mine.
And she scares me even more than Jessica.
I didn't want to sleep next to her, so I refused to go to bed. The next thing I know, 4 nurses came at me, ripped off my clothes, and threw me in one of the seclusion rooms in the back. I wouldn't stop kicking and screaming and punching the door, so they came back in, held me down, and injected me with something to make me sleep.
I hate this place. I hate the smell here'a mix of urine and bleach. And I hate most of the nurses. Some of them are so unbelievably cruel, especially to the older patients. They make them walk around naked'for ease, I think, so they don't have to keep changing them. And then they hose them down for cleaning.
A couple days ago, Vicky, this one crazy nurse, tied naked Mrs. Delaney to a chair with a bed sheet. Vicky kept her there pretty much all day, but Mrs. Delaney didn't complain too much since she'd been all drugged up.
Did I mention that I hate the drugs here? The pills I take make me jumpy all the time. Everybody tells me that I'll get used to the medication, that soon I'll settle in and make this place my home.
But I'll never call this place anything else but hell. The only good thing is that I've become friends with this one girl, Becky, who's in here because she kept plucking out all her hair. She wears a wig now, and her dad visits her at least a couple times a week. We go out on the terrace together sometimes for a smoke and talk about what we'll do once we get out of this place. She has all these ideas, but I can't think of one, so I just listen, and she doesn't seem to mind. She has a doll that she carries around all the time. It's made of cloth and yarn, so the nurses let her keep it. Plus, it's missing the button eyes, so there's nothing she can use to hurt herself.
Yesterday, Becky asked me to draw eyes on the doll for her. I did, using black and blue fine-point markers, giving her the biggest, longest eyelashes a girl could ever have. Becky was so happy with the job I did, with the sparkly shade of blue I chose, that she renamed the doll after me' calling her Nicki.
More tomorrow.
P.S. Tomorrow is my birthday.
I'll be seventeen.
Happy Birthday to me.
I close the journal and take a deep breath, wishing this were all one big dream that I could wake up out of, wondering how a girl my age could end up here.
I glance toward Nikhat's watercolor again, focusing a moment on all the missing pieces'an arm, a hip, her mouth, the feet, her heart'and then I flip it over to look at the date. She painted it almost one full year after her first journal entry, making me wonder if this place only made her worse.
"What do you think?" Tanveer asks.
My heart jumps just hearing her voice'realizing that she's been watching me all this time. The shadow of a candle flame flickers against her chin and crawls up her face, cutting it in two.
"Are you okay?" Asad asks, sensing my anxiety.
I nod, grateful for his concern. Contrary to what I'd heard about him prior to coming here, he's been really sweet to me, asking me how I am at every ten-minute interval. And sticking close by me.
"I think she haunts this place," Tanveer says. "I think she wanted someone to find her picture and journal."
"And I think you've been watching too many scary movies," Asad says, passing me an opened box of Cheez-Its.
I frown at it'at the idea of eating products that contain hydrogenated oils'but I take a handful anyway to be polite.
I go to pass the box to Ayaan, but he and Humaira are way too busy arguing over some storyboards that he made up. Apparently Ayaan has his own ideas for how Asad's film should look.
"Who says this Nikhat chick is even dead?" Asad asks, distracting me from eavesdropping.
"That graffiti we saw on the wall," Tanveer says. "Remember . . . the writing that said her body is buried out in the garden."
"But who even knows if that was true?" I ask for my own benefit. "Maybe it was someone who saw her journal and decided to be funny."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Tanveer arches her eyebrows, like she can sense my discomfort'and enjoys it.
"Speaking of graffiti," Imran begins, "You know what I think is really weird?"
"The writing in the hydrotherapy room?" Tanveer answers.
Imran nods, totally in sync with her. "Nothing like taking a whiz in front of a sign that says 'I've been waiting for you.' Talk about pressure."
"But it's true," Tanveer says. "They have been waiting for us."
"Who?" I ask, somehow already knowing the answer.
"The spirits that linger here, the ones like Nikhat who can't move on."
"Do you think Nikhat's the one who wrote that graffiti?" Imran asks her.
"Are you kidding me, man?" Asad says, giving Imran's shoulder a push, "I can't believe you're getting sucked into this. I mean, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but last I heard, ghosts don't graffiti walls."
"How do you know?" Tanveer asks. "Ever ask one?"
"Will you listen to yourself?" Asad aims his camera at her. "You're starting to sound a little weird, here'I mean, even weirder than usual."
"And that means so much coming from a stellar guy like you," Tanveer says.
Asad peeks up at me, a bit embarrassed, maybe, because he quickly looks away. I can't help but wonder if the embarrassment is because of his reputation'if maybe he's afraid of me finding out about him.
Even though I already know.
"What do you think the spirits are waiting for?" Imran continues, obviously interested in all of Tanveer's ghost talk.
Tanveer takes a couple Cheez-Its and slides them into her mouth. "I don't know," she says finally. "I mean this place is going to be torn down next week. Maybe they need our help to tie up some unfinished business. Or maybe it's just a question of being heard . . . of getting their stories told."
I look at Asad to catch his reaction, but he doesn't really have one. And so I have to ask him: "What do you think of that?"
"Of what?" he asks, looking back at me.
"Of being the one responsible for telling the story of this place?"
Asad's jaw tenses, as if the idea of it stresses him out. But he tries to make light of it: "You don't really believe all that stuff, do you?"
I shrug, honestly not knowing what to believe. I mean, logic would tell me that none of this paranormal stuff is true. But then why do I feel this compulsion to sink myself deeper into this place'to touch that noose, and feel that watercolor picture, and read from Nikhat Khan's journal?
And why do I feel like I'm being watched'like there are eyes in the walls, along the ceilings, and behind every doorway? I'm scared out of my mind, and yet I can't help but wonder what it would be like to wander down the hallway by myself, to go exploring in one of the wings, and to sit in one of the patient chairs. If the others weren't around, I'd probably be reading Nikhat Khan's journal right now'only stopping when I reached the very last word.
Asad looks back toward Humaira and Ayaan, seeking a diversion maybe. It appears that she and Ayaan have made up. They've scooted away, into a corner of the room, sitting with their legs wrapped around each other. Humaira whispers something into Ayaan's ear, and he responds by kissing her lips, not once but three times.
"At least we've got ourselves a little entertainment," Imran says, stuffing the last of the Cheez-Its into his mouth and topping it off with a swig of Yoo-hoo. (Yoo-hoo = a nauseating blend of over processed milk, high fructose corn syrup, and cocoa.)
"More like a freak show," Tanveer corrects, just a tad bit too loud.
"You're one to talk," Humaira says between smooches.
Asad laughs, but Tanveer looks hurt. She shrugs it off and focuses down at her black-polished fingernails'obviously not as tough and resilient, as she'd like us all to believe.
"Did you know that there are close to three hundred germs in the human mouth?" I ask, trying to lighten things up.
"That's gross," Tanveer says.
"But sharing your mouth with someone' kissing," I continue, "does help to support the immune system. Because, even though most of the germs in our mouths are the same, there are a small percentage of exclusive germs in there. Sharing those helps boost our immunity."
"Sounds like you've done your homework," Asad says.
"I'd like to do some homework." Imran raises his hand.
"Honestly," Tanveer says, "do you ever quit?"
"They don't call me Imran, the Energizer Honey, for nothing."
"Funny," she says. "I thought what they called you was Imran, the Energizer Dummy."
"You know you love me," Imran says, bumping her with his shoulder.
Oddly enough, Tanveer doesn't object. She even has a quirky little smile curled across her lips. They end up moving away, into a faraway corner- peculiarly across from Humaira and Ayaan- engrossed in conversation.
"So," Asad says, sensing the sudden awkwardness. "Cracker Jack?" He holds the sailor-adorned box out to me as an offering. But even the promise of a prize inside doesn't tempt me.
"No thanks," I say, pulling a Balance Bar from my bag. "I think I've had my fill of food additives for the day."
"So you're a health freak?"
"Sort of." I shrug, tearing at the wrapper. "I'm going to be a doctor."
"For real?"
I shrug again, breaking off a piece of my bar for him. Asad pops it into his mouth. "It tastes like sandpaper," he says between chews.
"They call it Almond Brownie."
"Almond Sandpaper, maybe."
I smile and take a bite, noticing how, despite all this ghost talk, I'm feeling a bit more at ease'for the first time tonight.
"So how come you don't seem so excited?" he asks me.
"About what?"
"About working with drugs."
"Seriously?" I nearly choke on my Almond Brownie.
"No, I'm kidding." Asad smiles. "About getting to see people naked."
I can't help but laugh in response.
He grabs a bottle of water from his bag and passes it to me. "In all seriousness," he says, "how come you're not more excited about entering a profession with so many perks?"
"Because I'm scared that no colleges will accept me."
"Are you trying to be modest?" He positions the camera so that it points upward at us.
"I'm trying to be honest," I correct, following up with a sip of water. A trickle rolls down my chin.
"Well, I've heard about your grades," Asad continues. "I'm sure you'll get in wherever you applied."
"You'd be surprised."
Asad gives me a look'his eyebrows crinkling up like he just doesn't get it. I take another bite of my bar to avoid having to answer further probing, but now he's staring right at my mouth as I chew, waiting for some explanation. "Where are you going next year?" I ask, once I can swallow down.
"Khan's Diner, ever hear of it? Best pancakes on the North Shore. And no food additives whatsoever."
"For real?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Food additives are a cook's best friends."
"No." I smile. "I mean, are you serious about working at your parents' place? Didn't you say before that you didn't want to work there?"
He nods. "But unless something better comes up, I have no choice."
I glance at the camera, suspecting that something better has a lot to do with this project. Asad leans forward to click the camera off, and for one disappointing moment I think our conversation ended.
But then I realize that things are just getting started.
"I want to be a filmmaker," he says, a shy little smile inching up his lip.
"Seriously? Like, for work?"
"Seriously," he says, staring at my mouth again. "For work."
"That's so exciting," I say, accidentally bumping my knee against his. He smells like citrus and candy'like something good enough to eat.
Asad goes on to tell me all about the contest he's entering, about how if he wins, his film will be shown on RTV. "It's just what I get really excited about," he says.
"That's great," I say, wondering what it feels like to be that excited about anything. Asad's chocolate eyes are wide, like I could jump right in. The feeling completely takes me aback'how close I feel to him, how excited I am just talking like this. It almost makes me forget where I am.
And whom I'm with.
I think back to that time during our freshman year, when we were both standing outside the school, waiting for the bus. He was staring at me then, too. I could feel his eyes, watching as I turned the pages of my book. I knew he wanted to say hello, but he didn't. Of course, it didn't help that I ended up walking away, leaving him there because I was too nervous to say something interesting' or maybe I simply didn't feel I had anything interesting to say.
"Is it that way for you, too?" he asks, nudging in a little closer. The candle flame casts a shadow over his light brown hair. "I mean, what do you get excited about?"
I bite the corner of my lip, remembering how the guidance counselor had asked me almost the same thing. But the truth is, when you take away my goal of becoming a doctor, of going to Harvard, and studying my way to get there, there isn't much left'just a dull girl with an endless supply of health-nut trivia. A girl who doesn't have time for friends or boyfriends'who's last date was in the third grade, during a school field trip to the Museum of Science.
"It's not a trick question," Asad says. "I mean, do you get excited about medicine stuff . . . about playing doctor?" He smiles extra wide, making my cheeks heat up.
I give an enthusiastic nod, but it's nowhere near as enthusiastic as Asad's'the way he looked when he was talking about his film. "My parents and I have been planning this since forever," I say. "They bought me a real first-aid kit when I was eight years old. They let me tape up their fingers and wrap up their knees as practice."
"So they're excited."
I nod.
"And how about you?"
I open my mouth to say something'to give him one of my stock answers, something I've scripted for guidance counselors or admissions reps'but instead I just keep silent.
"It's okay if you don't know," Asad says. "I mean, my parents have got it all planned out for me, too. Sometimes it's easier not to think about it, to just go with the flow and let somebody else decide."
I nod, gazing at his mouth'at the pale pink color'wondering if all those rumors about him are true.
"I'm glad you're here," he says, moving even closer to me. He takes my hands and presses his thumbs into my palms. And makes my heart beat fast.
He stares at me for several moments, and I notice how his eyelashes turn upward, how his eyes look so serious' like he needs to tell me something. And how his breath is warm against my chin. "I'm not sure what you've heard about me," he says finally, "but I think we have a lot in common."
"I'm glad I'm here, too," I say, knowing that we do have a lot in common and hoping to get to know him more.
Soo... Do you like it???? Please comment and like if you do!!! 😊
Edited by Nandini0910 - 12 years ago
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