Art by Defne Arhun

“Alright, Jupiter. Good news is that I’m seeing some major improvement,” Dr. Lennon says as he slowly flips through his notes. The last few weeks of my life are neatly printed in his handwriting, his comments surrounding things I’ve said, much like the actions separating me from the rest of the world I was too close to not seeing.            He looks like he’s lying to me, and I don’t like liars. If I could, I’d leave now, but I also don’t like rude people. I definitely don’t want to be rude. I look up at him and smile.            I guess I’m the liar now, because it’s the fakest smile I’ve given in a long time.           “Am-m,” I stutter and my voice trails off. His eyes shift off his notes to meet mine.           “It’s okay, son. Try again,” his words are crisp and soft, caring almost. He talks with his hands, too, which is comforting for a reason I’ll never understand. I refuse to believe him when he speaks. I dislike when he calls me son. I am not his son, I am his patient.            “Am I better? Do I get to go home?” I say after I stalled for a good minute or two; my voice sounds overpowering after the silence.            “Well. That depends on you. Help was necessary, you’ve received it, and you’ve gotten far better; enough to know that you’re not going to hurt yourself anymore. Isn’t that right?” He tilts his head at an angle, as if he were adjusting to find the perfect spot that allows him to look straight into my soul. I wish I could say, “someone who did what I did doesn’t want help.” However, despite my will, I don’t. That’s not what an adult would want to hear.            “Yeah… yeah. You’re right. I think I’m okay,” I say quietly.            “You think? Or you know? This is your life. If you want to stay a while, that’s okay. If you feel safer at home, that’s beyond okay. That’s my goal,” he says, sitting back in his chair. The leather is a warm brown, and very broken in.            “I don’t wanna set us back. We have… uhm… improved a lot since my first session with you. I just don’t know if I feel safe anywhere.” My eyes are locked on the wooden floor and I can feel the look on his face without having to see it.           “You don’t feel safe anywhere? What is there here that’s threatening you?” He reaches out and physically lifts my chin so I can see his face again. It’s a soft move of dominance.           “Me, I guess.”           There is silence. My words are shocking, to both me and Dr. Lennon. This whole session has been off; I know him. I know what he wants me to say. I’m used to the soft creases around his dimples, the ring of light green around the edge of his blue irises. His skin is old, and his hair is gray with streaks of white. Honesty leaves me feeling oddly exposed and his face with a look I haven’t seen on him before.            My head hurts and I feel a tear run down my cheek. I haven’t cried in so long; at least since the first time I got here.           “You should stay. You’re safe here because I’m going to be taking care of you. I’m going to keep taking notes, and we are going to use this to help figure out when you feel ready to be released. Is that okay with you?” He passes me a tissue.            Something washes over me.           Something unbearable.           I feel an excruciating heat rising in every part of my body. Fury. I want to leave this facility, but I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to make choices. I don’t want to be anywhere. I don’t want to be alive.           So much heat.           I’m back to where I was seven weeks ago, when I first got here. Back to square one. Back to the reason I was put here in the first place. I’m losing it again; I’m out of control. I claw at my palms with my nails, hands clenched in fists.            “Son, are you okay?” he says, hand still extended holding the tissue.           “Don’t call me that! I am not your son! I am not your research!” I scream. I’m standing now. I can feel my hands shaking.           There are specks of blood on the floor from the cuts on my hands after clenching my fists. I didn’t even realize I had made cuts that deep. I haven’t been thinking about anything other than how bad I hate being monitored. I want to go; I don’t know where, but anywhere that’s not here. My tears are hot, and there are a lot of them. I hate this life.           “Alright, I respect that,” Dr. Lennon says, standing up. He places the tissue neatly back in its box, and begins to wipe my hands with a soft floral handkerchief that was in his shirt pocket. He brings a bandage from his desk drawer, and begins to wrap my cuts.           “I was expecting something like this to happen. A break, you know?” He is still looking down at my hands as he speaks.           “What?” I planned everything so well; I said what he needed to hear so I could be gone. Dr. Lennon is beyond me.            “With improvement and responses as perfect as yours, I questioned whether you were expressing all of your thoughts. I know what you speak is truth. But you signed an oath; you signed my oath. I asked for your whole truth. There is nothing to hide from here,” he cuts the bandage and tapes it off. I look at him, slightly blushing and embarrassed. I knew I shouldn’t have tried to outsmart him. It’s his job to understand me, and to my dismay, he does quite well.            “I have something to show you,” he says, cutting through the silence. I don’t want to speak back, so I look up at him to show I’m acknowledging his words. He gestures for me to stand, and I follow him out of his office. Dr. Lennon’s facility is beautiful; dark wood and gold everywhere. The facility used to be a mansion, but now it houses people who… need eyes on them. The carpets are dark green, slightly faded near windows due to the sun’s work with age. Everything smells of vanilla, musk and amber. Smoke sometimes, because of the grand fireplaces in almost every room.            He leads me down the stairs and into the library. Usually occupants of Dr. Lennon’s “home” aren’t allowed in the library; there are too many opportunities for danger. The ladders climb at least 30 feet up the shelves, and every wall is filled with beautifully aged books. There is a soft light; I’m not sure of the source. The room just has a glow. The library feels alive.           Dr. Lennon directs me to two chairs facing each other.            “Take a seat, and relax. Most importantly, don’t open your eyes,” he says to me, with a small smile. I sit down and close my eyes. I feel his hands rest on top of mine. Thirty seconds pass, and I’m just sitting with my eyes closed. What is this?         But then I begin to feel it.           There’s a warmth, and comfort. I feel a soft breeze, enough to move my hair, but it’s not cold or uncomfortable. I feel like I can breathe underwater. I can hear whispers, and wind chimes in the distance.           “Alright, you can open now,”           I open my eyes. Things looked as if they were fluid, the dim light of the library creating rays that touched everything with a gentle glow. I blink, and lift my hand. Everything moves slowly, and in a more water-like manner. I look to Dr. Lennon, who looks as if he has a similar glow to the library itself; his eyes have a hint of gold that replace the ring of green I was so used to seeing, and subconsciously turning back to for comfort.            “Jupiter, touch a book,” he says, his voice surrounding me with a soft echo. “Pick something you want to feel. Pick something pleasant.”           “How do I know which one is the one, though?” I ask.           “Trust me, you’re going to feel it,” he says, gesturing for me to stand up and look through the library.           “Feel what?” I ask as I turn to look at the vast selection.           “An emptiness will be whole. You’re going to feel desire,” he says, smiling slightly.           “I don’t understand, Dr. Lennon,” I say as I turn around. Dr. Lennon is gone.            I am alone, in a magic library. Alone. I could do anything. But instead of abusing this opportunity of freedom, I choose myself. I want to feel something.            I roam the aisles and climb ladders, trying to find the right story. What do I want to feel? What do I strive for? For the first time in a long time, I’m focusing on myself and making choices and asking myself questions that don’t result in me being frustrated or at a dead end, just wanting to stop. I have nothing to worry about. There’s nothing bothering me.           Nothing can touch me here.           I climb a ladder in the corner of the library, near to fiction. I find myself looking at a book with a burnt red spine, and gold detailing. It looks old, and worn in; the kind of book you can tell has been loved because it looks like it’s been read a thousand times. I don’t know what the book is about, or even what the title is, but I felt a connection.           I lift my hand, which is shaking slightly. All my muscles feel a little weaker than normal. I don’t like this vulnerable, nervous, in-between place.           I begin to climb back down the ladder.           Almost instantly, even before my hand is on the next rung down, I feel strong regret. “It’s gotta be the one, I guess,” I think aloud. I reach out and touch the book.           It feels electric, but in a good way. There’s energy radiating from it. I grab it and find a comfortable way for me to sit on the ladder.           I close my eyes.           My whole body, my heart, my emotions, my thoughts, melt away with warmth. Love wraps around me like a blanket. 

☆☆☆

          “Griffyn, pull the sail!” a small boy calls to me.            “Already on it, Kade!” I yell back with a smile. It was an instinct; the book has taken control of me. And I’m okay with it, because wherever I am is absolutely beautiful. I look to one of the poles that holds the main sail. I see my reflection; I’m shorter, skinnier, tanner, and blonde. I’m a character in the book.           The sun on my skin, the laughter of Kade and I surrounding us with comfort, the jubilation of directing the boat. I have no idea how to sail, I have no idea who Kade, my seemingly best friend is, but the book has given me the knowledge. I am no longer Jupiter; right now, I am Griffyn.            And I know what it feels like to love something.           I climb a tall ladder to a perch near the sail, hold on to a rope, and close my eyes.           I breathe in the sea salt that rushes toward me with grace through the air. I feel free of everything in the world. I feel how genuine it is to be happy.           Nothing in the whole universe bothers me right now. Not anything. I stand there for a long time, just absolutely in love with life.            Why would anyone ever end this?

    ☆☆☆

          When I open my eyes, I’m back in the library. I feel a tear on my face. I love knowing it’s not due to any pain; I am just grateful to be alive.            I exit the library, walking through the halls of Dr. Lennon’s facility. I remember the misery, and anger I used to walk through these halls with. Now, all I can focus on is how wonderful the smell is.           I open the door to Dr. Lennon’s office; he sits with his legs crossed in his leather chair. He’s reading a book, subconsciously smiling a little. He looks up at me.           “How do you feel, Jupiter?” He closes his book, using his floral handkerchief as a bookmark. It’s very clean now.           “I’m grateful,” I say, laughing a little, tears streaming down my face.           “That’s what I hoped to hear,” Dr. Lennon says as he stands up, moving towards me. He pulls me into a strong hug. He gives bear hugs.           “See, you have so much to live for,” he says to me as I rest my face on his shoulder.           He was reading a book titled, “Griffyn and Kade Take the World”.