Content warning: This story is set in a psychiatric ward and mentions suicidal ideation and depression.
Seven knew that she had let Quinn down. She couldn’t bear to hear his sobs on the other end of the line.
Her own eyes welled up with tears, but she couldn’t cry—no, not for the fifteenth time in the last hour. It was a community space, and she, in her stringless sweatpants and oversized shirt, was determined to keep her composure. If one of the nurses in the psychiatric unit saw her crying, they would want to talk about her feelings and Seven’s mouth was dry from talking all day. Despite this, she was willing to talk to Quinn, because Quinn made everything better.
“Seven?”
“Yeah?”
At the sound of Seven’s voice, Quinn began to cry. Seven could picture him—he was shutting his eyes so tight that no light could pass through. He was digging his nails into his skin and cradling himself like an infant.
This, Seven thought, is precisely what I didn’t want to happen.
That much was true. Seven hated that she was here. “Quinn?
You there?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you?”
Quinn sad-laughed from the other end of the phone. “I think I should be the one asking you that.”
“Well, I asked first.”
Quinn was the only person in the world, it seemed, who would put up with Seven’s habitual stubbornness. And if it had to be that
way forever, so be it. “I’m okay. I just miss you.”
“I miss you too.” Now Seven was tearing up. “The food sucks here,” she joked, hoping to lighten the mood as she switched the phone from her left hand to her right. The old phone was attached to a wall, and she had to stand right by it to have a proper conversation. “I got spinach strata today, and it was the shape of a tennis ball. I’m not joking. And, on top of that, it wouldn’t even split apart when I tried to cut it. It would just jiggle.”
“Sounds like fun.” Quinn laughed sarcastically. “So you’re being discharged soon?”
“Yeah. Thursday. Five days.”
Quinn exhaled—worried, yet somehow relieved. “I’m really proud of you, Sev. You’re working hard.”
“Every day, man. Every day. I gotta wake up and girlboss.” Seven laughed.
“I’m serious, Seven.”
“I’m serious too. Girlbossing is a very serious activity and should not be taken lightly.”
“Sev.”
“Quinn.”
There was a pause as they both mapped out what they would say next.
“I can’t wait for you to come home.”
Seven hung onto those words like they were her lifelines. “I can’t wait either.” Now she was crying; sloppy wet tears were hitting the floor like drumsticks to a cymbal. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have to be—”
“I wasn’t thinking that night, Quinn. I made a foolish decision, and now I recognize all of these lovely things in my life to live for. I hate that it took an idiotic decision for me to see it, but I see it now. I see all of it. I promise.” Seven took a deep breath. “Pedro’s d-
ry cleaners. Every three weeks, they have a new sign in front of their store with a new saying. It’s always funny.” She laughed, thinking of the latest one. “I have to finish the book I’m reading. And I want to perform in the musical next month.” She paused. “I have dreams. I have a family. I have you.”
Quinn wept.
“Are you okay?” Seven asked after a few seconds of silence.
“No. Are you?”
“No. But I will be. When I get home and when I get to see you again.”
Seven could feel Quinn smiling on the other end of the phone. “Me too.”
Nurse Margaret gave Seven a five-minute warning. “Off to bed in a few minutes, love, okay?” Seven gave her a thumbs-up.
“Do you want to hang up now?” Quinn asked. “It’s okay. I’m
sure you’re tired.”
“No,” Seven responded. “I want to talk to you for the next four minutes and fifty-nine seconds.”
They both laughed. “It’s probably less than that now,” Quinn remarked.
“I don’t care. I’m just happy to talk to you.”
“I’m so glad you’re doing better,” he sighed.
“I’m working hard.”
“I know that. I’m proud of you.” They both took a deep breath, simply feeling thankful that the universe brought—and kept—them together.
“I love you, Quinn.”
“I love you too, Seven.”
The phone clicks, and Seven, in her drab outfit and Christmas slippers, made her way back to her room—the room with no locks, no sharp edges, and no Quinn.