Heartbreak Hotel

T H R E E

JUDE DIDN'T DO much else that day. He followed his same daily routine: ate his three meals of the day, read a bit of "to kill a Mockingbird" and loitered around the nearly empty halls. He preferred it this way, or at least, he believed he did. He forcefully isolated himself in order to make sure he wouldn't need to depend on anyone else.

He had to tread carefully. After meeting the new girl in his therapy group, something was off. It was frighteningly familiar how he felt the moment he saw her: dangerously so. He had felt like this before, and the last time he did, it ended up with him being damned to a facility for the mentally-ill.

Desperate to calm himself, Jude decided that walking around aimlessly was doing little to calm his nerves. He gathered that the more sensible option would be for him to head to his room and attempt to sleep.

It didn't help that the night was suffocating. The darkness surrounded him and seized his breath, reeling him further into its shadows as he carefully laid himself down on his bedsheets. He carefully propped his head up on the bed frame, supporting his back with pillows as he inhaled deeply.

He could feel his fingers trembling, his throat tightening and his mind racing. He didn't know why he felt a sudden panic attack coming on, but these things often came unannounced, with no warning to allow him to prepare himself. He felt his eyelids weigh themselves down as his lashes brushed across his cheeks, forcing himself to remember everything.

He needed to remember in order to forget, as paradoxical as it sounded. He needed to remember why he was here in order to forget any stupid ideas he might have.

Jude's jaw tightened when he felt the back of his eyes burn. He lifted his palms to his shut eyes and rubbed them until phosphenes dotted his vision, wishing he could escape into the darkness that his closed lids provided.

Unrelenting and uncaring, the thunder boomed so loud it shook his room, a sharp flash of lighting showing the vast fields that awaited outside the establishment. The sky was heavy and dark, no stars visible through the gloomy clouds, causing him to sink further into the cold sheets of his bed: his body heat didn't seem to be heating them even a little.

She didn't love you.

After all, who could?

Don't let yourself get hurt again.

Don't be stupid.

Jude couldn't even deny the ominous whispers in his head. He knew that they spoke of the truth, whether he wanted to admit it or not. His heartbreaker never truly loved him, nor anyone else for that matter. And that was the worst part of it all- it was all some vicious circle of unreturned affection. He knew it was stupid after he had been hurt by him so much, but the love for his heartbreaker had burned so deep in his gut it consumed him. Wholly.

He had been institutionalized for being weak. The verity of it did not come as a surprise to him at all. It was expected. But he didn't expect the person who made him weak would manipulate him, bend him at her own will and desires.

He felt it now, the wetness pouring steadily down his cheeks. Jude made no effort to wipe them away, and instead stood up abruptly from his bed. His feet glided against the carpet of his room, into the bathroom where he almost shuddered because of the cold tile beneath his feet. He put out his cigarette, making sure the flame was dead, before throwing it in the garbage bin. As he did so, his eyes met his face in the mirror.

Self-hatred pricked at his skin, seeing the mess that he had become. Jude's springy coils of hair remained unruly because of the number of times he had run his hair through it. His lips were swollen from the number of times he had bitten them, and the clear salty tears reflected on his cheeks in the dim lighting. The aversion for himself hadn't faltered, and his reflection screamed pathetic.

You can't love someone else if you don't even love yourself.

In one swift moment, his fist reached out and claimed the glass with his antipathy. The shards of his image broke upon impact, a loud shattering noise echoing his ears and the bathroom. It mixed with the roaring thunder, and then silence fell. The only sound was the rain pattering against the ground, but even that was deafening. The tears were silent, too, and his mouth daren't make his pain apparent.

Jude strode out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut, and took in a deep breath. He didn't know if he would be able to handle one more anxiety attack that night. He feared that he would pass out and possibly never wake up. It was ironic, was it not? A suicidal boy not wanting to die just yet. But at the same time, he wanted to be in control of his demise, he didn't want it to be because of his body shutting down.

Jude walked to his bed and laid down, staring up at the white popcorn ceiling, the cotton blankets feeling too restricting. He needed to breathe. But try as he might, it was getting more difficult as the seconds ticked by- as more thoughts and memories regarding her began to pile up, weighing him down.

And as his eyes fluttered shut and the merciless rain continued to fall, behind his eyelids he saw the true horrors of his past.

--

WHEN JUDE AWOKE the next morning, all signs of rain were gone. The sun was holding up a massive middle finger to his bad mood, unwilling to match its gloominess. The light of it dried up the water in the grass and the reflective puddles, peering through the windows of his room and brightening everything. The trees bristled below the facility, the green leaves blowing in the breeze.

Jude winced when he heard a sharp knock on his door, knowing that it was his patron. He mumbled a word that indicated for her to enter, and she pushed the barrier between them open.

"Jude, there was a noise complaint last night." Xenia, Jude's patron- said sternly. She began striding the room, her legs moving on their own accord as she began to clean up his clutter. She picked up clothes and folded them. "Jude, did you hear me?"

"I heard you," Jude muttered into the pillow, "I just don't care."

Xenia went to hover over his unmoving body that was strewn across his mattress, her hands placed on her hips. Her eyes drifted from his contrasting mop of black hair to his hands that lay next to his head. The skin of his knuckles was crimson and crusted over with blood, and some of it had leaked onto the white sheets of his bed. "Jude, what did you do?"

"Nothing." Jude's voice was muffled by his pillow.

"What time did you go to sleep? Did you take your pills?" He felt his chest warm slightly at her motherly tone, something he had never experienced growing up.

"I don't know what time it was." He murmured. "I didn't take my pills."

Xenia sighed, "Jude- you know you're meant to take them."

"I'm tired of stupid antidepressants and insomnia pills, Xenia!" She was startled by his sudden change in demeanour. He sat up abruptly, this time turning to face her. She could see him more clearly now, the red rims of his eyes and his dishevelled hair from countless hours of unrest. His skin was pale- paler than usual, traces of the usual golden hue, almost making him seem as if there were no melanin in it, to begin with.

"You have to take them, Jude, you know that-" There. She caught it. The glint of light bouncing off an object on the ground, reflecting the sunlight from the windows onto the ceiling, leaving a small gleam of light. She walked around his body to see a small shard of glass, no- mirror, laying on the ground. Her oak eyes narrowed at it for a moment, before her hand reached out and clasped onto it.

The door to his bathroom was open, allowing her to look at the vacant piece of wall that used to have a mirror hung on it. No longer was there a reflection, for the shatters of it were broken on the tiles, sharp and warning. Xenia ambled towards it, now knowing where the noise complaint had come from. The fragments were scattered everywhere: in the sink, on the floor, in the garbage bin, on the counter. She could see bits and pieces of her image all around her.

"Oh Jude," The middle-aged woman whispered softly. "Why did you break the mirror?"

He didn't say anything, just bit his lip and continue staring at the spot where she was standing before. Jude didn't know what to say. He knew why he did it, but he wasn't all for spilling his guts to anyone. He knew there were consequences to such, and he couldn't afford those consequences or trust for that matter.

"I'm going to get a first aid kit, okay dear? You wait right there. Don't move." Xenia rushed from the bathroom, into the bedroom and crossed the floor, beginning to rummage through the cabinet. She finally spotted a glimpse of green plastic and began to pull out the box with a large white medical cross on it. Xenia rushed back to the bed and set it on the blankets in front of him, snapping the lid open.

"Xenia, don't," Jude said tersely.

She shook her head, "Nonsense. Let me clean you up, Jude."

He was quiet as she began to extract the shards of glass that were embedded in his skin. She dabbed at the skin with a wet cloth, cleaning it of the blood before disinfecting and bandaging.

"You going to see Ms. Bordeux today?"

Jude nodded, "Yeah. I'm walking with someone."

Xenia smiled at him, "That's nice. Who?"

"Ophelia Angara."

Her smile fell into a grimace. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Jude?" She took a seat next to him on the bed. "I know her patron, Orion. She's got a mouth on her. Loud, vulgar, disrespectful."

"Don't say that Xenia," Jude muttered. "I just started talking to her, don't ruin this."

"Sorry." She apologized. "She's pretty," Xenia said after a moment, watching as his cheeks began to regain colour, tinting rose with bashfulness. Secretly, though, he agreed. Xenia almost laughed when he looked down at his lap, eyes fixated on his hands, his fingers interlaced and shaking. He could feel his stomach dipping for a moment when he thought of the freckled girl.

"She's nice." He murmured.

Xenia nudged his shoulder jokingly, "Just nice?"

"Just nice." He repeated. "I'm going to get dressed and wash up now so I can leave."

--

The elevator ride and walk to Ms. Bordeaux's room with Ophelia was filled with her chatter. She talked enough for the both of them, speaking about topics that ranged on different ends of the spectrum. Often times her sentences contained vulgarity, a mouthful of curses always on the tip of her tongue. But Jude was not annoyed in the slightest at her talkative tendencies- he found it a lot better than silence. Enjoyed it.

"What was your life like? Out of here, I mean?"

Jude's eyes trained on the ground because he knew that if he looked at her, he wouldn't be able to lower his gaze. "I lived with my uncle, up in Everett. I hated how the weather was, but the people there made it enjoyable."

"Who was she?" Ophelia asked.

Jude shrugged, "No one worth remembering."

This time, he couldn't help but bring himself to glance at her. And just as his fears predicted, he wasn't able to look away. Her dark brown mid-length hair fell silky and wavy down her back, her eyebrows were fluffy and untamed. They framed the large round shape of her hazel eyes, wreathed by a curly set of dark lashes. Light spots of brown, that contrasted with her pale skin tone, danced across the surface of her face. Forehead, nose, and cheeks- the freckles dusted with comeliness and brought out the rosiness of her full lips.

There was something about her facial features that made her look east-Asian, more particularly Filipina or Malaysian. He wasn't sure what it was, but it reeled him in further.

"What about you?" Jude's voice was always calm and level.

Ophelia shrugged, "Seattle. Born and raised. I always wanted to travel the world with someone, but he was never really up to it."

"Caspian?"

The mention of his name knocked the air out of Ophelia's lungs. It was enough to have a dreadful biliary feeling settling in her stomach. She felt physically weak, like she had just run a marathon without water or food for miles. Dryness and exsiccation coated the insides of her throat, and her body swayed with fragility. Her eyes met the ground, fear of him seeing the glassiness in them. "Yeah."

"Hey, it's okay." Jude consoled. "When you get out of here, you can travel."

Ophelia could've laughed at his cluelessness, at his naivety to the reality of it all. But instead, she almost felt piteous to his credulity. The back of her hand reached up to wipe her face, so he wouldn't notice the tears. "We're not leaving here."

He frowned, "But they said-"

"They're lying to you." Her voice was low and bitter, "It's not true, Jude. They're lying to you."

"What makes you think that?" He didn't want to believe it.

Her eyes were reflective of the plain hallway that bore ahead of them. "We can't be fixed."