A woman threw a glass of orange juice against the wall. Apparently, it’s cause she didn’t want pulp. How was I supposed to know that?

I sighed and watched the chaos unfold. My coworkers were speed walking from their sections to grab the guests' drinks, condiments, food, or whatever they decided to demand within the moment. Our busboy, Tony, was unfortunately tasked with seating the guests because our host decided to call out today of all days.

The usual black and straw-colored floor was covered in splatters of ketchup, miscellaneous soups, and our signature milkshakes. Sure the scene was abhorrent, but my mind seemed to be elsewhere.

I’d drift off to my almost haven-like days at the psych ward on hectic days like these. At least there I got away with screaming my heart out. Any way that I expressed myself was swept under the rug as “mental illness.”

If I tried any of the things I’ve done in there in the real world, I don’t think my boss, Enzo, would appreciate it too much.

I got thrown back to reality when the woman's voice grew even more annoying and shrill (as if that were possible) while my boss’s honeyed voice tried to combat it.

I decided to tend to the juice-splattered wall. The glass was shattered near the front door and was spread on the welcome mats. I bent down and began to pick up the pieces. I placed a slender, triangle piece in a cupped hand and sucked in my teeth as it glided against my skin.

I watched as blood droplets began to run down my palm and drip down onto the glass. Then everything else faded into nothing. My breath hitched. My vision blurred.

I was back in the car.

I felt blood fill my mouth from the impact of my head against the passenger seat. The seat belt dug deep into my skin, pinning me against the deflated airbag. I could see the stars. They were beautiful, stunning. I would’ve appreciated them more if the car wasn’t flipped upside down or if the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline hadn’t crept through the cracks of the glass.

The glass. Oh, God. The glass.

The windshield wipers scraped across the shattered windshield, streaking blood and hair across the cracks. The rhythmic, maddening back-and-forth sound made me want to scream.

But I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Not with the weight of my little brother’s body pinning my legs in place. His dead weight. His face was unrecognizable, mutilated beyond repair, but at least I could see him. At least I knew he was still there.

Not like my sister. The only trace of her was her music, still playing, haunting the car. R&B melodies floated through the wreckage.

Move toward the light, give up the fight…

“Janae! Janae!”

Someone was calling me. The voice was urgent, pulling me away from the crash, and back into the diner.

I blinked hard, and the wreckage dissolved into the fluorescent lights and checkered floors of the diner. The metallic smell of blood lingered, but now it was my own. I looked down at my hand, bleeding where the glass had cut me.

“Janae,” Tony said again, his voice gentle but concerned. “You good? You spaced out there.”

I nodded and attempted to steady my breathing as I ran my hand under the sink. Tony didn’t sound convinced, which was probably why my manager decided to cut me a few minutes later, despite knowing they were drowning in customers. It was fine with me. I had an appointment at 3 and it was already 2:35.

I declared my tips on our POS system and headed out the door with my usual clothes on; a hoodie and some gym shorts. I felt a lot freer being out in the open air than in the suffocating diner.

The walk to the bus stop was short, yet pleasant. It was just a five-minute walk across the street. I couldn’t afford a car on my mediocre waitress's salary, so the bus was my best friend.

I arrived at the small office building within 15 minutes. There was a bright white arch that greeted you with the American flag plastered on the front door. There was an array of dandelions against the lime green wall. A carpet mat was on the front door step, with the words “Welcome Home” stitched into the carpet. Unless you were a patient here, you could easily miss the fact that a psychiatrist worked here.

The cool AC greeted me along with a genuine smile from the receptionist, Shirley. She had warm silver blonde hair and wore pink lipstick, her signature color. She motioned to the door as if to tell me to go inside.

After nodding at her, I pushed open the door to Dr. Gordon’s office where he sat behind his desk with two reclining chairs in front of it. The room was dimly lit and the only window had the blinds drawn so unless you had a clock, it was hard to tell what time it was. Perhaps that was Dr. Gordon’s intention; to make our fifteen-minute sessions feel longer. But he didn’t fool me.

I didn’t mind it though. Dr. Gordon was just here to ask me a few questions and then give me even more drugs if I told him I was anything but fine. My legal drug dealer if you will.

If you couldn’t tell, he wasn’t exactly my favorite person in the world.

Dr. Gordon smiled at me as I took my usual seat on the left chair, closest to the wall. I crossed my arms over my black tote bag, not even bothering to greet him.

We went over our usual spiel of “How was your week?” and “How’s your mood?” and as usual I would lie to him and say that I was fine, even though I clearly wasn’t.

I really didn’t want to tell him about how out of touch I felt. Sometimes my life felt as if I was watching it through a screen. Like I was nothing but a third person observing the exciting things happen, but not feeling anything about it myself.

I didn’t know how long the feeling would last, but it got to the point where I missed being me.

He tapped away on his computer after every answer and with every press of the space bar, I felt my eyebrows furrow. He was always on that stupid computer with his stupid glasses and his stupid combover that barely hid his stupid bald head.

He took one glance at me and stopped typing, his wrinkled eyes peering at me suspiciously.

“You seem annoyed today, Janae.”

I scoffed. Maybe I wasn’t as good at masking my feelings as I thought.

“I’ve just had a bad customer today. That’s all.” Technically, it was the truth, but I could barely remember the woman’s face or why she was a bad customer in the first place.

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He grabbed his mouse and began clicking away. As usual, there wasn’t much infliction in his voice, not that I expected much sympathy from him anyway. This was just a job to him.

He pushed up his glasses with his middle finger while clearing his throat. “Besides work, are you back in school or seeing Dr. Alamanzar still?”

I shook my head. Dr. Alamanzar was my psychologist and all he tried to do was pry into shit that honestly had nothing to do with the accident or why I was in the mental hospital to begin with. It felt useless. Same with school.

My school has been somewhat lenient with me and has given me extra time to “heal” and extended my leave for my scholarship. Unfortunately the deadline was next semester, but I had no willpower to go even though I’d have to pay back the money I’d already used up.

That should’ve been enough reason for me to register again, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I didn’t see a point in going back to school when whatever passion I had for chemistry died with the rest of my—

“Janae?”

Dr. Gordon’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I rubbed my eyes. “What were you saying?”

Dr. Gordon tapped his desk. “Do you find that the Effexor is helping you?” He asked sternly. “Are you having any side effects?”

“No. It’s fine.”

There he went typing again.

“And the Wellbutrin? Has it been helping you with your energy levels?”

I leaned forward in my chair. “Yes, I am a lot more energetic now.” I showcased him my least enthusiastic voice, but he didn’t bother to question me on it. Clearly my sarcasm wasn’t appreciated on such a boring old man.

We stayed quiet for the next five minutes. No questions, no typing, no anything. I ran my hands through my locks for some type of entertainment.

“Alright,” he finally breaks the silence. “I’m going to recommend you to start seeing Dr. Alamanzar again. Medicine with therapy is usually better for your overall mood.”

He’d told me that for the past three sessions and I could care less. I was not interested in seeing that shrink.

“I also think that going to school or having something to keep you busy other than work would be good for you,” He continued. “You could socialize, meet kids your own age, maybe join a club? From what you’ve told me, you used to be active. I think it’d be a good idea to get you back into your hobbies, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” I spat.

I tuned out the rest of our meeting and was happy when a small timer went off, reflecting that it was finally over. He just told me he’d be increasing my Wellbutrin, which I honestly didn’t think would make a difference.

The clock read 3:15 when I left Dr. Gordon’s office. I practically skipped out of there.

I stepped onto the sidewalk and walked left; opposite of the bus stop. Dr. Gordon’s office was based near a plaza and I figured there was no harm in grabbing some food alongside my prescription before I went home.

I’d never openly admit it, but I loved the architecture of the Richmont Plaza. Sure it was old, with brick-lined buildings and statues that were starting to fade, but that’s what I liked about it. Nearly everything on the block had some handcrafted details worked into it that wouldn’t be found on a bench or fountain near my home.

The breeze picked up and I caught a whiff of some goods being sold in front of the store I was going to. It smelled like empanadas. Before I knew it, my feet had taken me to the front of the free samples line. A small Hispanic bakery that just opened about a block away and they always had some sweet and savory treats.

I took a bite, and the flavors filled my mouth—warm, savory, and just a little spicy. I blew on it to cool it down, wiping a bit of sauce from the corner of my mouth. The taste reminded me of the empanadas Marisol would make me every Sunday before we went to church.

I’d always eat three and still end up wanting more 15 minutes later. My brother hated empanadas, but that didn’t stop him from stealing off my plate. One Sunday my mom tried to make them, but ended up calling Marisol when she burnt them all.

Marisol tried to teach me how to make them when she started going to a new church, but I somehow burnt them, too.

I guess my mom’s genes were too strong in me.

I smiled to myself as I bought two boxed empanadas, heading inside the store.

The aisles were short and narrow, making it easy to see someone’s head from where I was standing. But despite how short the shelves were, they were packed to the brim with goods.

Speaking of heads, for a moment I thought I’d seen someone familiar. This being a small town and all meant I probably wasn’t wrong. I often ran into old teachers or doctors whenever I strayed away from home for too long. The experience was never fun so I decided I'd leave before having an awkward encounter. The prescription could wait another day.

“Janae?”

I balled my fist and froze. Curse these short aisles.

I turned around slowly, positioning the boxes to rest on my hip.

To my surprise, the person who stood in front of me wasn’t a doctor or teacher.

She had brown hair that reached her lower back and hazel-doe eyes. She wore a baby blue romper with white sandals and white pearls in her ears. It was clear as day that the person in front of me was Stephanie, someone who I hadn’t seen in years.

“It really is you! You look so different!” She squealed. Stephanie attempted to throw her arms around my shoulders, the golden bangles on her wrists pressing into my skin. I had about five inches on her, but that wasn’t much of an accomplishment considering she was 5’3.

My arms laid limp at my side as I tried my hardest not to push her off. I never even let Marisol hug me after I got out of the hospital, but I guess I could let this one slide.

Our mini-reunion took place in front of the accessories section and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I suppose I did look different from when she last saw me; it was two years ago after all. I’d definitely lost muscle mass and my locs were in dire need of a retwist.

I had dark circles around my eyes and my face was pretty much always blank, except for when I took customers at work. I rarely wore makeup anymore and I didn’t see the point in it.

Who was I trying to impress anyway? The old regulars? Honestly not a bad idea since my landlord decided to raise my rent.

Stephanie finally pulled back and smiled. “I’m so happy to see you!” And I believed her. Her smile seemed so genuine.

She was so different from the last time I’d seen her, considering we were on the verge of throwing hands. Stephanie and I weren’t exactly on the best terms since then. We ghosted each other and she changed schools soon after that.

I usually didn’t entertain this game where you pretend to miss someone and catch up just to remember why you grew distant in the first place.

But it felt different with Stephanie. I knew her character. Besides, I genuinely did miss her. Maybe that’s why I let her guide me out of the store and to some nearby coffee shop even though no one should be drinking coffee this late in the afternoon.

And so for the next hour, we chatted over coffee—Stephanie with an iced americano and me with a chai latte. We talked about our time together during our high school's flag football season as well as what became of our classmates. Well, Stephanie did, and I just listened.

“I’m almost done with my program.” Stephanie finished, draining her cup.

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow, “What did you end up majoring in?”

“Nursing. That’s where the money is nowadays anyway. My mom wouldn’t let me major in liberal arts, so this was the next best thing.”

“It’s probably best that you listened to your mom.”

She grinned. “Shut up! Didn’t you say you were going to major in interpretive dance?”

I rolled my eyes. I used to love dancing and would always perform for my church whenever I had free time. I even did majorette in high school and was decent at it, but I eventually gave up when I got to college. I didn’t have time for it anymore.

By now the sky had turned orange and the stars were starting to peek through the clouds.

I grabbed Stephanie’s empty cup—force habit of working at the diner— and stood up.

“I’ll order our refills this time,” I looked back at her. “Chai this time, right?”

She smiled in agreement. At some point, she’d tried my drink and now had taken a liking to it.

I made my way to the barista while Stephanie went back to her phone. As I waited in line, I couldn’t help but think about how much I’d missed having her around. Our friendship had ended over something as petty as a boy, but not in the way most would think. I had wanted her to break things off with him because he wasn’t good for her. Looking back, it felt like such a waste to lose a friend over someone who wasn’t worth it. I enjoyed her company, and now, I had a chance to reconnect. Maybe things could be different this time.

Plus, I really needed a friend.

I grabbed our drinks and turned around, only to be met with trees. I took a step back in confusion and heard leaves crunch under my shoe instead of the smoothness of the coffee shop’s tiles.

At this point, it came no surprise when the coffee cups in my hand vanished with the rest of the counter that was just behind me.

And yet I still called out for Stephanie. I couldn’t help it. It was pitch black outside and I was in the woods alone. But then I remembered Michigan had wolves and quickly shut up.

I felt my pockets for my phone, but it was nowhere to be seen.

I clasped my shaking hands together. Why was it that my survival instincts were so limited? How was making a fort going to help me navigate out of a forest? How was I going to start a fire with damp branches?

I slumped against a tree in defeat and looked up. The moonlight cut through the trees a lot better when you were lying on the ground.

I squinted at the patch of leaves in front me. There was something glistening in the leaves.

Against my better judgment, I picked it up. It was a golden bangle, like the one Stephanie wore. In fact, I think it was the one Stephanie wore.

Stephanie’s bangle was cold and wet; which made sense since it seemed like it rained recently. But the liquid on her bangle didn’t feel like water.

And that’s when it hit me; the metallic smell of blood. I don’t know how I didn’t smell it earlier.

I was pretty much sat smack in the middle of it.

I resisted the urge to vomit as I continued to search the ground for any other traces of Stephanie. Or of anyone really.

It seemed like my prayers were answered when I felt a cool hand wrap around mine.

“Stephanie?” My voice was low, yet it still seemed to echo through the night.

I tightened my grip on her hand, in an attempt to shake her awake. What I didn’t expect was her hand to pop off and for her remaining bangles to come tumbling down with it.

I screamed.