Ariana felt a flash of anger. Saw herself yanking the cabinets from
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the walls and tipping them over. Letting them crash and shatter and slam to the floor. Screw them for trying to control us. Screw them for thinking they know what's best.
But that wasn't why she was here. She gripped her forearm and breathed:
In... one... two... three...
Out... one... two... three...
In... one... two... three...
Out... one... two... three...
Until the fantasy faded away.
Her mind cleared. She focused. She was wasting precious time.
Ariana shoved open the sliding door on the first cabinet and quickly found a nice big bottle of the antianxiety drug Ativan. Thank God for alphabetization. She popped the top off and emptied at least fifty of the little white pentagonal pills into the bottom of her sneakers, then dumped the rest of the bottle into the garbage can. Holding her breath, she quickly rearranged the used paper towels and crumbled patient-care pages over the bottle to hide it, then shoved her feet into her now very uncomfortable shoes.
She carefully closed the cabinet door and breathed in. The hard part, she felt, was over. She had beaten the system. It was all she could do to keep from grinning. Shoulders back, chest held high, Ariana strolled into the hallway, letting the drug room door click shut and lock automatically behind her. Nurse Knight was nowhere in sight, and Tracy was so wrapped up in the TV, Ariana had to knock on the door of the common room before the woman even
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noticed her. When she did, she blanched, clearly realizing she'd fallen down on the job.
"Feeling better, Osgood?" she asked, opening the door.
"Much better, thanks," Ariana said with a pleasant smile. Her cheeks twitched, wanting to pull the smile wider, but she held back.
"Good. Because that's your last bathroom break for the night," Tracy said sternly.
Ariana walked into the common room, where the inmates were gathered on couches and chairs, reading or journaling or watching TV or staring off into space. She sat down between Kaitlynn and Crazy Cathy on one of the sofas.
"Everything okay?" Kaitlynn asked. "You looked pale back there."
"I'm fine," Ariana replied.
"I think she's gonna win the million," Crazy Cathy said, taking a break from chewing on the collar of her shirt. "I think she's gonna win. I think she looks lucky."
Ariana glanced at the TV screen and at the pretty housewife jumping up and down as she shouted out case numbers on a fluorescent stage. Normally, Ariana hated this stupid show and all the stupid people who never took the good deals when they were offered. Normally, she hated how Crazy Cathy always insisted every contestant was going to win. But tonight, somehow, none of it seemed as cloying. Tonight, as she sat with pills digging into the soft skin of her foot, all the dull predictability felt comforting. In fact, she was counting on it.
"You know what, Cathy?" Ariana said. "I think she's going to win too."
30
AN ATTEMPT
In the dead silence of night Ariana hit the floor with a thump, the side of her skull colliding with the cold concrete. Her shoulder exploded in pain. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of the final few pills skittering across the floor. And then:"Ariana? Ari?"
Kaitlynn's voice filled the tiny cell. The light flicked on, a big after-hours no-no. "Oh my God. Ariana! What's wrong?"
The bedsprings squealed and Kaitlynn was on her knees. Her cold hand touched Ariana's cheek. Ariana didn't flinch. Her breath came in short, barely audible gasps, her chest motionless.
"Ariana! Can you hear me?"
There was a crunch. Kaitlynn had just knelt on one of the pills.