With a ringing clank, the door scraped open. Clara’s blood-laced eyes flicked up at her visitor and away, back to the middle distance near the radiator.
“Good morning, Clara. I’m Nancy, I’m the psychiatrist today. I’m here to see how you’re doing,” the young woman said on the edge of singsong, kneeling awkward on her heels. God knows what they think I’ll be able to get out of this one. A lost cause.
Clara did not look up. She just tugged her sweatshirt higher around her face.
“The nurses say you haven’t been talking much lately. We’re worried about you, Clara. You have been taking your medication, haven’t you?” On that dosage, it’s a wonder she can stand.
Clara ignored her.
Nancy sighed, “We’re only trying to help you. But you need to help us to help you, Clara.” Bloody crazies, always making things awkward. You’d think they like being nuts, they never co-operate. Can’t wait til 5pm, can’t wait to see Steven. Come on, you stubborn little cow.
Clara plugged her ears with her jumper, but it never helped.

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