A low chuckle interrupted the trust circle. Meghan’s eyes widened, while the twelve other patients at Maplewood Mental Hospital turned their heads toward the laughter. “Why do you allow this nutcase in group?” the patient beside Meghan groused. The laughter infused with hiccupping and echoed off the walls. Dr. Filmore leaned into the circle and fixed Brianna Miller with a glare.
“Brianna. Do you feel it’s appropriate to laugh at a suicide attempt?” Brianna crossed one leg over the other and sucked in a breath. “Sounds like you have rich people problems,” she noted, ignoring Dr. Filmore’s question and speaking directly to Meghan.
Meghan gasped. “Excuse me?”
Brianna tilted her head. “It. Sounds. Like. You. Have. Rich. People. Problems.”
Well, at least she doesn’t hear voices.
“Shut it!” Brianna warned, poking a finger at her own temple.
“I tried to kill myself!” Meghan cried, turning to Dr. Filmore for help. Tears fell down her pale cheeks.
Good job, you made her cry. Real nice.
Well, forget purgatory.
Pack for we’re-going-straight-to-hell weather!
Yeah, jerk! Now, we’ll never make friends.
“Hey!” Brianna protested. “We… I have lots of friends!”
Wait! Who taught us about purgatory?
“Crazy bitch.” Meghan pointed an angry finger at Brianna. “She doesn’t even belong here!”