I walk down the long, damp hallway, wheeling a cart of water, jello, and bread. Bland. But dinner for the patients is important; the food keeps them calm.
     I push open her door, big, heavy; Chipped blue paint exposes the raw metal bones. A small window. I roll the cart to the center of the room. A bed on one side, chained to the floor. A single small, hard chair, facing the wall with a window. board games, stacked in the corner. Cold Concrete floor, empty white walls. A figure in the chair.
     "Lucy, it's time for dinner." I say it in a forced high, happy voice. Not because I am happy or glad to be here, but it makes me sound happy.
     The figure, the girl, doesn't move. I repeat myself, over and over, each high pitched phrase becoming more and more aggravating. Several tries later, she swivels her head around. Eyes, wide. The whites of her eyes contrast the raw black, as if she has one big pupil, no cornea. Her dark, greasy hair hangs around her face, showing off her pale skin. She glares, and turns back to the window.
     "Lucy, you have to eat now. I brought jello." She grunts, still unwilling to cooperate. She knows what she's doing, and she knows that it will eventually work; I'll leave, and she'll get her way.
     It's been like this for years. A long time ago, when I was just starting as a nurse, she was brought in. She was just nine years old. Her parents shoved their way through the doors, Lucy tailing them, and the mother, who had a scar running along her cheek, said they couldn't handle her anymore.
     I sit on the bed, the springs poking out from from the mattress like birds' beaks. A draft moves my hair and makes me shiver. I’ll play the waiting game, I think to myself. I set my watch for two hours, longer than usual. I look out the window, seeing what she sees. The buildings of our town, small lights brighten the street. We're five stories up, the people on the ground like dolls. Lucy used to have a doll, I think.
     Twenty minutes pass, Lucy still hasn't moved. The lights are fading outside as the night sky envelopes us. My eyelids are growing heavy, but she'll cave in.
     Forty minutes have passed, and she stands. I sit up straighter watching as she turns, and begins to move towards the cart. The stark white gown all patients wear are just a bit lighter than her legs and arms. Her bare feet slap against the cold floor as she quickly walks over, head down, shoulders hunched. She snatches up a piece of bread, rips it in half, and puts one half back. She sniffs it, and takes a bite. She chews it, diligently, and then takes another bite, nibbling until there is no more. Once the half piece is gone, she shuffles back to her chair, and continues to watch out the window.
     I grab the other half of bread and timidly walk over to the chair. I reach the bread out, just so that its in her direct line of sight.
     "Lucy, would you like this other piece of bread?" She ignores me. I ask again, louder. "Did you like this bread, would like some more?" Her lack of response irritates me, and I place the bread on top of her pale hand. She slowly looks down, eyeing the bread. All at once, she jerks her hand up, flinging the bread across the room, and screams. I back up, a bit shaken.
     "You don't have to eat the bread," I say in a hurry. "I'm sorry." She glances at me and turns back to the window.  Trying to steady my shaking legs, I sit down on her bed.
     My watch beeps, indicating that one hour has passed. I begin talking, about anything. Partially because I'm growing sleepy and nned to stay awake, and also hoping it will make her feel more comfortable around me.
     "I just broke up with Jacob,” I start, trying to think of things to talk about in one sided conversation. “It was pretty sad. I don't really want to tell my mom about it because she really like him," At the mention of my mom, Lucy turned around to face the wall next to me. I cough, and she turned back around. My shoulders sagged in defeat.
     "Could you please just eat so I can leave," I ask, my voice a pleading tone. "This isn't fun for either of us, so if could just please eat and I can leave and--" I was cut off.
      "I'm not hungry." My eyes widened at the sound of her voice. Raspy and deep, barely a whisper.
      "What?"
     "I'm not hungry."
     "Of course you are, you haven't eaten since this morning."
      She turned to face me, and I thought she was going to respond. Instead she screamed. And not just a short scream, she kept screaming and screaming and screaming. I check my watch, it's been an hour and a half. I abruptly stand up, done with trying to help.
"Fine. Starve if you want. I don't care what happens to you," I snap, storming out of the room. I glance back as I walk out, and see the expression on her face. It's something I've never seen before, her mouth contorted into a shaky frown, eyes glossy. Sadness.
     Shutting the door behind me, I slide down the wall to sit, tears burning my eyes. It’s not her fault, I remind myself. That's probably what her mom said to her, I think in dismay. I feel a pang of guilt, and stand back up after a few minutes to atleast try to apologize.
   Opening the door, I step in, and find the room empty, but the window open. I refuse to look at the ground below. Sighing, I shut the window, and turn around, closing the metal door softly behind me.
   This is a hard job and a hard place to be in. Everyone breaks eventually.  I walk to the kitchen, getting the food I need to deliver to the other patients. It keeps them calm.