<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: comic sans ms;"><em>My room?</em> It took a moment for her to think past the need to focus on counting again, mind trying to remember why she had to have a room here. And when it finally surfaced, the frown deepened on her pale features. She didn’t want to stay here - she didn’t need to be here!<br/><br/>It was the movement of Cynthia’s hand to reach for hers that had her pulling her own hand back and away from the girl, her voice strained. “Please don’t touch me.” Being drugged had not taken away that severe dislike of others touching her and the more she tried to focus on thinking about what the nurse had told her, the more the hazy sensation faded.<br/><br/>“I don’t need a room. I don’t need to stay in this place..” She didn’t believe what the nurse had said, and why should she when the nurse had seemed content to let her die in a hallway? The attempt to sit up was met with pain in her side that made sent her breath rushing out in a low gasp, right hand shifting to hold onto her ribs while feet tried to slide over the side of the stretcher. “I have to go…”</span></div>