The black haired woman frowned at the mention of her sketchbook almost being taken away. If Grace had not become a psychologist she would have become an artist. The woman loved art and the way that you could express your emotions and mental states when words would fail. She jotted down a few notes about Emma so far, including the bit about her sketchbook. Eventually Grace would re-write all of the files she was given. They needed an update anyways; it seemed that the old doctor was very dry and bland when it came to his patients’ files. All of their medical history was there as were the notes about what he thought was important: their illness. Never once was progress noted, pill dosages showed peaks of higher and lower dosages but nothing beyond that. 

“I have art supplies in the corner if you ever want to draw,” she said with a small smile. “All of the drawings I have up on my walls here belong to people I’ve worked with.” She pointed out a few drawings and mentioned to Emma that the people who drew them suffered from many similar conditions that she did.
“He shouldn’t have said that it was harmful, art is very helpful.” 

After the death of her parents Grace filled an entire sketchbook within a week. Of course they were simple studies of her sister as she lay unmoving in the hospital bed but there were studies and drawings of the flowers that people had taken Abigail and other things. It was a way to release those emotions that you don’t have words for; the ones that rob you of every feeling in your body. Grace wrote down a few more things before asking another question. 

“What do you think of the nurses and other patients?” 

Grace was still doing her job but she wasn’t diving in deep on the first day.

---

Abigail’s cheek flushed at her nickname, although it had been around for so long and she loved having a nickname, it was a bit embarrassing since she was a teenager. “Mm…Chicken noodle soup!” she said, getting a glass of ginger ale and making her way to the living room where she could sit to settle her stomach.
Blue curled up at her feet, whining lightly so he could be scratched under his chin. She could understand why her sister loved that dog so much, he was an absolute sweetheart. 

“Hey…do you know when Grace is going to get home?” 

Of course Abigail was nervous about her sister’s new job since it was a half an hour away, too far for Abigail’s liking. What if her sister hit a deer or went off into a ditch or something? Cars mildly scared her, especially when it was raining. The blonde sighed loudly and nursed her glass of ginger ale like a drunk at the bar.