There's a stench in the air, citrus. It stings my nose, and I try to sit up, but I can't . My eyes shoot open, and there's a blinding whiteness to the room. It takes a few seconds, but my eyes adjust after a few painful moments of squinting.  

I'm in a hospital. 

There's a nurse nearby, towering over me in a sickly snowy uniform. Her light blonde hair sticks out against the white walls. Considering I can't move, I just stare at the woman attending to a small podium. She's on the heavier side, and it shows on her pale face with healthy round cheeks. My sight drifts towards the patient she's helping. He's my size, getting a gentle sponge bath from a tiny washcloth. 

Her pudgy fingers lift him where he needs to be, gently kneading the cloth into his back. And when she's done, the nurse gingerly places him back on a cot his size. 

She turns towards me and notices that I'm staring. She smiles before warmly leaving the room. 

The tv is on in the distance, turned to the afternoon news cycle. I can barely make out the words, but a few key words get through. 

"Stricter legislation, Guardian Act. Investigation... Homunculi abuse." 

Homunculi, is that what I am... legally? 

It's not hard to piece together, and I'm slowly focusing on everything the newscasters say. 

They're debating, ranting to be more accurate, something about the restrictive tendencies of said act, talking as if common sense and basic human decency isn't a thing. 

"The Addendums are just too vague. Who's to say that it won't be taken advantage of. Forced probation for minor offenses is too strict. Those who are legal guardians of our diminutive population have a right to care for them as they see fit." 

Says someone who's never spent a day inside a shoe. 

"Bi-monthly check ins are going to be a strain on the taxpayers." Another voice added, a woman, her voice harsh, entitled. "I understand the need to protect Homunculi, but the legislators are going too far." 

I'm sneering, hoping that neither of them have someone like me in their control. 

The nurse comes back in, this time holding a clipboard instead of a washcloth. She scowls as she hears the debate on the tv before turning it off and walking towards me. 

"Name?" She asks, tapping at the clipboard with a pen. 

"Juneb—Juniper." I crack, my voice hoarse, "Juniper Peña." 

"Your birthdate?" 

"June twenty-first." 

"Year?" 

"Ninety-eight." 

The nurse mumbles to herself, dragging her pen across the paper. 

"Your guardian is your sister April? Since August of twenty-twelve?" 

Hearing her name causes bile to form in the base of my throat. It doesn't help that the nurse also brought up the time I was diagnosed.

"I guess."  

"Your sister has been been notified, and she's on her way." 

I can feel my eyes begin to well up as all that effort was ruined by a simple phone call. I try to get up from the cot, but when my feet touch the ground, a sharp pain hits my foot. 

"Careful!" The nurse shouts before stopping herself. "You'll rip your IV out." Although worried, her voice still held the honey in its tone. The blonde woman came in closer, looming over the counter. I stop at her instruction, noticing the plastic wire attached to my arm. I sigh, looking down at the white cast around my foot. 

"You also shattered your right ankle," she says informatively, "you were also severely dehydrated." 

"Where is she?" I ask, "the woman who brought me here." 

"She left. She stayed for a bit but had to leave for work." 

The nurse sits down on a nearby stool, somehow still towering over the counter. 

"Happy birthday." 

"What?" 

"The twenty-first, right? It's today." 

I only nod, acknowledging her attempts to keep my spirits up. Her smile, while infectious, doesn’t help me in the slightest.  

"If you'd like, I could bring in a cupcake from the cafeteria." 

"No thanks," I huff. The nurse nods. 

"Your sister should be here at any minute now." 

There's a groan to my right, and the nurse instinctively rises to tend to the person in pain.  

Three years, I think to myself. It's been nearly three years.

I don't even realize it until it's too late. I'm staring into the watery pools that belong to my older sister. Neither of us speak up, sitting in the most uncomfortable silence. She's alone, still in her work uniform, still wearing the birdcage around her neck. I scan the room, but the nurse is nowhere to be found. Instead, I see a little remote with a red button. I keep note of it, ready to call in the nurse. 

"W—We were worried for you." April says, holding back tears. "Why did you..." 

I don’t respond, staring past my sister and at  the featureless wall behind her.  The entire experience is surreal. I feel nothing. I'm a passive spectator, as every single one of my actions don't feel like my own. It just doesn't feel real. 

I'm crying, choking back helpless sobs as my sister covers her mouth with her hand. 

"Oh, Junebug..." 

"Don't call me that!" I scream. My voice is strained, tired, "I--I hate that stupid name!" 

"But we've always called you--" 

"I hate it!" I scream out again, knowing that my anger probably wouldn't help. "It makes me feel like—like... Like a toy or even a fucking pet." 

April kept quiet, biting her lip. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Because you never listened!" I paused for a brief moment, "I—I just gave up. I felt so helpless. And-And you and May just..." 

"I-I...We never meant to--"  

"Yes you did! You just tossed me in your mouth the other day, and May just throws me in her shoe." 

April recoils, her brow raising, "she did? I—I didn't know she--" 

"Bullshit!" I scream, my throat straining, "you always knew. You just never cared enough to do anything. You could have stopped her, but you just joined in too." 

She moves in closer, reaching towards me, and my hand springs towards the small red button, pressing it violently until I feel pain in my fingers. She jumps back, right before the blonde nurse comes crashing in. Urgently the nurse grabs April by the arm and begins to escort her out. 

"Please, let go! She's my baby sister." April pleads. 

"I'm sorry, Miss. You're disturbing our patients." 

There's a brief struggle between them until there's a resolute click in the door. 

I sit in silence before a choked sob cuts it. I can hear an argument outside, but I can't make out the words. Just yelling. And after a minute or two, the nurse comes back in, but this time she's stonefaced.

"I'm sorry," she says. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone with, even if she is your sister." 

"It's fine," I force out, lying through my teeth. She catches on to my tone as she sits at the counter. 

"D—Did she hurt you? Like, enough to remove custody as guardian?" 

I pause, before I leave my own conscious body, staring back at myself as I utter the word, "no." 

"Are you sure? She can't hurt you anymore. We can put you with a federal guardian." 

"No." 

"Please, we know it's hard, but it's not in your best interest to be in that household." 

"I don't care," I say stiffly, "just don't take me away." 

The nurse looks down at me, her arms crossed at her chest. "I can... put your sister on probation." She uncomfortable with her words, "every two weeks they'll check in on you and assess your health, but after a year you're on your own." 

"That." I say, completely cold and calm. "Just say whatever you need to do that." 

"I can only do that if it was a single, first time incident." I can hear the heartbreak in her voice, "Are—are you sure you want that?" 

"Yes. We just had an argument, and we got a little heated." 

We both knew I was lying, but my say finally mattered for once. 

"Just say the word, and we can put you in the better hands." 

"No."  

"She still wants to see you." 

"Let her wait. I want to think," 

Once again, I'm staring into the featureless wall in front of me. And for some reason, it helps to clear my head. I think about the past week, and I ask myself if anything's really different. It's hard to answer, but there's something that keeps me from being absolute in either way. 

I think about the stuffy people on tv, remembering their arguments over the lawfulness of the new probation system. Even when the year of probation ends, I'm not sure if it'll change them at all. 

It's going to be different. It just has to be different. It needs to be different. 

There's an urgent knock on the door, but the nurse ignores it. And from the little window I can see both of my sisters standing outside. 

"Open it." 

"Are you sure?" 

I pause for a moment, finally thinking it through. 

"Let them in."