I don't like the way the drugs make me feel. They erase everything. Make my mind feel like it's somewhere else. Possibly on vacation. They make my arms and legs feel like jelly. And when I walk I feel like the floors are rocking back and forth beneath my feet. It's terrifying to lose control of myself like that, but most of the time I wake up the day after and forget all about losing control in the first place.
I know the staff prefers that all the patients walk around like robots. I've been here a month, but I didn't need a month to learn that tidbit of information. My first day here, I watched them inject a hysterical patient in the hall across from my room. I watched as pleasing smiles spread across the lips of the doctors and nurses, while the patient's limbs twitched a few times in their arms before they stopped moving all-together.
It's during those moments that the staff thinks they've won the battle between sanity and insanity. But they haven't. I know this. It doesn't matter what they think. It doesn't matter how many times they stab a patient with a needle and fill their veins with mind-erasing drugs. The cure for crazy isn’t in that syringe. They’ll still wake up and be crazy tomorrow.
I fight against the drugs snaking through my bloodstream, but after a few seconds my fingers start to lose the grip around my neck. My arms are falling at my sides. My head rolls back and I blink when the bright light above me flashes in my eyes because it's all I can do.
“Roll her over,” someone shouts. I think it's the doctor. “Strap her in tight.”
Metal pinging against metal throbs in my ears. I am face down on the thin mattress of my cot, still struggling to keep my eyes open. My arms are behind me now. There's a voice in my head telling me to move, but I can't.
I realize they've put me in a straightjacket.
To save me from the only thing that can harm me.
Myself.
The echo of my door slamming bounces off the walls of my room. My eyelids are heavy and they droop down. Now I can only manage to keep my eyes open in slits. And just before I succumb to the magnificent thought of slumber, I see him.
Damien.
He crouches down next to me, his blue blue eyes are vibrant. Almost electric. He brushes my hair out of my face with a gentle sweep of his fingertips and plants a kiss on my forehead. “There, there now. My beautiful, beautiful Addy.” His voice is deep yet musical. It reminds me of listening to the classical station on the radio. “Did you honestly think I'd let you kill yourself?”
I try to answer him, but I can't find words. Or my voice. I'm too far gone, drifting off into what I know will be a dreamless sleep, where everything is black and somber. I feel the corners of my mouth pulling. Could I be smiling?
The coils of my mattress squeak and I feel Damien crawl onto my cot. He slips one hand over my hip and pulls me close to him. He rests his hand low on my stomach. His skin feels hot. I shiver as a surge of heat bleeds through my thin hospital gown and climbs up my abdomen. Damien nestles his chin in the crook of my neck, his lips against my ear. “I won't let you die, Addy.” There's a pause. “No,” he murmurs. “I'm right here with you. It's you and me, my love. Forever.”
Chapter Five
~After~
I'm not sure how much time has passed.
Seconds.
Minutes.
Hours maybe?
What I do know is that I've seen some sunrises and I've seen some sunsets, so in my head I assume that it has to be days. But I can't be sure. I can't be sure because everything seems to be blurring together. The sky. The trees. The muddy brown path beneath my feet.
It’s been a while since I've had anything to eat or drink. I've learned to ignore my hunger pains, but my mouth is hot and dry and I'm not sure how much longer I can survive on saliva as a beverage. My steps are shaky. My knees sore. And as I continue walking I tune out all the other sounds in the forest such as; birds chirping, twigs snapping, my own shuffled footsteps.
“Ouch!” A sharp pain shoots through the arch in my foot and I halt my steps when I notice that I stepped on a rock with jagged points on the surface. I sit down on the dirt path, lift my foot and examine the damage.
My feet are covered in mud and there are barely any spots of my flesh visible. Strips of my skin dangle loosely along the sides and there are some spots where dried blood is mixed in with the mud. I've had worse injuries, but I need my feet. I need them to carry me away. To lead me out of the forest. To help me start a new life for myself.
I press into the puncture wound with my forefinger and wince when the pain shoots up my leg. Frantically, I search the forest bed for something to wrap around it and settle on a few large leaves that will serve nicely as a homemade bandage.
Shadows surround me.
They touch my skin and turn my whole world black.
They blanket the path of mud in front of me, creeping forward as the sun drops from the sky.
I abandon the urge to wrap my foot and with the help of a nearby tree, I get on my feet again. Honestly, I figure I'll be much better off if I keep moving rather than lingering here to worry about my foot. Besides, there at least ten other cuts on each of them anyway. One more isn't going to make that much of a difference.
As I hobble along the darkened path, my stomach shouts profanities at me for keeping it empty for so long. The unpleasant rumble adds to the list of things wrong with me at the moment, but I push them all aside. I have to get out of this forest.