by Kayla Coca
Chapter 7
Day 45
I woke up and marked another day off my calendar. I’d made it a few weeks ago when I realized I was losing track of time. It wasn’t that I lost hours of my day, or anything like that. Time just felt irrelevant, so I never knew how much time had passed. It didn’t seem to matter. Every day was the same. You were given a schedule and you followed it. Day in and day out like a robot.
This place seemed to drain me, and I felt like I’d lost my grip on reality. What was real? What wasn’t real? Was this a dream? I didn’t even know anymore. My hallucinations hadn’t changed, which wasn’t a good thing. The voice haunted my nights, and sometimes my days.
Every night I’d lie on the therapists couch listening to him try to drug me. I’d refuse every night. He’d talk calmly until I fell asleep. Some nights I’d wake up screaming and he’d calm me down. Other nights I wouldn’t and that was okay too. After he was sure I wouldn’t wake up a guard would carry me to my bed. Every morning in therapy Dr. Adams would ask about it, but I didn’t answer him. I almost never did anymore. I just sat there watching him talk. Some days I’d answer the yes or no questions, but beyond that I was almost like a coma patient. I’d sit and watch the clock and listen to him. Tick tock, tick tock.
The others didn’t bother me anymore. Where they real? I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. If they were real then they’d be fine. If they weren’t maybe they’d go away one day. I didn’t care. The fact that I didn’t care should have scared me, but it didn’t. Not enough.
My escape plan was pretty much perfected, but I wasn’t sure if I’d ever use it. There were only two times a day that were exactly ten minutes long, and even then I wasn’t sure I could get out. They had eyes everywhere, always watching.
I’d stopped waking up in time for the morning relaxation thing. They didn’t care anymore. I wasn’t worth the time it took to make me participate. I’d wake up and mark off my calendar. I’d shower quickly and then change into another of their outfits. The navy cotton pants and the navy cotton shirt that didn’t really fit and were held on my elastic had become my entire wardrobe.
I walked into breakfast and got a plate with the same thing on it every day. Eggs and grits. I’d sit down alone at a table and I’d eat a few bites of each. I’d throw away the rest of my food and go back to my schedule. Some days I’d follow it, others I wouldn’t bother. They didn’t care and neither did I. I was just another cog in their machine. I was replaceable.
I slid out the door and met up with Jeremy, Jenny, and Kelly in the hall and we went to get lunch. They’d made pasta, but I wasn’t hungry. I sat moving it around in the bowl.
“Syd, you should eat,” Jenny said softly.
I shrugged, “I’m just not that hungry.”
“You’ve been picking at your food all week,” She said. “You don’t even look healthy anymore.”
“I said I’m not freaking hungry!” I yelled. Then I sighed, “I’ll eat later, or tomorrow, or whatever.” I got up and left. I went back into my room and went into the closet and stared at my map. I just stared at it. I was hoping I’d get something out of it. Maybe something would inspire me. But it didn’t.
“My name is Sydney Wright. I am fifteen, almost sixteen. I chose to come here. I am not crazy. I will get out of here and I will get my life back.”
I wrote the last part on the wall, “I will get my life back” It was simple, and it was a starting point. I left the room and went into the art room.
I rolled a chair in front of a canvas and began to paint. I finished and looked at what I’d done. I sighed. Before coming here my paintings were bright, colorful. I was bright and colorful. I would paint flowers, people, and animals. My work had changed. It was dark and I could feel the messaging behind it. It was dark with barely visible eyes that stared out from behind the dark red rose. It was creepy and it captured me. Even when you couldn’t see the eyes, the rose was twisted. Then you saw the eyes and you knew. Someone was watching the rose. Always watching.
I slammed my fist through each eye and screamed. I threw the canvas to the ground. My hand was stinging. My knuckles were red, but not bleeding. I grabbed the brightest markers there and went to my room. I decorated the phrase. “I will get my life back.” I put the markers back when I was finished and stood in front of the mirror just staring at the person I saw.
It wasn’t me. I didn’t even recognize the girl in the mirror. Her hair was limp and tangled. It was clean, but it looked lackluster and dead. Her eyes were hollow. There was nothing there except eyes that stared blankly back at me. She was much thinner than I had ever been. You could see her bones sticking out and she looked unhealthy. Her skin was also paler than I was. Her whole posture was different from mine. She didn’t stand straight; instead she had a slight hunch. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself like they were the only thing keeping her together.
She was what this place had done to me. I started to cry harder than I have since the accident, although not that hard. I just sat down in the fetal position and cried. I could barely breathe, but it didn’t matter. I just cried. After what felt like hours I stood up on shaky legs. I walked to the bathroom and cleaned my face. I could feel that it was hot and swollen and knew it was probably bright red. I didn’t care though.
I splashed the ice cold water on my face till I didn’t want to cry anymore. Then I just screamed. I screamed until I felt the needle prick my skin and the numbing tiredness spreading through my veins. I walked over to my bed and fell into as sleep completely overtook me.
When I woke up I was exhausted. Sedatives always did that to me, because it wasn’t really sleeping. It was like being beaten over the head, except much less painful.
Check mate. You’re as good as dead and you can’t get out now. I’ve got you. You’re mine.
I wanted to scream again. Or maybe cry. I wasn’t sure. Instead I settled for staring out the barred windows. It was summer, and for whatever reason that bothered me more than if it had been cold. It was like the weather was mocking me. I was miserable and so I wanted the weather to be miserable. Instead it was beautiful and happy that it just seemed to piss me off.
Rather than argue with anyone or get sedated again I lay down on my bed and curled up. Why did all this crap happen to me? It wasn’t fair.
Life’s not fair, human. You should know that by now.
“Just leave me alone,” I said crying again.
Stupid girl, I own you. You should listen to me and stop talking back. You’re just a child. You’re weak; you didn’t even try to fight. You’ve all but given up.
I cried harder knowing it was right and just cried till I fell asleep.
I was sitting in the car, the old car. Meg was sitting next to me asking Allen what kind of car he wanted. I realized where we were as the phone rang.
“Hey honey,” My dad said. “Why, is everything alright?” “We’ll turn around now.”
“No!” I yelled. “Daddy please, please keep driving.” I tried to beg, but my voice didn’t work.
“We’re heading home. Your mom needs us,” He said as he changed into the lane to make a u turn.
“No!” I yelled as he turned. The bus slammed into the right side of the car and I felt my body being flung into the window. I heard the honking and the impact of the second car. My head snapped back and I felt the world go dark.
I woke up in tears. My dad never answered the phone when he was driving. He was worried, because it was mom calling. The others walked in as I managed to calm myself down enough to say goodnight and drift off to sleep again.
