by Krystal Wade
“Don’t play stupid, Rose. You’re so not.” Megan kept up her glaring, but her tone was soft, like she wanted to be angry but couldn’t, or like she wanted to be nice and it was a struggle. “And it’s okay. I forgive you.”
A headache formed between Rose’s eyes, and no amount of rubbing seemed to make it any better. “For the sake of my sanity, pretend that I’m stupid. I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about or why you’d need to forgive me for anything.”
“For going out with Josh behind my back. For him cheating on me with you.” Megan threw up her hands. “There. You made me say it. And yet I still forgive you, even though you won’t forgive me for that stupid photo or not coming for you.”
Cheating? Behind Megan’s back? “What?”
The color drained out of Rose’s cheeks as her life fell to pieces before her very eyes, as everything she thought she knew no longer made any sense.
“You know, sneaking out of your house with Josh at night, kissing him when you were supposed to be coming to visit me, having sex with him when you were both drunk in New York, all that stuff,” Megan said, her hands fisted over her knees. “We were afraid to make a big deal out of our relationship because I’m slightly older and out of high school. We thought maybe I could get into trouble for dating a senior, even if he was only a few months younger. But he told me he shared it with you, in the very beginning, and that you guys agreed as long as we weren’t in your face about it you wouldn’t feel like a third wheel.”
“The beginning was . . . When was that?”
“Two years ago.”
“Stop talking.” Nausea roiled in Rose’s belly, and she wasn’t sure if the meds had kicked in or if she felt ill because of Megan. “I never . . . I would never . . . You and Josh were dating? But . . . Josh and I were dating—behind your back because we didn’t want you to feel like a third wheel. We snuck out almost every night, had sex more than just in New York. All the time, Megan, nearly every day. At school everyone knew we were a thing; we were free, open. God, Megan, I loved him. He loved me. You’re lying. You must be lying. Why would you do this to me? How could you be so fucking cruel and say these things to me? Here? Now? While I’m trapped?”
Megan stood quickly but didn’t take off, not yet. “You’re in an asylum, Rose, and you’re calling me a liar. For once in your life, get out of your head and open your eyes and stop acting like a spoiled brat that the whole world is out to get. You’re messed up bad; you’re sick. I get it. I didn’t want to believe it, but I get it, and so much about you makes sense now. But I’m not lying. I promise you I’m not.”
“That boy’s bad news,” Rose’s mother had said. “He’ll end up destroying you, your friendship with Megan, or both. Is he worth it?”
How many times had Rose heard that? Fifty? Seventy? Five thousand? How could people who called each other friends have kept something like this from each other? This was something she could take the blame for, at least. She never should have hidden her relationship with Josh from her best friend. And because of that secrecy, she would lose that friend anyway.
“Don’t tell Megs,” Josh would always say. He probably told Megan the same thing, “Don’t tell Rose.”
“If it’s true, then he’s a disgusting pig, and you should break up with him.” Rose paced the sitting area, the feel of Josh’s lips against hers threatening to send her over the edge, tears welling in her eyes.
“It’s true.”
“He played us both. You have to leave him. Let him go. He’s not worth it. He’s so not worth it, Megs.”
Megan absently placed her hand on her stomach, like she was going to be sick. “I have to go. I’m sorry you’re in here. Hopefully your doctor figures out a way to fix you, or at least a way to make you realize you’ve made mistakes and you’re not always right.”
Rose followed Megan toward the exit, repeating over and over that she needed to leave Josh, that she couldn’t stay with him, that he was a liar, tricking them both, that this was all his fault. Rose didn’t care that Megan wasn’t listening, that she sobbed like she’d been punched in the gut, or that she wouldn’t turn around; Rose knew her message had to be heard.
“Do we have a problem, Miss Briar?” Thomas asked as he and Martin jogged up the exterior stairwell. They kept their eyes on Rose, but she kept running forward, reaching out to grab Megan’s shoulder before she could slip out the door.
“What?” Megan shouted, brushing Rose away.
“Just listen to me. You have to listen, Megan.”
“Miss Briar,” Thomas repeated, his voice soothing and his steps slow.
Rose snarled at him. “I’m not going to run. Just. Let. Me. Talk.”
“She’s scaring me.” Megan backed up, her hand still on her stomach as if she might be sick, her face red, staring at Rose as if she were some sort of monster, not the same little girl who saved her on the playground. “I just want to leave.”
“Go,” Martin whispered.
“No.” Rose lunged to grab Megan’s shoulder—they had so much to talk about; she couldn’t leave, not yet—but the two men situated themselves between her and Rose, allowing Megan to slip by Mr. Gordon.
“Miss Briar,” Thomas said, voice still low as if speaking at a normal volume might send Rose skittering away, out the door, or into hysterics. “You chased your friend out of here. You were screaming at her.”
The well of tears overflowed and spilled down her cheeks, and Rose shook her head back and forth. “No. Leave me alone. Please. For once in your pathetic lives, let me be.”
“What’s going on here, Thomas, Martin?” Dr. Underwood trotted down the steps and placed a soothing hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Rose?”
She pointed at the two men, blind to the world around her. All she could make out were blurred images. “He lied to me. They all lied to me. He used me. I loved him, so, so much. And my mother knew all along. She knew. And now everyone is gone. They’re all gone.”
“Come on with me,” Dr. Underwood said, turning her away from Thomas, Martin, and their stupid pathetic drug-pumping selves. “I’m assuming your visit with Megan didn’t go so well and you’re not actually blaming my staff for your current state of mind. What happened?”
Rose cried harder, leaning into him, needing someone to support her without wanting her to talk.
They passed Phillip sitting in the corridor, looking just as angry as he had earlier, eyes following them across the room. And something he said struck home: She was like him.
They all left her.
Josh.
Megan.
Leah and Stephan Briar.
Rose was alone.
“Let’s go into my office.”
Rose stopped. All she wanted was to lie down and cry, to erase Josh and Megan from her memory, to pretend that her parents loved her enough not to abandon her. She didn’t want a dramatic conversation with Dr. Underwood, and she definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near Phillip. They were the same. And Rose wasn’t sure she liked what that meant. “I don’t want to talk. Not about this. Not about anything. I just . . . Can I just be alone?”
“I believe that’s a reasonable request for this issue, but if you should change your mind, you know where to find me.” Dr. Underwood turned back before entering his office. “However, don’t fall asleep before taking your nightly meds.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Rose glanced at Phillip and saw the panic in his eyes. Five minutes ago, if someone had asked what she wanted, Rose would have said to get out of here, back home, but now she had nothing to go back to. No art. No boyfriend. No friend. She’d drown in loneliness until graduation and then head to school in a town where the boy she loved wouldn’t be there for her. He wouldn’t care for her. And as much as Rose hated to admit it, she was going to Chicago for Josh. She’d convinced herself there were benefits outside of him being there, like her appreciation of the city, the school’s location in relation to Tennessee and family visits, but the number one re
ason was that he’d have been there.
Now if someone asked what she wanted, Rose wouldn’t know what to say. So skipping a few doses of medication wouldn’t be that big of a deal. What’s another week of delayed treatment when she’d earned a life sentence?
She nodded at Phillip, hoping that would tell him she was lying to the doctor, and with a sigh he relaxed his hunched shoulders. And when Nurse Judy came by a few hours later with a pill cup in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Rose popped the medications under her tongue, took a long swig from the glass, smiled the best she could through her sadness, then ran to the bathroom and spit it all out after the nurse left.
Rose had to find out just how crazy Phillip was, just how crazy she was. She had to find out why he thought he’d keep losing everyone in his life, why she had a pain in her back and gut where she’d been tortured in her nightmares, and why Phillip’s bruises and cuts were in the exact right location.
And Rose knew she had nothing to lose either way.
12
Going against the doctor’s orders brought on a wave of anxiety like Rose had never experienced. She struggled to fall asleep, tossing and turning on her small bed for hours while her mother’s warnings about bad friends ran through Rose’s head on an endless loop. Every now and then the image of Megan’s disappointed face would insert itself in Rose’s thoughts. She heard her mother’s voice and saw her friend’s sadness, like the two of them were one person, wholly and irrevocably sick at the sight of Rose and couldn’t believe she was following yet another bad friend, and an insane one. That same look would appear on Dr. Underwood’s face if he found out she hadn’t taken her meds, and that knowledge churned in her belly and threatened to bring everything exploding to the surface.
Whatever this experiment proved, the thought of breaking the trust he had in her was terrifying. Maybe he’d take away the supplies she’d earned. Maybe they’d hook her up to an IV and force the drugs into her system. Keep her confined to this room for the remainder of her life.
The starched sheets and scratchy blankets tangled around her legs and scraped against her skin each time she shifted in bed. Rose wanted to put everything out of her mind and fall asleep, but after what felt like four long hours of uncomfortable attempts had passed, the lights overhead started blinking and buzzing. Paralyzed by fear, Rose stopped moving. She knew she was awake. No way had she fallen asleep without realizing. Sleep would be welcome for once.
Her vision was clear, but she blinked several times to see if a scary face would appear. Nothing. No fog filled her head. Her thoughts were crisp, her brain firing on all cylinders. Holding the blanket up to her chin, Rose didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound or do anything to draw attention to herself.
The lights continued their off and on ritual for several minutes without any crazy visions or intruders or jaunts into rooms where she was tortured until she drew something, so Rose lowered the blanket and took a deep breath. She got to her feet and pressed her face against the glass window in her door, checking the hallway for dark figures, but the only things she saw in the corridor were the few security lights that sprinkled a dim yellowness along the floors.
Maybe her nightmares were just that. Nightmares.
A pang of sadness tightened her chest when she thought of Phillip. Rose would have to find a way to break it to him that no one was hurting them in the middle of the night. They might be alike, but she needed her medications, despite the side effect of the morbid dreams. Hopefully she’d come up with something kind and smart to say to him by morning.
Before getting back in bed, Rose lifted her mattress from the frame and pulled out her special charcoal so she could mark the passage of another day. But when she scooted the bed away from the wall, wincing at how loud the feet scraped against the floor, she fell back on her heels and gasped.
Line after line had been drawn on the wall. Four tic marks with a diagonal slash through them, over and over again. Rose hadn’t drawn these. She couldn’t have. But who did? Who knew about her pencil and knew about how she wanted to keep track of time? Who would do such a thing?
Trembling, she scrambled to her knees and inched toward the wall. Rose was afraid to count the days, afraid what it all might mean, but she did it anyway. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, all the way up to forty-five lines had been drawn. She needed a new place to write, somewhere no one would think to look. She’d add another to this spot, but then she’d put a secret mark elsewhere.
The underneath of the metal frame seemed like the most inconspicuous spot. So Rose marked the wall, her line squiggly due to her shaking hands, then, as she leaned to replace the charcoal to its hiding spot, she ducked her head under the bed and added eight new lines there.
“Get up,” a man shouted, startling Rose so badly she banged her head against the metal.
Rubbing her scalp, she stood up and found Thomas and Martin in the room. Thomas wore black jeans, combat boots, and a black T-shirt that revealed just how muscular he really was, veins bulging over his biceps and forearms. He crossed those strong arms and narrowed his eyes, and Rose backed up, away, her knees struggling to hold her weight. Were they here to torment her? To take her away? Force her to draw?
“What are you doing here?” she asked, quivering voice betraying her emotions.
Rose looked from Thomas to Martin, who wore a frown with his usual dark blue scrubs. The orderly held his usual pose, syringe in his left hand, arm down at his side. Rose thought maybe she knew exactly why they were here, and that their presence had nothing to do with torment. Somehow they knew she hadn’t taken her meds, and they wanted to knock her out.
Thomas smiled like he didn’t really mean it, like he knew he’d caught her doing something wrong and wanted to make her sweat, showing all his teeth. “Well, funny thing about old buildings like this, little butterfly, is that sound travels.”
Martin glanced at Thomas, almost exasperated. He rolled his eyes, then turned to Rose and took a step forward. “You have a history of running. We heard noises coming from your room and decided to check it out.”
Rose shook her head, back and forth, each movement stiff and choppy as she processed the situation. They didn’t know about the medicine. “But I wasn’t running.”
The same smile remained plastered to Thomas’s face. “So what, exactly, are you doing out of bed?”
“I might ask a similar question,” Stern Nurse said, stepping into the room with her arms crossed. She stared at the men, bright red lips pursed into a thin line, eyes narrow. “Except I’d prefer to know what exactly you’re doing in my patient’s room.”
Swallowing hard, Thomas shrugged. His reactions were at war with each other, the bob in his Adam’s apple revealing his nervousness, the shrug an indication of nonchalance. Rose knew he feared Stern Nurse and didn’t want to show it. Maybe her thing with Dr. Underwood was a little more serious than he’d let on.
“One night you fill in for Samuel as guard for the inmates, and here I find you in Miss Briar’s room, a young girl, harassing her. I’d expected something like this from Thomas, but to find you in here too, Martin?”
Martin looked down at his shoes, also black combat boots, Rose noted with a shudder, peeking from beneath the hem of his scrubs and said, “Sorry.”
“Really, you two.” Stern Nurse marched into the room, brushing her shoulder against Thomas, then stopped in front of Rose. “Are you okay? Did these two oafs do anything to you?”
Rose couldn’t speak. She was used to the nurse being harsh, cold, but never toward someone else. This kind, gentle behavior was more in line with how Judy treated Rose, and now she felt guilty for the little nickname she’d given her.
“You’ve scared her half to death.” Nurse Vicki clucked her tongue and glanced back at the two night guards. “Get back to work and out of here before I have to call Dr. Underwood.”
So many thoughts ran through Rose’s head as she watched the two men walk out of the room. They could be the ones who came
in here and messed with her every night. They both had on combat boots, and Martin had some sort of tranquilizer with him, armed and ready to go. But Vicki said this was their first night working late, and she obviously kept a sharp eye on her patients. So they couldn’t have been in here before without her noticing. Rose knew her medications were the most likely explanation for her experiences, but something about the way Thomas sneered at her, and those boots, and the syringe . . . .
Vicki led Rose back to the bed and helped her get settled. “There. Now, can you tell me what’s kept you up so late?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Rose yawned, her nervous energy finally slipping away and leaving her exhausted, even though her thoughts ran circles around each other. Vicki could be acting. They could still know Rose hadn’t taken her medication and they were all just playing one large trick on her, but that sounded more paranoid than anything else.
Nurse Vicki pressed her lips together, not a frown, not a smile, not anger. Just a solemn look. “I’ll need to write that down in your chart. Was anything in particular keeping you awake?”
Rose closed her eyes, not wanting to look someone she’d maybe misjudged in the eyes while telling her next lie. Especially when the truth would earn her another dose of medication before she finished Phillip’s experiment. “No. I just kept tossing and turning.”
Thankfully Vicki took that as final and left the room without saying goodbye, and shortly after, the lights flicked off and stayed off. In the dark, quiet space, Rose stopped wondering about her nighttime visitors, all her mother’s comments, Josh, and Megan and drifted into sleep, eyelids heavy and burning. Glimpses of dreams passed through Rose’s mind, scenes she couldn’t hold onto, maybe she didn’t want to, voices passing through her thoughts and everything disappearing before she could understand what was going on.
Until pain pricked at her elbow. Rose glanced down and saw something tiny and black crawling along her skin. Another prick in the same spot. Another bug. Soon, her entire body itched, and she jumped up and frantically dusted her arms and legs and belly to get all the little creatures off. She stood still, waiting to feel more bugs, and when she didn’t, Rose returned to bed, scratching at the spot on her elbow. Tomorrow she’d tell Dr. Underwood about this, but for now she pulled the blanket up to her chin and squeezed her eyes closed even though every nerve stood on high alert.
