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At that moment I jump from my seat and push his hand away. “No!” Dr. Watson stands, towering in front of me. “You can’t make me!”
He leans over, placing both hands on my cheeks, his thumbs brushing against my cheekbones. This man has a magical touch. One caress of his fingers has me at ease, but there’s also something vaguely familiar about Dr. Watson putting his hands on me. But I haven’t figured out what that familiarity is, yet.
He’s touched me before. Not in a sick perverted kind of way, but in a concerned and sometimes I even think loving kind of way. “It’s okay, Addy,” he soothes me. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Trust me. I only want to help you. I only want to see you get better so you can get out of here.” His voice vibrates in my mind. That suave, beautiful, and deep voice plummets into the darkest corners of my brain and I swear I’ve heard it before outside of our sessions. We gaze into each other’s eyes and his eyes soften subtly. He studies me hard, eyes flitting over every facial feature I have and then I swear a see a flash of pain in his eyes. This man is hiding something, I can tell.
His hands fall from my face and rest on my shoulder blades, but neither one of us tears our eyes away from each other. That is until we hear the screaming.
“No!” Thundering footsteps crash into the tile and there’s shouting from the staff on top of the screaming. “No! Stay away from me!” Dr. Watson tears his eyes away from mine and glances out into the hall. Several nurses stampede past the door. “Please! Please! Don’t take me down there!”
Dr. Watson steps away from me and jogs to the door. I follow, standing beside him and his eyes widen. I remain at the door, watching as he breaks out into a full sprint, running to the opposite end of the hall. His body is tense, his fists clenched. I get the sense that some kind of argument is about to go down.
Peering out the door, the crowded hall is pure chaos. Dr. Morrow is surrounded by two orderlies, three nurses, and Cynthia, the asylum gossip queen, is writhing on the floor. She’s thrashing beneath the grasp of the orderlies and nurses. She tries to fight them, kicking and swatting at them, but eventually they manage to restrain her.
My eyes widen in shock and I slip into the hall, stopping at the halfway mark. Remorse sweeps through my entire body and I can’t help but wish that I could help her somehow. I can’t help but wonder if there is a way I could somehow set her free. Help her escape. Send her on her way to wherever her real home is.
Cynthia still thrashes and screams, “I’ll do anything! Anything! Just don’t take me down there again!”
Dr. Morrow prepares a sedative. My eyes drift over all of the faces in the crowd and I spot Damien as he rushes to the scene. His eyes flit toward Dr. Watson and a scornful and hateful scowl spreads across his lips. What’s that about? Damien’s eyes meet mine for a second and hurt pierces those blue blue eyes. He blanches then looks away. I want to run to him. I want to apologize. I want to beg him for his forgiveness and explain everything. That the strange man I saw in my dreams was only a strange man and that he means nothing to me. I want to tell Damien that he is the only man who will ever mean anything to me. He’s the only man who’ll ever fully have my heart.
But I don’t.
Dr. Watson interrupts my thoughts when he shouts, “What the hell is going on here?”
Dr. Morrow presses his thumb against the bottom of the syringe and squirts a tiny amount of liquid through the tip of the needle. “We caught this one trying to escape.” His voice is calm, frozen, and completely terrifying.
My attention averts to Cynthia who is still thrashing, but is become weaker and weaker by the second. She whimpers softly and the sight of her red cheeks and the frightened look on her face brings tears to my eyes. I want to scream don’t hurt her, please . Then I catch Damien out of the corner of my eye, holding her down as Dr. Morrow stabs her with the needle. Cynthia’s body goes limp in the two orderlies’ and two nurses’ arms and her head lulls back and forth as the three nurses strap her into a gurney.
Dr. Watson is outraged and he points a finger in Dr. Morrow’s face. “This isn’t right Matthew, and you know it! These aren’t animals! These are people!”
A wicked smile curls on Dr. Morrow’s lips. He cups his hand around Dr. Watson’s bicep and says, “I’m doing what you said, Elijah. I’m letting you treat your patient the way you want to. And well, this is how I treat mine.”
Veins pop out of Dr. Watson’s neck and his face is a deep shade of crimson. He breathes in deeply and clenches his fists at his sides. “Don’t do this Matthew,” he says through gritted teeth.
Dr. Morrow looks away from Dr. Watson and instructs the nurses, “Take her downstairs.” Then he faces Dr. Watson. “Mind your own business Elijah. Worry about your own patient.”
Patient?
Patient?
Am I his only patient?
The word bounces around in my head as squeaks from the gurney echo and fill up the entire hall. Damien lingers in the hall and props himself up against one of the walls staring back at me and Dr. Watson drops his gaze to the floor.
Me, I’m glancing between both of them more confused than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Dr. Watson slouches his shoulders and pivots on his heel, walking back toward the office. Damien is scowling at his back. But, why?
During this moment, I can’t help but wonder two things; one, why Damien hates a man he doesn’t even know? And two, why I am Dr. Watson’s only patient?
Chapter 13
~BEFORE~
Daddy was in a really bad mood today.
The blossoming bruise on my cheek and the ache in my ribs serve as a reminder. After a sharp intake of breath an intense pain punctures me so deeply, that I wind up hunched over on the bathroom floor, unable to breathe. The pain spreads across my chest cavity, then plummets to the walls of my stomach before breaking out into a full on throb. With shaking fingers and lost wits, I remove a bandage from a cabinet underneath the bathroom sink and wrap it as tight as I can below my breasts. The tight makeshift tourniquet I’ve made doesn’t take the pain away completely, but it helps. I can now take small shallow breaths without feeling like a knife is skewering me over and over again.
I linger in my room, pacing the length of the 12x12 perimeter, waiting for Daddy’s rumbling snores to blast through the walls. The sky outside my window is two-toned, half rustic orange, the other half deep blue. It’s past dusk. Panic unfurls in my lungs and I breathe in deep, wincing in pain when I forget about the damage Daddy inflicted on my ribcage.
Damien will be waiting for me. I hope he doesn’t think I’ve stood him up. I hope he doesn’t get worried and come looking
