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Swallowing a sob, I nod frantically, refusing to think of what she’ll do to keep my hysteria at bay. I expect crushing sadness is next, and I have a feeling once I really face this, I’ll never be okay again. I’ll wish for death, and undoubtedly never get it here.
Not when I was so close the last time. Damn that man, he should have let me end it all. I want to hurt him for stopping me. I want to burn the whole world down.
But first… “We need to get you back to your side of the hospital, and that means getting dressed,” Nurse Ratched murmurs. I really feel as if I am the on-edge patient everyone pretends I am when she speaks this way to me.
Breathing shallowly because my throat hurts so much, I nod carefully. Nurse Ratched helps me dress and I force my tears away. Each item of clothing, thin as they are, help give me distance from the evidence of my trauma.
My pajama shirt, shorts, and socks are all I have keeping me from facing what happened in this room. Facing away from the bed, I refuse to look at the sheets. I don’t want to see anything left behind. When I lift my leg to put on the shorts, I swear someone broke something inside of me. Gritting my teeth, I finish dressing with her help after cataloging another bite mark on the underside of my right breast and various darkening fingerprints on the inside of my thighs.
Nurse Ratched looks studiously away as she assists me, and I find it funny that now is when she attempts to give me some privacy. I don’t understand her. Wrapping my arms around my stomach now that I’m dressed, I whisper softly, “I’m ready.”
Nurse Ratched grabs my elbow to lead me out of the room, but her gentle moment must be over, because her fingers dig into my skin.
My legs move by muscle memory as I follow her, my mind a whirl of noise. It’s just as well I’m going to rot here and no one is going to save me, because who will want me now?
The psychological torture and Xav’s experiments are one thing, I can almost convince myself Roark and Turner will be able to look past the physical scars Xav has left. Derek too if he really is looking for me. My mind is so confused and fucked up, I don’t feel worthy of the effort.
Whatever happened in that room can’t be explained away. I didn’t fight it enough. I may not be able to remember anything, but I’d know if I did. Right? There’d be broken fingernails or something?
Looking down at my nails, I don’t see any evidence of a fight. Shivering from this inner cold I can’t shake, I glance around at the pretty blue and gray walls. Everything looks so bright and pretty, and completely out of place in the face of this turmoil.
Do I want to survive or give up?My mind whispers. This is the million dollar question. I just don’t know, and that’s going to have to be a question for another day.
As I get closer to the hallway that’ll take me away from these bright hallways and the room that holds my own personal nightmares, a movement makes me look up. There’s a man staring at me in shock near the administrative offices, but my brain can’t process why he looks so familiar. I think I’m finally broken. Blankly staring back, I gasp as Nurse Ratched yanks me again to follow her, pulling me around the corner.
That night, beautiful dark eyes haunt me, but I don’t know why.
Derek
I’m at a loss after I leave my mother in the sun room. Nurse Imelda promises she’ll be fine there, and lunch will soon be served. Mom cuddles into the blanket I brought her, and I’m very glad I could do that for her. Bring her some form of comfort in this hell. Security blankets for adults may seem odd, but I know it's her favorite.
“Derek, your father is still in meetings, but he asked if you’d wait in his office,” Nurse Imelda tells me with a smile.
Blinking, I struggle to keep an amiable grin on my face as if I don’t care either way.Is she serious right now?!I’m surprised my father asked for this, unless he finally trusts me now, or believes there’s no way I can double cross him now that I’ve killed people.
The thing he will never understand, is I would burn the world down for the girl he’s willing to throw away.
Following her to my dad’s office, I keep my thunderous thoughts off my face.
“Just make yourself at home, and he’ll be here soon,” Nurse Imelda says cluelessly.
“Thank you,” I murmur, keeping the warmth in my eyes as I walk inside.
Closing the door behind me, I scan the room, it’s done in dark colors which match my father’s soul. Scowling at my thoughts, I cross the room, my intentions to search my father’s desk. There has to be an address for this place on something, right?
His desk has little piles on it and folders waiting for his attention. Dad parked in the director's space, which means he’s here more often than he acts like. I don’t know what his duties are here, but his hands are far from clean.
Going through the mail, I huff when I see each address is for a post office box instead of an actual street address.Of course, why would the Gods of hope bother smiling on me now?
Blowing out a breath, I keep looking until a box to my left catches my eye. Hearing voices outside, I hurry to it, searching for an address. It’s a UPS box, and most post offices won’t accept bigger boxes. Whispering a prayer of thanks that the tiny post office out here, wherever it may be, doesn’t either, I grin as I find the address we’ve been looking for.
Hidden Hills Institute
? Grant Williams
5673 Weeping Willow Creek
Corningstone, Kentucky 43654
