Page 19 of Asylum

How can this violent, tiny girl look so fucking fragile?

As I exit the room, I give her one last glance over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, little doll.”

My eyes slowly open, and I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.

Everything aches, and my head is throbbing. Bringing a weak hand to my temple, I wince, my lips parting as my fingers graze the tender skin. Something crusty falls onto my gown, and I slide my fingers down to my mouth, finding my lips caked with some kind of residue.

What the fuck?

Using the collar of my gown, I scrub my lips roughly, removing all traces of the substance. I don’t think drool doesthat once it’s dried, but I’ve been in a deep sleep for an unknown amount of time.

Bracing my forearms, I push my upper body off the mattress, scooting backwards I’m sagging against the wall. I frown as my leg brushes a damp spot on the sheet.

Did I piss myself?

Running my fingers across the wet fabric, I realize it’s creamy and sticky, as well as the inside of my thighs. Glancing towards the end of the bed, my panties lay tangled in the sheet, and anxiety creeps in.

What the fuck happened to me?

Confusion has me tapping my fingers on the outside of my thigh, and I lose my train of thought as memories flood my muddled mind.

Arguing with Atlas in his office.

Slipping into an episode, the details just out of reach.

Strapped to a gurney, electricity surging through my body like a live wire, my entire existence rebelling against the foreign energy lighting me up from the inside out.

My heart rate spikes as I relive tiny flashes of torment. I search for more details, but an invisible wall slams into me, blocking my prodding. The fear of the unknown has me spiraling, my chest constricting, a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

“I’ve got you.”The voice whispers so faintly, it sounds as though it’s carried on a nonexistent breeze through the darkness. My chest loosens a fraction, and my breaths come a little easier.

The door opens, the metal scraping across the concrete floor like a piercing bolt to my head. Nurse Carter strides in, her face sour as ever. “Let’s go, Miss Sterling. You must shower before your appointment with Dr. Stone.”

Shifting my body, it takes me a few moments to find my bearings before standing from the bed. Meeting her gaze, I ask, “What happened to me?”

She scoffs as if I’ve asked the most ridiculous question. “You had one of your tantrums. You were punished.”

Memories of my limbs seizing and pain ricochetting through my veins flash through my mind, and I flinch. I don’t utter another word to the cold bitch.

Pushing myself off the mattress to stand, I take a moment to compose myself before following her out of the room. She leads me into the shower, placing a fresh gown and toiletries on the sink. “Hurry up,” she snips before exiting the room, and I step under the cold spray, the temperature throwing me back onto a gurney with frigid hardness pressing against my temples.

“You’re okay,” I tell myself. Concentrating on the bar of soap in my hand, I scrub my body the best I can. Most places are hard to reach with the current state of my muscles, but I grit my teeth, powering through the discomfort.

Once I’m finished, I brush my teeth and hair, sliding on the clean gown and cotton panties. It swallows me whole. I’ve lost more weight since arriving at Wellard Asylum, and my head hangs in sorrow, realizing this is where I’ll finally break down and wither away. Any hope I had of receiving help with my disorders and a future living a normal life is slowly disappearing. The road ahead looks bleak, surrounded by fractured memories, rough concrete, and impenetrable darkness. Foolishly, I believed Atlas would be my saving grace. I thought there was something between us. I latched onto the idea, placing my faith in a man that says all the right things.

I know he did this to me.

My memories may be broken, but I remember him being there.

I remember the fucking pain.