Page 5 of Asylum
It’s fitting, I guess. The penance for killing my family, even though they deserved it. The judgement wasn’t meant for my hand, but I delivered it anyway. My only regret is not fleeing after I finished the job.
The latch on the door makes a terrible banging noise, the metal barrier swinging open. Nurse Carter reappears with a man wearing a white doctor’s coat, a stethoscope around his neck. He appears to be in his early thirties, sandy brown hair, and dark eyes. Our gazes collide and his lips part, unnerving me to the point I want to shrink into myself. He’s rather tall, well over six feet, his posture confident, exuding dominance. My eyes roam down his body, admiring his solid, muscular physique. While he may be good looking, there’s something sinister about him that sets off alarm bells in my head. He blinks a few times, gathering his composure before stepping into my space, his white coat brushing the front of my knees.
“Hello Olivia. My name is Dr. Atlas Stone. I’m in charge of your rehabilitation here at Wellard Asylum.” His deep voice commands my attention, and I sit up straighter as he speaks. “I’ve read through Dr. Sweeney’s notes about your disorders. I know relocating facilities and changing physicians may be troubling, but I look forward to helping you in every way I can.” He smirks, and a knot forms in my stomach, unsure if the tug of his lips is due to his genuine care of his patients or sinister intentions.
“Thank you,” I respond meekly, just the way these people like me. While I may be the perfect patient, obeying every order, they have no idea what simmers just below the surface of my skin. There’s a monster inside me, as Dr. Sweeney described when he saw me lose control. That’s how he determined sedatives are not a good option for me.
“You’ve been diagnosed with Intermittent Explosive Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder due to physical and sexual abuse. You killed your father, stepmother, and stepbrother while suffering an IED episode. The court found you unfit to stand trial, and you were sentenced to a psychiatric hospital for a minimum of twenty years. Does that about cover it?”
“Yes.” I agree, keeping my answers short and sweet.
He looks doubtful, clearly underestimating me, and my temper. With his cocky demeanor, I’m sure he’ll find out for himself. He seems like the kind of prick that will push me to my limits just to see if I’ll break.
The joke’s on him. I won’t be the one to shatter.
“Nurse Carter, you may leave.” He dismisses her, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Yes, Dr. Stone.” She nods, exiting the room, pulling the door until it’s barely ajar.
He moves closer, planting his large frame between my legs. His hands on either side of my upper thighs, pressing into the thin cushion of the gurney. “Listen to me very carefully, little doll. You’ll do what I say, when I say, or you will be punished.” One hand reaches for my face, trailing his large fingers down my cheek. “I’m your God, now.” He leans in, his face uncomfortably close to mine. “As long as you’re a good girl, you and I will get along just fine.”
My body trembles at his words, and I read between the lines. I’ll be his fucking puppet, and he’ll be my master. I want to claw his fucking eyes out. I killed my family because my father beat me, my stepmother hated me, and my stepbrother raped me. After three years of rehabilitation, I saw a glimmer of hope for myself. Now, it feels like I’ve been snatched back into my past, another man doing whatever the fuck he wants to me with no consequences.
My shoulders deflate, and I’m filled with hopelessness once again, knowing I can’t fight a doctor at a mental asylum. The little voice in my head hasn’t made a sound since I was last sedated. With it gone, I’m alone, making way for the depression and despair to take over, my compliance easily secured by whoever demands it. Meeting Dr. Stone’s gaze, I nod my acceptance, my defeat making him grin.
“You’re a gorgeous little doll, aren’t you? So young and delicate. I’m no fool, Olivia. I’ve read every word in your file. I know you have a monster inside you. Rest assured, mine is bigger and more ferocious. I know what induces your episodes, and I know what brings you out of them. I can be your ally or your tormentor. It’s your choice.”
My breath hitches, realizing I’m in actual hell. I wish I could bring on an IED episode now, so I could rip his fucking head off, and end this shit show before it begins. “I understand.”
He pulls away, smiling victoriously. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. I’ll give you today to acclimate to your new home. We’ll resume your treatment tomorrow.”
Shooting up on the bed, I’m disoriented, searching the darkness for something familiar.
My damp gown sticks to sweat slicked skin as I try to remember where I am. The thin mattress beneath me has reality slowly coming into focus, the humid, moldy air reminding me exactly where I am. Running my fingers through my hair, I let out a shuddering breath, trying to calm my racing heart. The room is dark with no windows, and I have no idea what time it is.
You’re okay.
I tell myself over and over, adding an extra period to the phrase, so my psyche gets the even number it craves. My mind begins to calm, my breaths coming slower and more even, and I think back to yesterday’s events. I’m in a new facility with a new doctor. There’s a chance he may be a pervert, but he’sdefinitelyan asshole.
I thought the room where I met him was going to be my permanent residence, but I was wrong. Nurse Carter came back in after Dr. Stone left, leading me to the bathroom. I realized after seeing a “no entry” sign along the way, I’d been placed in the isolation ward. When I asked why I was being isolated from other patients, she glared at me, giving no response. I understand I have a volatile disorder, but I did fine at the previous hospital, never having issues with other patients. I kept to myself majority of the time, but at times, I found the background noise of the other patients comforting.
Here, there’s only silence.
The one time I lost it in front of Dr. Sweeney was due to the sedatives I was given. I don’t like being unconscious. It’s a trigger for me, most likely a trauma response from the first time my stepbrother raped me. My biggest fear is having no control over what people do to me. Still, I don’t think that’s cause to keep me in isolation.
The banging sound from the latch draws my attention to the metal door. It’s pushed open, Nurse Carter walking in with the same sour expression as yesterday. “Good morning, Miss Sterling. How did you sleep?” She asks flatly, and I know she doesn’t give two fucks how I slept on this thin cot, the springs protruding through the overused mattress, digging into my body. Glancing across room, the only other accommodations are a toilet and a sink.
This is a prison cell.
“Fine. Thank you,” I reply, shoving down my previous thoughts.
“Dr. Stone has requested you bathe before your appointment this morning.”
“Will there be other patients in there?” I ask. The shower and bathroom areas at the previous facility were communal, but nurses always stood watch in case anything happened.
“No. Although all the patients in this ward use the same area, we do not allow you in there at the same time. It is called the isolation ward for a reason, Miss Sterling.”
Not trusting myself to keep the smartass retort to myself, I nod.