Page 21 of Asylum (The Wellard Asylum #9)

I woke up a few minutes ago, and I’m lying here, staring into the darkness.

My head is throbbing, but I try to piece things together.

I’ve got nothing, no idea how long I’ve been out this time.

I thought the bastard drugged me again when I tried to rub my eyes, and my arms wouldn’t move.

Slowly, I realized they were bound as I began fighting the tight space pinning my limbs.

He trapped me in a fucking straitjacket.

My temples ache and burn from the shock treatment.

I don’t remember much from the actual procedure, but my memories from the needles are still intact.

While I may be actually insane, I can’t help but think my mind is protecting me.

It’s keeping me from falling under Atlas’s spell again.

Shock therapy should’ve scrambled my brain, especially the way he does it, but I haven’t lost myself this time.

I still fucking hate Atlas Stone.

He won’t be able to make excuses this time. It was his decision to torture me. His alone.

The canvas material is harsh against my skin, unforgiving and suffocating. Panic bubbles up at the restriction, and I begin counting, trying to chase away the claustrophobia closing in on me.

One. Breathe in.

Two. Breathe out.

Three. Stay calm.

Four. I’m okay.

Repeating it over and over, I tap my toes on the cot mattress, concentrating on the numbers and rhythm until I fall asleep hours later.

When I open my eyes, it feels like I’ve been asleep for days. I notice immediately the straitjacket is gone. I’m not sure how they removed it without waking me, but judging by the way I feel, I’m positive they sedated me while I was asleep.

Strange.

With sedatives, I always wake up in a rage, but not the past couple of times.

Something has changed, and it frightens me because I don’t know if it’s a good thing or bad.

Am I getting better? Or has the disorder progressed?

Chances are, I’ll never find out. Atlas doesn’t give a fuck, and I’m sure the other doctors here are the same.

I’m on my own, with no way to find answers.

I push myself up from the bed, leaning back against the cold, concrete wall. It takes a few moments for my eyes to focus, but when they do, I’m surprised the slot on my door is open, a stream of light shining into the dark, damp cell. That flicker of joy is short lived as I look around the area.

A bucket sits in the corner of the room, a roll of toilet paper on the ground beside it. Small pieces of the tissue are scattered across the floor, surrounded by rat droppings.

I guess Gus wanted to play.

My nose scrunches at the thought of using the contaminated tissue to wipe myself, but I’m distracted as a foul smell assaults my nostrils. Wetness registers against my skin, and my head hangs as I realize I’ve pissed the bed.

How long have I been knocked out?

A hint of body odor hits me next, and I cringe. I feel like a fucking caged animal, unbathed, using the bathroom where it lays.

Tears threaten to fall, but I grit my teeth, the action sending sharp pains through my jaw, shooting up to my sensitive temples.

Gently as possible, I prod the areas where he put the metal thing on my head, sending shockwaves of electricity through my brain.

The skin is crusty and tender, but I’m grateful I don’t remember the pain.

My body is sore, and I know it’s from my limbs tensing throughout the ordeal.

My jaw is killing me, and I open my mouth, working it back and forth.

It doesn’t help, and I sigh, feeling hopeless and defeated.

I’m in hell.

Literal fucking hell, and my doctor is Lucifer in the flesh.

A shadow snuffs out the light before a bowl and a plastic cup are shoved through the opening in the door. I jump from the bed, my legs trembling, dizziness assaulting me as I rush to stop them. “Excuse me!”

The orderly turns back, but he doesn’t speak.

“Can you tell Nurse Carter I need to speak with her?”

The slot closes, and I’m forced into darkness, wondering if he’ll deliver the message.

I feel around, taking the bowl and cup, heading towards the bed.

Avoiding the urine stain, I cross my legs, leaning back against the wall, staring into the void as I gulp down the water.

My stomach burns with hunger as I dip my finger into the bowl, bringing a scoop of slop to my lips.

My throat constricts as I gag around the texture, holding my breath to avoid the taste.

Breathing through my nose as I swallow, it’s absolutely fucking disgusting, but without it I’ll starve.

That doesn’t seem so bad.

Intrusive thoughts brush the corners of my mind, and I shake my head, refusing to entertain them.

I won’t give up. Not yet. I’m not sure why the hell I’m clinging onto this existence, but there has to be more to life than this.

The metal slot in the door flies open, startling me. “What is it, Miss Sterling?”

I’m rooted to the spot, making no attempt to move. “I’d like to take a shower and use a toilet.”

“Your bathroom privileges have been revoked, including showers. You are to stay in your room until further instructions are given by Dr. Stone.”

My chest caves in at her words.

I’m nothing more than an animal.

When I don’t reply, the clicking of her heels alerts me she’s walked away. She left the slot open, and I’m thankful the stream of light has returned. Before I get lost in my head again, a squeaking noise comes from below, and tears prick my eyes.

Gus.

I chug the rest of the water before lying down on the edge of the bed. I can’t stomach any more of the shit food, so I slowly place the bowl on the floor, leaving my arm dangling over the side of the mattress.

“Hi, buddy. I’ve missed you.”

He hesitates for a few moments before moving closer, his nose twitching.

“You can have it, Gus Gus. Come on, cutie pie.”

He reaches the bowl, standing up on his hind legs to look over the rim.

He looks up at me, and I smile. Gently, I flip the bowl over, emptying the food onto the floor.

He dives in. Taking a chance, I hover my index finger above him, slowly moving closer to pet his dark, gray fur.

He jumps back, but the lure of food brings him forward again.

“I’ll never hurt you, Gus. You’re my friend.

” I rest my finger on his back, softly running it down the length of his spine.

He tenses, looking up at me. “You’re my only friend. ”

He resumes eating, and I continue stroking his back, adding another finger every few minutes until I’m petting him with my palm. “Do me a favor, buddy. Don’t shred the toilet paper, okay?” He allows me to caress his slick fur, whether he’s too hungry to care, or he senses my emotions.

Once the food is gone, he tilts his head up. “Is your tummy full? Come back any time you want, sweet boy. If I have food when you visit, it’s yours.” He sniffs my hand, and I pet him one last time before he waddles away with a swollen belly.

I may be no one, but maybe Gus is happy to have me around.

I don’t want to think about how much time has passed while I’m locked in this cell twenty-four hours a day.

I’m sleeping in dried urine, and I couldn’t allow myself to have another accident.

Heavy with shame, I’ve forced myself to use the bucket in the corner.

The thought of using the contaminated toilet paper made me nauseous, but does it really matter at this point?

Maybe I’ll get an infection that’ll speed up my journey to the afterlife.

The latch on the door clicks, startling me. Atlas strides in, oozing confidence, without a care in the world. “Hello, Olivia.”

My gaze finds the metal bucket in the corner full of urine. The only silver lining is I haven’t eaten enough to defecate in it. My skin prickles, his stare boring into the side of my face.

“You’re too beautiful to be so filthy.”

I refuse to look at him, to give him one ounce of my attention.

“You will bow to me, Olivia. I own you, and the faster you realize it, the better off you’ll be.”

My fingers flex as he comes closer, the movement pulling the skin tightly around my nails. Little sparks of pain spread through my fingertips, and I flinch.

He stops at the edge of the cot, towering over me. “You’ve soiled your bed, little doll.” He chuckles, and if ever I wished for my rage to appear, it’s now. He’s the fucking devil, torturing his patients until he kills them, selling their organs on the black market.

Sick fuck.

Lifting my chin, my eyes lock onto his. I convey every ounce of hate and disgust I feel into my gaze.

His brows furrow, and he takes a step back.

He watches me for a few moments before schooling his features, his casual demeanor returning.

Glancing at the bucket in the corner, his eyes dart back to me before heading for the door.

“You smell atrocious. I’ll send Nurse Carter in to take you to shower.

” He exits the room quickly and I smile.

If my own smell didn’t turn my stomach, and my skin didn’t itch constantly from the filth, I’d refuse the shower just to piss him the fuck off.