Page 22 of Asylum (The Wellard Asylum #9)

W hat I’m doing isn’t working.

She has to be the most stubborn patient I’ve ever treated. Her strong will was admirable in the beginning but now I find it fucking infuriating. Why the hell does she have to be so difficult? Everything I’ve done is to help her be a better version of herself.

She consumes my every waking thought. I dream about her every night. I’m constantly revising my plan to get her out of here so we can have a life together. What else does she want from me?

The shock therapy didn’t work as I’d hoped.

The first treatment caused her mid-level memory loss, but it could’ve been a combination of the procedure and her episode occurring at the same time.

The latest therapy session wasn’t accompanied by a rage fit.

That has to be the difference. It’s the only conclusion my mind will accept.

She’s been in complete isolation for a week.

She wore a straitjacket.

She lost the convenience of tending to her basic human needs.

She was provided with food and water, but just by looking at her, I could tell she hasn’t been eating. She’s pale, her cheekbones pronounced from malnutrition. It pained me to see her so filthy, sleeping in her own urine, but it had to be done.

She must be broken.

My efforts so far have not provided the desired results, but I refuse to lose hope.

I won’t give up on her.

I haven’t laid eyes on my little doll since I visited her room two days ago.

The space was needed to conjure a new plan. I must say, I’m excited about the scheme I’ve devised. I’m hardly capable of containing myself, imagining the hope in her eyes, the gratitude she’ll feel, welcoming me back into her good graces.

It’s risky, and it could go horribly wrong at any moment, but I’m willing to take the chance. If successful, it could change everything . I only need to sell it to Olivia, and hope she plays her part flawlessly.