Page 4 of Asylum (The Wellard Asylum #9)

S hooting 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’s definitely an 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.

“Follow me. While you’re showering, I will bring in clothes.” She leads me to the bathing area, halting at the entrance. “Off you go.”

She watches me closely as I hesitantly move inside the room, my eyes darting from one side of the room to the other. The open space has yellow lighting, every wall covered in calcium stains, the odor of mildew overpowering.

“I don’t hear water running, Miss Sterling.

Hurry up!” The nurse’s impatient voice echoes through the room, and it snaps me into motion.

Removing my white gown and white, cotton underwear, I place them on the sink.

A few feet away, the shower head hangs from the wall, and I turn the knob, waiting a few moments for hot water that never comes.

Grime covers most of the holes in the head, the stream of water spraying in all different directions.

Gritting my teeth, I dive under the ice-cold water, my breath hitching as it beats against my skin.

Glancing to the side, I see a small bottle of dishwashing detergent and a new bar of soap.

Great.

I might as well shave my head because my hair won’t survive without conditioner. It sounds bratty to complain about something so trivial while I’m trapped in this hell, but even the previous hospital had fucking conditioner.

In record time, I scrub my hair with the detergent and my body with the bar of soap.

They both smell terrible, and it’s one more thing chipping away at my humanity.

I’m a woman, but I’ve been used for a man’s pleasure, thrown into a mental institution when I fought back, and quickly stripped of any feminine pleasantry most people take for granted.

Before my mind can spiral any further, I turn off the shower spray and snatch the towel from the sink, courtesy of Nurse Carter.

How I missed her sneaking in here, I’m not sure.

My eyes must’ve been closed to endure the frigid temperature of the water.

My body shivers as I move the towel over my body, wrapping it around my hair once I’m dry.

I slip on the clean underwear she brought in, and pick up the fresh gown, focusing on the little blue shapes adorning it.

“Hurry, Miss Sterling. You don’t want to keep Dr. Stone waiting.”

I startle at the sound of her voice, using the gown to cover my body as if she hasn’t already seen me.

“Yes ma’am.” I quickly guide the garment over my head, the rough material scratchy against my skin on its way down, coming to rest right below my knees.

Removing the towel from my head, I turn towards her as she moves further into the room.

“Nurse Carter, do you know where my things are from the previous facility?”

She cocks an eyebrow, fisting her hips. “What things?”

“I had a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, lotion, and a hairbrush.”

She rolls her eyes. “We don’t primp here, Miss Sterling. Your things were given to Dr. Stone. He will let you have them as he sees fit.”

There are no mirrors in this room, but I imagine my hair looks like a rat’s nest sitting on top of my head.

I don’t see how brushing your hair and teeth is considered primping, but I keep my mouth shut, sliding my feet inside the white slippers she’s provided.

I spot a hamper next to the wall, and I toss the towel and my dirty garments into it as I follow her out.

The hallway in this part of the building is different from where I came in.

It was bright and blinding where this is dark and creepy.

I stay close to Nurse Carter as I look at each door, counting them in my head to calm my nerves.

The metal doors have a covered slot in the middle, just big enough to slide a tray through.

I think about what kind of people are trapped behind each door.

Are they truly criminally insane?

Murderers? Rapists?

Or are they like me?

A product of their environment deemed unfit for society and already forgotten.

We reach the end of the hall, the nurse knocking loudly on a door that looks different from the rest. It’s wooden, less secure, and more inviting.

“Come in.”

Nurse Carter opens the door, nodding her head for me to go inside. As I cross the threshold, Dr. Stone sits at his desk, and I stop in front of it, my hands clasped behind my back. The door clicks behind me, and he looks up, a bright smile lighting his face, it almost looks genuine.

Almost.

His words from yesterday echo in my mind, and I know I have to be on guard around him.

“Olivia, good to see you.” He stands, making his way around the desk, heading for the door. He flips the lock into place, his eyes finding mine as he turns around. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing me with interest. “Is something bothering you?”

He’s being less of an asshole than yesterday.

Maybe it was a scare tactic to keep the patients in line.

I’m sure some of them are difficult considering some of them are truly depraved.

Intimidation upon meeting him could deter bad behavior, but honestly, it just pissed me off.

I don’t want any problems while I’m here, so if I have to eat a little crow to keep him happy, I’ll play the part.

He watches me expectantly, and I remember he asked me a question. Not sure how to answer, I reply with the first thing that comes to mind. “Nurse Carter said you have my things.” I point to my unbrushed hair, and he smirks.

“I inspected your belongings of course to make sure you didn’t have anything prohibited. What specifically do you need?”

“I would like it all, but if that’s a problem, I’d like my deodorant, hairbrush, lotion, toothpaste, and toothbrush. How do I get more when I run out?”

“You’ll let me know.”

Exhaling slowly, I’m grateful for the use of basic hygienic products.

“Can I have them now? I just took a shower, and if I don’t brush my hair, I might as well shave it off.

I don’t know how it’ll survive without conditioner.

” His eyes darken, and I fear I’ve said something to upset him.

“I’m not a brat trying to primp, I only need the basics. ”

The side of his mouth turns up. “I see Nurse Carter gave her opinion. I’ll make sure you have your things when you shower in the mornings.”

His smirk gives me pause, and before I know it, I’m returning the expression. Maybe Dr. Stone isn’t that bad. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Of course.”

“Why am I in the isolation ward? I was with the other patients at the other facility.”

He hums. “That was my doing. You’re new here, and I’d like for you to get accustomed to your new surroundings before letting you into the communal areas. Your disorders are triggered, and I want to understand what we’re dealing with before I introduce you to the other patients.”

The logical part of my brain understands, but I still find it unsettling. “No disrespect, but I don’t think sitting in a dark room with only a cot is going to help me. I’d think it would drive a person mad.”

He motions for me to sit on the couch, and I obey as he pulls up a chair in front of me, sitting so close, the fabric of his slacks brushes my skin.

“It’s part of learning your triggers, Olivia.

I know this isn’t sitting well with you, but I have a reason for everything I do.

” He places his hand on my knee, and I think back to yesterday, when he invaded my personal space, calling me his little doll.

His thumb draws circles just above my knee, below where the hem of my gown stops.

The sensation is different, and while he didn’t ask for permission, I find I don’t mind the contact.

I’m fully aware I can protect myself once I’m pushed to a certain point, the other part of my psyche taking over.

But in my normal frame of mind, I’m uncomfortable with people invading my personal space, touching me.

Dr. Stone is hard to get a read on thus far, but my instincts are telling me he’s safe for the time being. “Will I stay locked in my room?” I whisper, staring at my hands in my lap to avoid eye contact. He’s making me nervous.

“You’ll spend some time with me every day. You’ve just transferred, and I want to ensure you receive the best treatment. I’ve transferred some of my patients to other doctors, making sure I have plenty of time to focus on you and your needs.”

Something tightens in my stomach, and I dismiss the feeling immediately. He’s the complete opposite of Dr. Sweeney, and I wonder if I jumped to conclusions about him yesterday.

He squeezes my knee, capturing my attention as he grins. “Do you have any hobbies?”

I shrug. “I like to read, but they told me I couldn’t bring my books with me when I came here.”

His brows furrow. “I’m sorry, Olivia. It’s protocol. What genre do you like to read?”

My face heats. “Anything really, but my favorite is horror and romance.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair, taking the heat from his touch with him. “Interesting.”

I grin, my cheeks heating under his assessing gaze.

His eyes darken, and I look around the room, taking in his office.

I’m sitting on a black leather couch matching the leather chair he’s currently occupying.

His desk is dark mahogany, literally filling half the space, a Victorian style chair behind it.

The walls are covered with shelves, hundreds of books lining them, and my fingers twitch, the desire to touch every one of them overwhelming.

The far wall has a closed door and a large window next to it, sunlight filtering into the bright room.

It’s a welcomed view after the hours I sat in darkness yesterday.

Glancing to my left, I gasp when my eyes land on a gynecological chair, the stirrups extended, a tray lined with tools beside it.

He notices my reaction, and there’s a sudden dip in the cushion beside me, his warm body pressing against mine. “I’ll be your doctor for every need you have, little doll. I’ll treat your mind, body, and soul.”

I swallow thickly, my mouth suddenly dry. His hand comes to rest on my thigh, over the fabric of the gown, and I shiver. “I’ve never had that done.”

He tilts his head to the side. “You’re twenty years old. You’ve never had a gynecological exam?”

I shake my head, my face heating with embarrassment.

His fingers grip my chin softly, turning my face to his. “Don’t hide from me. I’m going to take care of you.”

This man is fucking dangerous, his promises alluring, and I feel something tighten deep inside my chest.

I can’t trust my instincts.

I cared for my stepmother and stepbrother in the beginning.

I loved my mother and father.

But here I am, locked in a fucking insane asylum because I protected myself.

The justice system failed me.

An underage girl being physically and sexually abused was okay, but defending myself wasn’t.

Dr. Stone is being nice to me, and that’s why I’m reacting this way. It means nothing. In the end, he’ll betray me too.

Just like everyone else.