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MARISELA

T he next “treatment” was worse than the last. By the third, I was too disassociated to feel much of anything besides the occasional sharp ringing in my ears.

A weird humming sound that came with a recurring pins and needles sensation.

Like someone was digging around in my brain but only sporadically hit a nerve.

The rubber balls helped absorb some of the shock, but they didn’t stop it altogether.

Food tasted different. More bland and less tactile.

Lumpy and unappealing, no matter what it was.

I lost my sense of smell, which didn’t help with the food issue.

And I couldn’t find that part of myself that liked to put up a fight.

She was still there. I could feel her in the back of my mind. Floating around somewhere. I just couldn’t reach her.

I shook my head as I glanced down at the gray tray in my lap.

I didn’t even know if it was actually gray or not.

Everything just felt gray. Duller. No matter what color it was.

Even the applesauce that had the consistency of a regurgitated fruit cup and the milk that looked more yellow-gray than white-gray.

I twirled a spoon around the bowl, my eyes staring out the window but seeing nothing, and thought about nothing when usually I couldn’t stop thinking about everything. I’d always been a thinker. Planning and plotting had been like breathing. Second nature.

Now breathing seemed planned, while thinking was like drowning.

I didn’t know how much more my brain could take before I wasn’t me anymore. And that wasn’t as terrifying as it should be. Which was terrifying.

“Good Morning, Miss Cruz. How are you feeling today?” a voice called out from the door.

I looked up, slowly. Everything felt slower. Expecting to see the doctor with the dark eyes and the hidden tattoos. Instead of the shorter, much stockier man in front of me. His smile was well-practiced, his tone less playful and more monotone. Or maybe that was me.

“You’re not him,” I forced the words out, almost like they were bouncing around in my head and it took much more effort to catch them.

“Who?” the man with the off-white gray coat asked, his nostril hairs bristling with the loud exhale of his breath.

Was he irritated with me? I didn’t remember doing anything to irritate him. I didn’t even remember wanting to irritate him .

I reached up a hand and started rubbing at my temple. I felt like we’d been here before. At the same time, I was almost certain we had never been here before. “My doctor.”

“I already told you, Miss Cruz. There are no other attendings like the one you described. Just myself and Dr. Burke.”

He told me? When? Had I imagined the other doctor? Was I imagining this one? I didn’t know. And I didn’t know if I cared to know.

“Okay.” I nodded once before refocusing on my tray. Except it wasn’t there anymore. My lap was empty, and when I glanced to the window, it was dark outside. Quiet. Because not even the crickets wanted anything to do with this place.