Page 26 of Scarred in Silence (The Twisted Trilogy #2)

Astra

My parents found me cutting my legs today. I sit in a wheelchair as they push me to the psych ward. I have been here a couple of times. Mainly for my behavior, but this time they are putting me on suicide watch.

They scan their badge, and the doors open methodically. The smell of antibacterial wipes stings my nostrils. They push me into the dreaded unit and stop by the intake room. They put the stoppers on the wheelchair, as if I’m going to hurl myself out of it.

I stand and follow the nurse into the room.

“We are going to have to perform a search to make sure you don’t have anything harmful on you, okay?”

I nod. I know the procedure too well.

I undress into a gown and then she searches me. I feel numb to it at this point.

She hands me a pair of paper-like pants and a shirt, instructing me to change into them, as well as a pair of non-slip socks.

I slip into my clothes, and she escorts me into the ward .

“You have a roommate, her name is Elliana,” she says kindly, showing me to my room.

I step inside, and a girl around my age sits in her bed.

“Hi,” I say quietly.

“Hi, I’m Elliana.”

I take a seat on the bed and put my back against the wall.

“Why are you here?”

“I have a personality disorder. My foster parents didn’t know what to do with me anymore.”

I nod, understanding that feeling.

“And you?” She asks.

“Cutting myself. Not to kill myself. To feel some pain.”

She nods, staring down at her sheet that sits balled up in her lap.

“My parents also don’t know what to do with me. They keep comparing me to my sister.”

“I know the feeling. It gets better. Just ignore them. Do what you want. It’s your life,” she says, encouraging me. I knew I wasn’t the problem. I’m my own person.

“How long have you been in here?” I ask.

“Forty-two days.”

My heart aches for her.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. I’m learning how to control my alters.”

“Alters?”

“Yeah. The “other” versions of myself. I have a fragmented identity. They said it’s from trauma.”

I nod. Makes sense.

“I’m going to go to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning,” she says.

“Goodnight. ”

I slide down onto the mattress and roll onto my side. I hope sleep comes fast. I really need it right now. My thoughts are racing.

* * *

“How did you sleep?” The doctor asks me.

“Fine.” Lie. I woke up about fifty times.

“You look tired.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Do you feel like harming yourself or others today?”

“No.”

“I need you to be honest with me. We will keep you on an involuntary hold if we feel like you are lying to get out of treatment.”

“I will always try to harm myself. It’s who I am.” I say flatly.

He nods.

“You will have to continue your stay. We will work on getting appropriate meds for you to help with the urges.”

I nod. I hate medicine. It always makes me feel like a zombie.

I stand and walk out of the office.

The lobby is pretty sparse. Only a handful of us are here. I have been hanging out with Elliana. Even when one of her other identities is present, she is always nice to me.

I take a seat in the chair for group. It’s always the same thing. I sit, introduce myself. Then I zone out. I don’t need to be here. I’m fine.

I love pain. That’s all.

I sit and wait for group to be over. Thoughts passing through of all of the things I did to make my parents angry.

I went to parties, did drugs, cut myself, lost my virginity, snuck out of the house, ran away, and the list goes on .

I just know that I don’t regret anything. I did everything for a reason. To be seen. To be heard.

Amara has always had a voice, but me? Nothing. I am a soulless human, wandering the earth trying to get someone to notice me.

* * *

Elliana stares at her drawing she has been working on for hours. She said she gets in this flow and can’t stop. I get it.

“Why do you always draw people?” I ask her.

“People are just interesting. They care so much about what people think. I like to draw raw emotion. It tells a story.”

I stare at the drawing of the sad-looking woman. She’s right. You can feel the sorrow radiating off the paper.

I stand up to go to the bathroom. I sharpened one of her pencils to pick at my scabs. I sit on the floor and slowly prick at the tiny scab, causing trace amounts of blood to ripple down my skin.

The nurse walks in, rushing to me, pinning me down. “CODE Gray!” She calls out, and the other staff quickly rush to me.

She wasn’t supposed to come in for another three minutes. They do five to ten-minute rounds. This one was only two minutes.

They sedate me using Haldol, injecting it into my muscle.

I feel heavy, yet like I’m floating. I’ve never felt this tired before.

I close my heavy eyes, unable to stay awake.

I think I’m dying.

* * *

I wake up feeling groggy. I’m restrained in a hospital bed, unable to move. I didn’t know that medicine could make me feel so good. So num b. I need it. I must feel like that again. I felt like I do when I’m in the water. Weightless.

Minutes pass before I am greeted with a visit from my parents.

They enter the room, looking ashamed.

“What did you do?” My mother scolds me.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

“I picked open my scabs. It’s nothing.” I roll my eyes.

“You really are helpless, aren’t you?” She turns to storm out, but my father lingers.

“Listen, kid, I know you are your own person, and you’re going to do whatever the Hell you want. However, you are currently damaging our reputation. Do whatever you want, but stay low. I can’t have our family’s reputation jeopardized by a suicidal junkie.”

He pats my foot and then turns to leave.

A tear rolls down my cheek.

They hate me. They wish I weren’t even associated with them.

Fuck them. Someone will love me for who I am.

Someone. Someday.

* * *

It’s been three weeks, and I’m finally getting released. Only to go back to my old ways. I’ll never change. Not for anybody.