Page 65 of The Locked Ward

Your entire life has been filled with luxury, but in the end, what you’ll miss most are the simple things, like early-morning clouds spun into cotton candy by the rising sun.

The mental health representative sitting across from you has a row of permanent lines etched in her forehead, like a series of ocean waves. “I will represent you to the best of my ability,” she tells you.

A cozy Sunday afternoon nap on your couch. A warm bath with lavender essential oils. The hopeful sound of early-morning birdsong.

“They found a piece of wire hidden by the top of your bed. If you were planning to hurt yourself, can you nod?”

Mandy has to get to Dawson, but that’s a near-impossible task. Mandy might be able to hold her own at her bar, but there’s no way she can take down a sitting US senator.

“Were you planning to try to hurt someone else with the wire, Georgia?”

A granite wall is tilting toward you, precariously close to crashing down and eliminating you.

You need to prepare. It’s probably better to go to jail.

If you reach out to Patty and convince her you won’t ever talk, maybe they’ll let you live.

Other inmates could have it in for you, but you made it this far here.

Maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones. Twenty years from now, you’ll be too old to have children, your business will be dead, and you’ll have lost your apartment and your friends—but that’s better than losing your mind.

“Take care, Georgia.” The mental health representative stands up and walks away.

You sit lost in thought on the couch in the community room for a long stretch of time. Then the odor of vinegar assails your nose. Josh has materialized and is looking down at you. “So pretty…” he mumbles.

Medication has dulled his outer layer, but the core of a predator is intact. He sits down next to you. You look toward the nurses’ station, hoping someone is seeing this. But they’re all busy. You’re on your own.

Josh’s hand creeps out and lands on your thigh.

Your eyes dart to the hallways, then back to the nurses’ station. No one is coming to help you. Opal is supposed to be watching you, but she’s talking to the mental health representative.

Josh’s hand slides higher up your thigh.

Something inside you snaps.

You put your hand on his and dig in your nails, hard. He yelps, and a nurse looks up, then exits through the plexiglass door and comes hurrying over.

“Josh, you need to move.”

He stands up and follows the nurse, holding his injured hand to his chest.

He glares back at you, and instead of shirking or averting your eyes, you stand up. What does it matter anymore if the staff is onto you? Your time is almost up.

You follow him until he reaches his room. You almost wish he’d turn and try to fight you.

You’re becoming a stranger to yourself.