Page 38

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

ERIN

When I wake, I’m back at Sunnycrest in the same room Dad left me in. I startle and struggle to free myself from the tightly tucket sheets. I look around wildly, and my shoulders sag in relief.

They’re gone.

Instead of my nightdress, I’m wearing a pair of gray slacks and a matching sweater. The same uniform all Sunnycrest patients are required to wear. Although it’s not an orange jumpsuit, it symbolizes the same thing. We’re prisoners.

While I don’t remember how I ended up back here, I’m certain last night wasn’t a dream.

I recall the chase through the woods and flinch, putting a hand to my sore throat.

Swallowing is hard, and I crave a warm drink to dull the pain.

There are no mirrors, so I can’t see what state I’m in, but my entire body aches.

I gently massage the stinging base of my spine, which will be bruised.

Underneath my clothes, scratches cover my arms, and I roll up a pant leg to see a Band-Aid placed carefully on my kneecap.

They must have cleaned me up. Although I’m no longer dirty, I don’t feel clean.

The smell of soil lingers in my nostrils, reminding me of how Aiden pressed my face down.

A loud Klaxon-like siren blares through the building, and a light bulb above my door flashes red. Moments later, the door opens and a doctor steps into my room. He’s clean-cut, in his late thirties, and wears horn-rimmed glasses.

“Good morning, Erin,” he says. “I’m Doctor Warner. Your father has asked me to look after you during your stay.”

“Where is he?” I ask, peering over his shoulder and expecting to see Dad waiting in the wings. “How long will I be here? When can I go home?”

“Your father has explained to me the problems you’ve been experiencing,” he says. “You will have a short, but intense, period of treatment while you’re with us.”

“But I’m not a criminal,” I insist. “Or insane, like the other patients. Why can’t I complete my therapy from home? That’s what I’ve done before.”

“Doctor Acacia feels a new environment will benefit your treatment,” he explains. “I assure you, it’s very safe here.”

“I want to leave,” I say. “You can’t hold me against my will. I’m eighteen now. I have rights!”

“Involuntary admissions are acceptable if an individual is deemed at risk of harming themselves or others,” Doctor Warner says, keeping his monotonous tone light. “As long as we deem you a risk, you will remain here.”

I can’t believe Dad did this to me. I understand him paying thousands of dollars for me to spend hours on a therapist’s couch, but this? He’s gone too far.

“What about school?” I ask, hoping to find a reason to make Dad change his mind. The Ivies don’t look for applicants who’ve spent time in an asylum. “I can’t fall behind. If you tell my father that, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“You will continue your studies while you’re here,” Doctor Warner says.

“Stonybridge Academy will send assignments to complete. We have incredible facilitators and resources on-site. However, it’s more important that we focus on getting you well again.

You’ve experienced a lot of trauma in recent years. ”

I nod in bleak acceptance. Resistance is futile.

“You’re staying on a low-security ward,” Doctor Warner continues. “This isn’t a prison. You’ll have plenty of freedom.” He slides a sheet of paper into a mounted frame with rounded edges on the back of my door. “I’ll leave your schedule here.”

We’re not prisoners, yet patients can’t be trusted to hold a sheet of paper. Go figure. What do they expect us to do? Paper cut ourselves to death?

“Breakfast is served in the cafeteria, and communal showers are down the hall on your right,” he continues. “Once you’re ready, I’ll see you for our first session.”

On the surface, Doctor Warner appears to be kind, but his icy blue stare has a calculated edge, like he’s rehearsing everything before he says it. I suspect he’s only being nice because I’m his boss’s daughter. My gut tells me I can’t trust him.

“What if I don’t want to do therapy?” I ask.

“Then you’ll only extend your stay,” he replies with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”

I sigh as he leaves, then check my weekly schedule.

It’s a mixture of study time and therapy sessions.

What will Mom say when she finds out where I am?

Dad may have kept Sarah’s time here a secret, but he won’t be able to explain my sudden disappearance, especially after his angry outburst last night. Hopefully, she’ll come to my rescue.

While I wait, as much as I’d like to stay in my room, I can’t hide forever.

Last night, we drew a lot of attention. How will the other patients respond to me?

Aiden, Eli, and Lex have earned people’s respect, so that could work in my favor.

Although, after how we left things, I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked other patients to make my life miserable.

I slip into the hallway. A few patients shuffle toward the smell of burning toast, so I opt to head for the showers first.

The asylum separates male and female sleeping quarters, but the cafeteria and classrooms are shared, giving low-security patients the chance to mix during classes, group therapy, and mealtimes under supervision.

However, I’m sure patients have their ways of getting around the rules and away from the watchful staff.

An orderly sits behind a desk at the entrance to the otherwise deserted bathroom, tapping her smoke-stained nails on the counter.

“Hi,” I say. “I?—”

Before I finish my sentence, she nudges her head at a stack of unfolded gray towels and a bucket with even grayer bars of soap.

“Is there any shampoo?” I ask.

“Shampoo?” She laughs, baring her yellow teeth. “You may be Acacia’s daughter, but you won’t get any special treatment here. You’ll have soap, like everyone else.”

Does Dad only recruit staff who have a mean streak?

I cast a quick look around to make sure no one else heard her.

Although, if the staff know who I am, it won’t take long for word to get around.

I feign a polite smile and pick up my supplies without complaining.

Toilet stalls line one wall with sinks and mirrors opposite, and private showers span along the back.

I step into a cubicle. Mold fills the cracks between the ghastly green tiles, and clumps of hair protrude from the plug hole. I search for a shelf or hook, but there isn’t one, so I sling my towel and clothes over the top of the door.

Lukewarm water dribbles out at irregular intervals. I have to punch a button every twenty seconds to keep it flowing, but it’s better than nothing. If a patient wasn’t insane before admission, contending with these showers daily would be enough to tip anyone over the edge.

I rub the back of my neck with the scrap of soap and frown. A patch of my skin stings and is raised to the touch.

“What the…”

A burst of laughter from the other side of the door makes me freeze. It takes a second to realize the reason for the noise. My clothes and towel are gone. Hysterical giggling accompanies the sound of slapping sandals across the wet floor.

A ringing bell signals the end of breakfast.

“Time to come out, Acacia,” the unpleasant woman on the desk calls. “Breakfast is finished.”

I peer around the door. “Can you bring me another towel, or anything else to wear? Someone took my clothes.”

“What do I look like? A personal shopper?” The woman crosses her arms. “I can’t abandon my station. If you’ve been careless enough to lose your uniform, you’ll have to retrieve a fresh one from the laundry room. Next door on your left.”

“You must have seen someone take my things,” I say. “You were sitting right there the whole time.”

“I saw nothing,” she lies.

My cheeks burn. “But I don’t want to walk down the hall naked.”

She raises her eyebrows. “How is that my problem?”

“Look…” I take a deep breath, deciding to play the only card I have left in my arsenal. “I didn’t want to say this, but if my father finds out?—”

“That you’re causing trouble?” she interrupts. “What will he do then? You may be a spoiled brat out in the real world, but here you’re all just vermin to me.”

I clench my fists. A rush of hateful fury surges through me. I give myself a mental shake and take a deep breath. Where are these feelings coming from?

“I’m only doing my job,” the woman continues, checking her watch. “You’re going to be late.”

I grit my teeth as the image of me bashing her head into her stupid desk pops into my mind. This place must be getting to me. I’m not sure what shocks me most, the violent imagery or the underlying satisfaction I feel from wiping that shit-eating grin off her face.

I suppress my urges and step out of the cubicle, covering myself with my hands. Outside the bathroom, there’s a flurry of activity. Instead of being empty, girls mill around chatting.

I hesitate for a moment.

“Hurry up,” the woman jostles me along. “Move!”

I step into the busy hall under the stark, unforgiving white lights. Instantly, everyone stops what they’re doing to stare. They point and cackle—obviously in no rush to get to their sessions.

“Look at the new girl,” Charlie, the girl who begged Aiden to come to bed with her, exclaims. “She can’t keep her clothes on!”

A camera flashes. Cell phones are banned in Sunnycrest, but contraband items seem insignificant compared to the twisted experiments my father’s conducting.

“Fucking slut!”

“Where is her ass?”

“Flat-chested freak!”

The insults keep coming. I keep my gaze fixed on the floor, praying that it will swallow me up to save me from the humiliation. It doesn’t take longer than thirty seconds to get to the laundry room, but it seems like hours.

After arguing with another grumbling staff member, I’m wearing a fresh uniform. It’s scruffy with faded red stains around the cuffs and torn hems, but it beats baring all for the entire asylum.

When I reemerge, three girls hang around, waiting for me. The boldest, Charlie, stomps in my direction. In the daylight, I get a better look at her. She’s stunning. Her dark shiny hair looks well-conditioned, and thick mascara frames her eyes.

“You.” She points, looking me up and down. Her nose wrinkles. “Come here.”

The rageful voice that’s started speaking in my head responds. I don’t have to do what you say, bitch. Yet, I keep my mouth shut and shuffle forward.

“I’m the one who makes the rules around here now,” she says. “Aiden and the others can’t protect you. Not anymore.”

“I’m not here to cause any t-trouble,” I stammer, regressing to the earlier version of myself who prefers to blend into the background.

“Yeah, right,” one of Charlie’s friends mutters sarcastically.

Charlie frowns in confusion. She mustn’t be used to someone acting amicably. Most disagreements in Sunnycrest are likely settled with a fight.

“You’re pathetic,” she says finally. “I don’t know what Aiden sees in you when he could have me.”

Maybe he doesn’t want a fucking psycho , the evil voice answers in my head, like a devil whispering in my ear. Perhaps he wants someone with class?

“We don’t know, Charlie,” her friend titters in agreement before turning to talk to the air. “Do we?” She shakes her head. “See? Hector doesn’t know either.”

“You can have Aiden,” I say hastily. “I don’t want him.”

“Fucking liar,” Charlie scoffs. “You have their mark tattooed on your neck.”

I reach for the sore spot on my neck. “I…”

“Watch your back, Little Ghost,” Charlie hisses.

How does she know the guys’ nickname for me?

She storms past, bashing into my shoulder with her entourage in tow, leaving me staring after them and wondering what fresh hell I’ve got to look forward to next.