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24

THE BUTTERFLY

“ I ’m safe,” I repeat over and over again.

Once my therapist gave the green light, along with her recommendation, before we leave the station he officer offers me something to eat. I shake my head, because I’m so excited to go to the asylum. Maybe I truly do belong there, because it’s not right for me to want to go there, the way that I do.

All I can think about is the moment I’m there, they'll give me something to stop me thinking, some type of medication to quiete my mind. I’m tire, it has been a long night. I need stillness like I need air.

When we leave the station, I begin to rock gently in the back of the car—not violently, but as if my body already knows it’s being returned to the place it belongs. I’m not heading to a luxury hotel or a beach resort—I’m being driven to an asylum—and yet I feel something like hope simmering beneath my ribs, wild and impossible to explain.

The officer’s eyes flick toward me in the rearview mirror, her voice breaking through the hum in my head.

“You alright back there?”

I don’t answer in words. I just keep humming. Low. Soft. A tune I can’t place but one I’ve known forever.

The city fades around us in streaks of gray and wet concrete. Streetlights blur like halos through the fog, and I press my fingers against the glass, feeling the cold seep into my skin. It anchors me for a moment.

When we arrive, the building is exactly how I pictured it—the kind of place that doesn’t need to threaten you aloud; its silence does the talking.

And yet, I want to go in.

The officer opens the door, and I step out before she can even say my name. The mix of antiseptic and bleach curl in my nose, sharp enough to taste, and I breathe it in like it might fill all the hollow spaces inside me.

Inside, the floors shine too brightly under the fluorescent lights, and the hum of electricity above seems to vibrate through my bones. I walk without being told, past security, past blank stares and waiting clipboards, until we reach the front desk.

Dr. Julia is already there with a small smile, keeping it professional as she always does. I don’t look at her. I don’t need to. She’s just part of the process now. She’s just another signature on a piece of paper, along with mine once they show me where to sign, I do it without hesitation. The pen scratches across the final form. The officer nods, because her job is done.

I feel the shift the moment we step past the threshold, as if something inside me has been waiting for this moment to begin again. The walls close in, but they don’t trap me—they hold me. The air is heavier here, and it settles on my skin like a second layer, one that reminds me I’ve finally stopped pretending to be okay.

There’s no small conversation. There’s no pretense and unlike my old therapist, who was big bucks for me to be raped, this one isn’t, but there’s a coldness in her approach, no remorse nor regret. She hasn’t even tried to reassure me. Nothing.

Am I being paranoid again?

Just lock me up and take away this fear, insecurity and everything else. If I die tonight, then so be it. I’m tired of fighting. Tired of trying to something with my life, if God has other plans, then it’s out of my control. Right now, I just wanna sleep.

Most people worry about their jobs—what would happen if they get fired? The witness protection program has given me enough money to have savings, and not rely so much on the wage I make from the cafe. If anyone did look into where the money in my account comes from, it will show up as inheritance from my deceased parents. Their names may be fake on the documents, but my real parents are dead. I could easily go more than a couple of years without working and still have enough money to live on. My rent is paid a year in advance to get a discount, and I live minimally. My biggest expense is my therapy sessions, but I won’t be having one tonight.

The officer comes to my side, as one of the nurses leads me through the dimly lit hall.

“ I ’m Luna by the way. You’ll find that it’s not so bad here, you’ll see,” she chirps, like I’ve won a free weekend at some spa instead of spending the night at an asylum .

I glance up at her. Her uniform is pristine, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s probably thinking that I’m another broken thing to be filed away. The scent of her perfume is being drowned with the antiseptic smell which lingers in the air. She keeps talking, filling the silence with meaningless reassurances, but I hear what she’s really saying: I’m taking you to your room, and you can’t leave. All your freedom has been lost, but don’t worry, just smile. It’ll all be alright.

The officer who escorted me here is no longer in my sight nor is my therapist. I must admit that the nurse’s chatter is a welcome distraction as I remind myself why I’m here.

“This is it,” Luna says simply, gesturing toward the room behind me. “This is your room.”

I glance over her shoulder, and the sight makes my stomach twist. The room is small, with pale gray walls that are bare except for a single safety mirror bolted high in the corner. The bed is a little bigger than a cot with a thin mattress covered with a pale blue blanket. A single light buzzes overhead. There’s a sink and a toilet in the corner, both gleaming white. I chuckle to myself at the irony of it—the bathroom is cleaner than the one I have at home. Not that I don’t clean mine regularly, but this one is so spotless that it glistens, even under this poor lighting.

My reflection catches my eye in the safety mirror. My hair, usually vibrant, looks dull and lifeless under the harsh light. My green eyes are bloodshot red, as if I witnessed a murder and nearly had my life frightened out of me, which I did. I barely recognize myself. My hands tremble as I brush a strand of hair from my face, trying to compose myself.

Luna shifts on her feet, drawing my attention back to her.

“You’ve got everything you need in here. If you need anything else, press the button next to the door.”

She waits for a response, but I just draw closer to her, for the first time since I requested to come here, I’m wondering if it’s all a big mistake.

“You’ll be safe here,” she says, her voice low but firm. She hesitates, her lips parting as if she wants to say more, but decides against it. Then, with a small nod, she turns away, but I rush up to her, wanting to keep her near for just a split second.

“Is there a nurse on watch all night? I mean do they pace the halls?”

She nods. “They do. If it’s not me, then security. But you have nothing to worry about.”

The famous last words, but her reassurances have the opposite effect, they put me even more on the edge.

“Alright, let’s get you settled in,” she says.

I nod silently, clutching my arms around myself as she steps away, leaving me alone. I walk into the room, and then the door closes with a dull, final thud, and I hear the unmistakable click of the lock engaging. I’m alone now, truly alone.

I’m locked away, sealed off from the world outside. Nothing can get to me here. Nothing can hurt me.

I sit down on the edge of the cot, the mattress creaking faintly beneath my weight. My fingers grip the blanket, twisting it into knots as I try to steady my breathing. The room feels too quiet, too still. The sound of the light seems to grow louder, filling the silence with an oppressive buzz that sets my teeth on edge. I glance around, my eyes darting to every corner, every shadow. The room is barren, but my mind fills it with possibilities, each one darker than the last.

I stand up abruptly, pacing the small space like a caged animal. I look like someone I don’t want to be, someone on the edge of losing control. I press my palms against the sink, staring down at the white porcelain, trying to ground myself. The coolness of the metal faucet against my skin helps, but only a little.

“You’re safe,” I whisper to myself, the words trembling on my lips. “You’re safe.”

But the room doesn’t feel safe. It feels like a trap, a place designed to hold me until I crumble under the weight of my own thoughts. I sit back down on the cot, kick off my shoes then I pull the blanket around me like a shield. My legs bounce restlessly, my hands gripping the fabric so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

I don’t want to cry, but the tears come anyway, hot and silent as they streak down my cheeks. My shoulders shake, and I bury my face in my hands, letting the sobs wrack through me.

Sleep doesn’t come easily, and in all the commotion, I forgot to ask the real reason I came here, so that they could give me medication to sleep. I lie down and close my eyes, the darkness seems to come alive, filled with shadowy shapes that taunt and torment me. I came here thinking that I would feel safe, and nothing would harm me. I thought they would sedate me.

My mind was split in two from the moment she left, part of me regretting being left here, and the other trying to feel relieved.

The room feels too small, the walls too close. I sit up, my hands clutching at the blanket as I try to shake the feeling of being trapped.

“You’re safe here,” I whisper again, though the words feel hollow now. The monsters I’m afraid of aren’t out here. They’re lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting for the moment I let down my guard.

The hours drag on, each one feeling longer than the last. Finally, my eyes close and the darkness swallows me whole. Even in sleep, the monsters linger, their presence is a constant, gnawing weight in the back of my mind.

Tomorrow is another day, but tonight, I’m alone with my fears. It might be the most terrifying thing of all, and the worst part is that I volunteered to be in this place not to feel like this, and it is exactly what has happened.