I remember
exactly how the restraints felt against my skin. I remember the burning sensation it caused when
I fought so desperately to break free of them.
I remember how terrified I was of the two men who gripped my arms too
tight as they dragged me through the large building's front doors and up to the
nurses' desk.
"We have a live one for you," the one on the right
spoke out with a smirk upon his perfectly chiseled face as he playfully leaned
up against the desk to flirt with the pretty nurse who sat behind it.
"A live one, eh?"
She replied with a pretty smile.
She seemed unfazed by the man's shameless flirting. Her eyes shifted their focus from the godlike
man in front of her to me, the scrawny little girl from the island that no one
has ever heard of. "How old are
you, sweetie?" She asked, her smile
seemingly stretching even further across her face.
I however
did not hear her question. My focus had
been on something, on the mirror on the wall behind the pretty girl. Within I stared back at my own reflection,
studying every feature, and watching every movement of every muscle in my
face. I then diverted my gaze to study the
men that had brought me here, to this hospital; to this asylum. The faces that looked back at me in the
mirror were not of those to my left and my right. Though I knew very well that the man on my
right was devoting all of his attention to the pretty girl in front of me his
reflection was devoting all of its attention to me. What I saw in that mirror chilled me to the
bone. It was the eyes, for there were
none. Only darkened eye sockets where
the eyes should have been were staring back at me from the mirror. I kept trying to assure myself that I was
seeing things. That it was the stress of
loosing my parents making me see things that weren't there. I kept wishing that it was just the
stress. It was only when my eyes met a
pair of cold, dark, familiar black eyes that I tore my gaze from the mirror and
back to the pretty woman behind the desk.
"Can you tell us how old you are?" She asked again. The plastic smile still etched across her
seemingly flawless face.
"Seventeen," I managed to squeak out, my voice
sounding foreign.
The two men
nodded as the woman told them the direction in which I was to be taken and they
began to lead me down a long hallway.
The tile on the floor felt cold beneath my bare feet. The further the two men lead me into the building,
the closer I got to the heart of it, the more my blood began to boil. I shouldn't be here. There were other patients lingering in the
hallways, their eyes following me hungrily as I walked by. The nurses and orderlies all stopped what
they were doing to watch as I passed them by, doctors seemed to look at me with
hidden grins behind their eyes, and I could feel the madness inside of me growing
a little more.
I felt as
if I had the words fresh meat written across my forehead. I could feel the eyes of the disturbed young
men and women. I could feel them
watching my every move, feel them studying me, and feel them undressing me with
their eyes. I didn't like being
objectified even more than I didn't like being held here against my will. It was only June, and I wouldn't be eighteen
until August. Then I would be able to
sign myself out of this place. Until
then I would be jailed here. With both
of my parents dead and no other legal guardian I had no other choice.
We walked
down the hall for what felt like days but were only moments. We made a left and then right down what
looked like an even longer hall than the previous. I counted every step as we walked. When we reached the end of the hall, I had
counted fifty steps; we went through a pair of doors which lead out to a
garden. I really hoped that I would be
able to spend time out here. There were
a few patients lingering about, being closely followed by a nurse of
course. It felt so good to be
outside. I could feel the energy from the
earth flow from my feet and through my body as the two men walked me through
the grass and across the garden to another pair of doors. The sign on the wall read South Wing and according to the sign we
were headed towards the south tower.
Fire is the
element of the south. A sense of
foreboding filled me. Memories of my
nightmares from my time in Arkham suddenly rushed back to me. The man with the black eyes had told me that
I would burn, burn like my ancestors did.
That he would burn the witch. An ice
cold chill ran down my spine, for it was then that I remember that I had seen
those same eyes just minuets before in the mirror in the reception area. The madness grew a little stronger.
We walked
for awhile longer until we reached our destination. The man to my right lifted his ID card from
his scrubs and swiped it in front of this black box and I could hear the doors
in front of us unlock. He opened the
door and we walked inside, in front of us was another set of doors and another
black box upon the wall. He swiped his
card once more and we walked through.
They led me up a hall way and past a few open doors. When we had reached the nurse's desk, they
finally released me of my restraints.
The woman
behind the desk was extremely beautiful.
Everyone who worked here seemed to be.
She was beautiful in a way different than the rest of the staff was, she
was different. In her reflection in the
silver stapler on her desk she had eyes.
It was relieving to know that not all of the people working here were
inhuman. The name card on the lanyard
that hung from her neck read Abigail, and her Hello Kitty scrubs made me smile
slightly. She looked up cautiously from
behind her paper work and seemed to tense when she noticed the two men that had
escorted me to her wing.
"Hello there, Abby, we have a live one for you. Doc says to take extra special care of
her." The Greek god on my left said to her with that famous smirk
plastered upon his face once more.
"Don't worry, Balthazar. She's in good hands here." She rolled her eyes at him and focused her
attention back to her paper work.
"Have her take a seat over there; I'll walk her back to the common
room in a minuet."
Just like
that I was alone. With my legs shaking I
took a seat in one of the four chairs that sat facing the nurse's station. I took a look down at my arms, where bruises
were forming from where the two men had been griping me so tightly. I pulled my legs up into my chest and hugged
them while I fought back my tears. I am
a Phillips and I've been told all my life that Phillips's don't cry. We are strong, we are the chosen protectors
of the greatest power on this earth, and we also don't get ourselves locked up
in psych wards. Well I guess I figured
since I've already failed one of the three it wouldn't hurt to go for broke,
and the tears began to rush from my eyes.
***
You can read chapter one of this story here and continue reading this chapter here. Only if you'd like of course. ;]
No comments:
Post a Comment