After the tour, Kimberly drops me off with Dr. Rosenberg, who greets me with a smile. She tells me to look around and make myself comfortable. I’m getting the feeling that Serenity Springs is big on making sure everyone is relaxed, so that when they start trying to reprogram your brain and thoughts it’s easier.
Dr. Rosenberg’s office is unlike any other medical office I’ve ever been in, not that I’ve been in many. She has a large sliding glass door that gives her office access to the outside, and from what I’m gathering she sometimes holds sessions out there. I suppose being outside can be therapeutic, although I think some people might be inclined to run if given the opportunity.
“Where’s your couch?” I ask, noticing that her office lacks the standard couch for people to lie down on and divulge all their secrets. There are two big chairs and some large beanbags in the corner.
“Would you be more comfortable sitting on a couch and not a chair?”
“If I said yes, would you get a couch?” I say in a pretentious tone, wondering if she’s a patsy like all the other people I’ve encountered in my life.
“I would not, but I would ask why you feel you’re entitled to a couch when I have two perfectly good chairs and an assortment of beanbags that you can sit in.”
My mouth drops open in amazement, and she cocks her eyebrow, almost as if she’s challenging me. I can’t remember the last time someone called me out on my shit. Rebel has tried, but even with her I still win out. I imagine sometimes it’s easier to give in than to fight with me. But that doesn’t seem to be the case with Dr. Rosenberg. I t
hink maybe I’ve met my match. With my tail between my legs, I take a seat in the chair nearest me.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I don’t answer her. She should be happy knowing she’s already succeeding in calling me out on my bullshit. Instead I focus on the ladybug painting she has on her wall. It’s large and incredibly detailed, showing the smallest features of its body and legs. I never thought of a ladybug as being creepy, but staring at this now makes me think otherwise. Out of the corner of my eye I see one crawling toward me. It’s bigger than the average one you see on a flower; this one is on steroids and getting larger the closer it gets to me. I pick up my feet and place them on the chair so it can pass by without touching me.
“Please put your feet on the floor, Bodhi.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” she asks.
I look at her incredulously and point to the ground.
“I don’t see anything there.” She’s calm. Is she mocking me?
“How can you not see the bug?” I say, my voice higher than normal. My eyes feel like they’re coming out of their sockets as I watch the bug lift its giant wings and more bugs come tumbling out. They’re scurrying fast, heading for me.
“Oh, God,” I scream as I jump from my seat to step on them. They land on me, crawling over my skin, into my ears and nose, and under my clothes. I try to bat them away, but they keep coming. They scuttle into my hair and start biting, attempting to burrow into my brain. I hit them, listening to the satisfying crunch as they die.
And now they’re gone, being replaced by a warming sensation coursing through my body. I look around and find unfamiliar faces staring at me. They’re blurry and mumbling incoherently. I try to reach for them but my arms are gone. The bugs must’ve eaten my arms.
I scream and try to sit up, but I’m being held down. With deep grunted breaths I try to break free, but can’t. Again I try, spraying saliva all over my face. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain I hear my name being called, but I can’t answer.
Another bout of warmth rushes through my body and everything goes limp. My eyes are heavy and my body is sagging into the floor. I try to focus on my surroundings and the faces hovering above me, but I don’t know them.
“Bodhi?”
That voice. I know that voice. I turn toward her and try to smile when our eyes meet. Her fingers run through my hair, removing the bugs I killed earlier. I hate that she has to remove those nasty things with her fingers, but I’m thankful because the bugs are trying to eat my brain.
Now I’m moving. There are voices around me, but none of them make any sense. And where is my dad? Where am I? The overhead lights hurt my eyes, so I close them and wish I were elsewhere, as long as the woman holding my hand by my side could be there too.
“Welcome back, Bodhi. You gave us a little scare.”
I know that voice too, but I can’t place it. I move my head in that direction and see a familiar white coat. The person inside it is playing with a bag of liquid, hanging it from a metal pole. Hazily I follow the tubes hanging out of the bag and barely see them disappear into my arm. My arm, which I can’t move. Hard realization sets in as I comprehend what’s going on. I try to pull free, needing to break away from their treatment. They’re trying to turn me into something I’m not.
“I’m not an addict,” I grunt out as my hands fist and I grit my teeth to try to pull away from their restraints. Pain radiates up my arm, and when I look down, the white sheet covering me is blood red.
The lady in the white coat touches my arm. I yell out when she stabs me, but almost instantly the pain is gone. She moves about, my eyes following her. She’s going to kill me and there isn’t anything I can do about it. This is part of natural selection. I’m a waste to the community and they think no one will miss me. They’re wrong. I have so much more life to live.
“We know,” Kim’s soft voice whispers into my ear.
“Why the fuck are you trying to kill me?” The panic is real, and my voice quavers.
“We’re trying to save you, Bodhi,” the doctor says. Now I remember who she is: Dr. Rosenberg. I don’t believe her, and look at Kim.