You'd run too.
Chapter Ten
~Before~
White walls terrify me. White walls terrify me. White walls terrify me. White walls terrify me.
Being alone does nothing to help you overcome grief or tragedy. It only drives you insane faster.
My cot is a welcome mat of deeply rooted pain and regret. I rock back and forth on the thin mattress and the padded white walls of my room blind me. Tucking my knees to my chest I place my forehead against them. I let out a frustrated sigh.
I can't understand these people.
Or this place.
Or why they think putting me in solitary confinement is going to help restoring my mind to what it used to be.
My mind will never be what it used to be. It will be fragmented and broken forever.
Before it only had a sliver of a crack inside of it, brought on by the years of abuse I suffered at Daddy's hand. Now, it's like a stick of dynamite was inserted into my brain at some point and my mind has blown up in front of me. I swear I can see pieces of it scattered across my cot turning the white sheets red.
I am not right.
I am not right.
I belong here.
Because I am just as nutty as the nut jobs I'm locked up with.
Sometimes I catch myself acting nutty. I wander down the halls, flying high off my meds and laugh at nothing. I assume most of the nutty behavior has to do with the drugs they have me on, but I can't be sure.
They told me the drugs would take away the pain.
They told me the drugs would help me sleep.
They are wrong. The pain of losing Damien hasn't gone away. And I hardly ever sleep.
There's a part of me that wishes I could close my eyes and shut out the world, but I can't. I can't because I know behind my eyelids, I'll see him. He'll be there looking so fresh and alive. His skin will be vibrant with color, his blue blue eyes sparkling. He'll flash me his radiant smile and for a few minutes, I'll actually believe that he didn't die. I'll believe it and then I wake up to discover that my mind is torturing me with what could have been and I lose control of my emotions.
I scream.
Sob.
Hug my knees to my chest.
Rock back and forth.
Tug at my hair.
I pace the length of my shoebox room and throw myself into the padded white walls. I pray for someone or something to come along and take the pain away. I pray for someone or something to erase my memory so that I'll never have to think of Damien again. And so that I'll never have to live with the painful reminder that I am the reason he died.
Damien died for me.
And for love.
And I'm not quite sure what else.
Maybe to prove a point.