Unhinge - Calia Read Page 0,96
my favor. But he does look frightened by me as his eyes jump from Alice to Kate.
I jump at my chance.
“Don’t let them take my daughter away,” I plead. “Please, just let me go back to my room. Please.”
He looks shocked.
“She’s been hiding her pills in the wall for weeks now,” Alice tells him.
“Shut up! Shut up! This doesn’t involve you,” I snap.
Doogie opens the door to the white room. I’ve never felt such blinding fear. It’s powerful enough to make me double over in pain.
I make one last plea. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it.” My voice goes down and even to my own ears I sound like a child begging for its parent not to hurt them. “Please don’t do it.”
Alice encourages him, tells him that I’m out of control. He gives me an apologetic look before he sticks the needle into my vein.
The drugs don’t kick in instantly. But it’s pretty damn close. Already I can feel my body become weightless. I know I should move my legs and try to resist, but I can’t think.
I feel light as a feather. In my mind, I see myself floating in the sky, slowly drifting toward the ground. The air dances across my skin. I stare up at the white ceiling. I smile and then I close my eyes.
The last thing I hear: “Fairfax is no place for a baby….”
I’m a good person.
I know I am.
I don’t deserve to be in here.
How much time has gone by: a few minutes? Hours? Days? I don’t know. And that’s the scary part. In a room where all noise is absent, time stands still. Your breaths become punctuated. And your conscience becomes this malignant creature, festering inside you, just waiting to turn your words around on you and watch you suffer.
In the white room you become your own worst enemy.
The second I woke, I stared down at my body. My sweats were gone, replaced with a hospital gown. On my right wrist is a blue wristband. And a green one. I don’t know what they mean or why they’re even there. Both of them say the following:
DONOVAN, VICTORIA
5-19-2015
#5213627
There’s no reason for this. Why put this on me? I know my name.
This is ridiculous.
But maybe this is on purpose. Maybe they know I’m losing it, and I’ll forget my name. Maybe they’re helping me out.
Or maybe not.
Maybe they’re planning something much bigger than me. To give me a drug so strong my memory will be wiped clean and I won’t know who I am or what I’ve done or who I’ve loved.
Or maybe they simply want to rob me of my sanity.
The very thought makes me start pounding on the door, screaming to be let out. Now my hands ache. There will be bruises. My throat is raw.
All four walls are padded in white squares. I’ve counted them multiple times. The number is never the same. The ceiling is white and the floors are white. There’s not a stitch of furniture in here. Just a blanket in the corner with a small, flat pillow. These two additions look like add-ons—a last-minute thought placed in here to make it look “roomy.”
I’m in the corner of the room, my back against the wall, as far back as I can get from the door. I know I’m alone in here, but I can feel eyes on me, tracking my every move.
No one’s come in here to check on me. Are they going to leave me in here to rot? I want to say no, but I’m starting to doubt myself.
Very faintly, I can hear a baby crying. My heartbeat skyrockets. In my mind, I can vividly see Evelyn lying in her bassinet. She’s scared and I’m not there to comfort her.
The very thought makes me want to vomit. If she was here right now I would reach out and count the beats of her heart. And then I would know I’m alive. I would know that I have a chance of surviving this.
“Bad mom…bad mom…bad mom…”
I don’t know what my brain’s doing—bringing up dark moments from the past. No matter how hard I try to ignore the words, I can’t, because the actions from the present back it up. I am a bad mom. I let go of her. I didn’t fight the nurses and doctors hard enough.
There’s so much I didn’t do.
I start to shake so violently, my teeth chatter.
I think that nothing can compare to the insanity and fear suffocating my soul, but a