23. Veronica
I’ve been anxious, knowing I’d be trapped here for the next week. I’ve been sitting on the tiny bed with my back against the freezing brick wall, my knees tucked into my chest. It’s the same position I always put myself in when I am first in this room.
A cell is what I should call it instead of a room. Being in here feels as if I were in prison, but worse. And yes, I understand that I’ve never once been to prison. I’m just imagining the differences.
For one, you’d get a cellmate. Still don’t know if that is a good thing since they could turn on you, but then again, anyone can turn on you at any time. Second, the doors have bars, meaning you get light streaming in.
Not fucking darkness for some days, then a yellow, dingy light the rest. I will say that the food here is probably better than prison food.
Solitary is the only place I allow myself to cry, seeing as no one will know I shed tears except for the walls surrounding me.
The other patients in solitary could hear me, but they had no clue who I was. They are probably so out of their minds that they don’t even know who they are.
The guard in the hall? I couldn’t give two shits if he listened to me cry.
My cheek rests on my knee as I stare into the pitch black, feeling a tear escape and roll down my face where it lands on my leg. It seeps into the fabric of my sweats. Another tear falls, but I don’t bother brushing from my face.
I let more race over my cheek and onto my pants as my eyes adjust to the dark. Although my vision is blurry thanks to my crying, I know I’ll soon start seeing things.
Shadows hugging the walls. Figures that appear out of thin air come to taunt me.
I hate it.
Being in this place, I feel human. Vulnerable, afraid, and helpless.
When I’m with everyone else upstairs, I’m anything but. Around people, I’m strong, confident, and feared.
Blinking the tears from my eyes, my skin dries from how wet it was, causing a tightness to take over my face. I should pull myself together because when I get released from this hell, I don’t want to look like a broken little girl.
I have to act as if my time down here didn’t affect me more than it truly has.
The bed creaks beneath my body when I lift my head, wiping the salty tears away with the corner of the blanket. It’s clean. I can smell the fabric softener the nurses use when doing laundry.
It’s almost comforting, the scent. I cover my nose with the fabric, inhaling deeply and consuming the smell until I feel better.
As soon as I lower the blanket, the panic sets in because I remember where I am when I open my eyes. A shaky breath rattles in my chest at the reminder I’ll be down here for the week.
Footsteps are muffled outside my door. They are distant, and a part of me hopes Leo talked some sense into Dr. Bennett and made him change his mind, and Leo came down here to free me.
Those hopes fly high but eventually crash down as the slot in the door opens, a tray of food sliding across the floor.
I’m not hungry, but I’ll force myself to eat.
At least for today.