10. The Denial Twist #2
I open my eyes to find both orderlies have taken several steps back, as if they’re waiting from a safe distance to ensure they haven’t made a mistake.
I don’t test my freedom. I need to earn their trust here, so instead, I grab at the cigarette and finally take my first real drag.
“What’s a non-medical doctor?” Mike asks, the question clearly eating at him until I can answer.
“PhD.” I exhale it out with the smoke.
I both hate the feeling and revel in something that feels greater than pain.
Drawn out misery.
They laugh with mouths open, as if the six years I spent in post-graduate research means nothing. I take the distraction as an opportunity to drop the two days of sleeping pills I’ve collected in my mask and crush them between my fingers.
“What kind of doctor is that?” Dwight asks, still mocking my choice of education.
I take another hit of the cigarette, bracing for the expected response. “Botanical science.”
They laugh harder, cackling to themselves and calling me the “Flower Doctor” while I distribute my discarded sleeping meds into their open soda cans. I smoke the cigarette like it’s Camila’s stale air, breathing it in like the life force in my lungs.
They continue with their teasing, mocking me from a distance they still consider safe for them. It isn’t, but I don’t care to prove it today.
Soon enough.
“Okay, so what does a plant doctor do? Garden all day?” Dwight barks out laughter.
Mike slaps his thigh like it’s the funniest shit he’s ever heard.
I keep my cool, my voice steady and lacking any emotion or offense from being the butt of their jokes. “How many degrees did you say you have?”
They go silent, Mike’s face scrunching into a scowl. Dwight sneers, slapping the cigarette from my hand and grabbing the fabric from my sleeve to strap my arm back.
“That’s enough.” The orderly twitches his nose, pushing me dead center in the back toward the outside of the atrium.
I hide my smirk, biting at my cheek when it threatens to grow at the sight of them chugging the rest of their drinks. Mike crushes his can and tosses it to Dwight to discard, staying by my side so they can escort me back to my room.
The other patients play board games, lounge around, and get to know each other at any time of day they aren’t in treatment or therapy sessions.
I’m locked in my room with these two assholes nearly twenty-four hours a day.
Aside from group therapy, apparently.
Once I’m in my room, Mike gives me one more heavy push from behind.
He’s not strong by any means, but I’m not expecting it, and not having use of my arms makes it impossible to keep my balance.
I fall face first, my mask the only thing that keeps my chin from slamming into the polished concrete floor.
“Not so funny now, are you, Doctor?” Dwight chuckles.
I shake it off, but I lie there because it’s better than looking like an idiot, flopping around until I can get myself back the right way. Turning my head to the side, I bury any fight left in me. “Come on, guys. I thought we were just having fun out there. I didn’t mean to offend.”
They stare at one another, Mike stuffing his hands in his pockets before he looks away. Dwight speaks for both of them. “Yeah, well, you and every other motherfucker in here loves to remind us we’re the bottom of the barrel. I work hard too, you know?”
“I know you do, buddy,” I sympathize, still chest down on the ground.
“Y’all like to act like just because we aren’t doctors or nurses, we ain’t shit around here, but this place wouldn’t move without us. Half these patients couldn’t even wipe their own asses without our help, and the doctor doesn’t even know where most of his equipment is.”
Ah, there it is.
Weakness.
We all have that one thing, the rot that lives inside our chest that, once sliced open, comes spilling out at the first opportunity.
Insecurity, anger, self-worth.
My Darkling is my rot, and without her, I am nothing.
“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…this place,” I reassure them.
Mike grabs me under my right arm, and Dwight comes onto the left. Together, they hoist me back up to stand. “Just watch it. Remember who holds your keys.”
I nod, wondering if it’s the right time to push the subject. “Speaking of…” I attempt to shrug, but the jacket makes the movement minimal. “It would be nice to get some sleep without this thing on.” I give an awkward smile. “I’m a stomach sleeper, and this shit is a bitch to get used to.”
“Nice try. Doctor Valerian says you’re in the jacket until you get transferred.” Dwight sits on his little fold out chair across from my bed, propping his feet up on the edge of my mattress, dirty boots and all.
Transfer? Nothing of the sort has been mentioned to me, but it isn’t surprising that I’m ill-informed about my own situation.
The clock is running out. I’ve known it since the minute I stepped in this place. Right now is not the time to inquire or distract from the main objective.
“Come on, guys. You scared of a plant doctor?” I work them the best way I know.
“Shit, Mikey, this motherfucker thinks he can take us.” Dwight laughs, pulling a box of toothpicks from his pocket and inserting one into his mouth.
“Not at all, fellas. Just want to get some sleep,” I reassure.
They look back and forth at each other; Dwight shrugs, but Mike needs to prove he isn’t afraid.
“Fuck it,” he says, walking toward me. “You move one inch out of place, and I’m tasing your ass, you got it?” He pulls the black box from his back pocket in a warning.
“You got it, boss.” I nod, relief coursing through my entire body like a strong sedative.
Once my arms are free, it’s easy to talk them into letting me brush my teeth, do all the things I haven’t been able to do on my own with this mask and this straitjacket confining me.
The mask goes back on immediately, the little padlock sliding back in place to keep me from undoing the straps on my own.
Then it’s lights out.
I turn over on my stomach, despite the fact I’ve never slept a day in my life in this position.
The lie needs to follow through. I turn my head to the side without the padlock, the glow of cellphones still shining in the dark of the room.
Dwight sits in the chair, and Mikey lays back on the empty bed next to mine.
My mind scatters with the loudest thoughts of need.
Her. Her scent, the softness of her skin, the sound of her laughter, the waves of her hair and how the strands wrap around my fingers when I’m tangled into her in the middle of the night.
There is no word in the English language that can satisfy the longing I feel all the way down to my soul.
Missing is an immature emotion.
One misses a parent when they go to school, or a friend from summer camp.
Camila is the marrow in my bones.
Without her, I am brittle, I am hollow, I am lacking.
I count.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Five all the way to six hundred and ninety-six.
Only then do I turn my head to the side to see the orderlies fast asleep.
In the morning, two fresh faces will nudge them awake and pretend like they’ve done a bang up job at keeping me restrained.
They’ll follow me around during the day until evening comes, and then Mike and Dwight will clock in for the late shift again.
It’s not them I’m focused on now.
Now, I need her.