Chapter 7
SEVEN
The cold, sterile hallway stretches out before me, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a harsh, unyielding glow. From time to time, they flicker, and eerie shadows shake on the white walls.
The grip on my arms is ironclad, fingers digging into my flesh as two male nurses drag me toward a door at the end of the hallway. The soft murmur of voices echo in the distance, sounds of screams, but it all fades as the door looms closer.
It’s heavy metal, the kind you’d see in a prison.
As they push it open, a rush of cold air hits me.
The room beyond is devoid of any warmth or comfort.
Stark white walls, a single bed in the center, and not a window in sight.
Panic bubbles up inside me, my heart racing, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“No! Please, don’t,” I whimper, trying to pull away, but their grip only tightens.
They force me onto the bed, the cold surface biting into my nearly naked back.
They only let me wear a hospital gown, panties, and light blue grippy socks.
I kick and thrash, trying to free myself, but it’s no use.
One of the nurses holds my arms down while the other works on strapping my wrists to the bed with thick leather restraints.
The one holding me down leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re just another crazy bitch. No one’s going to hear you scream in here.”
His words sink in, and I feel sick, bile rising in my throat.
The leather is cold and unyielding, biting into my skin as they pull the restraints tight. Tears blur my vision as they finish securing my arms.
“Stop! Please!” I plead, my voice choked with fear. But they don’t listen. They move to my ankles, strapping them down just as tightly. Every movement becomes restricted, every ounce of freedom taken away. My heart is hammering in my chest.
“Why are you doing this?” I sob, tears streaming down my face.
“You brought this on yourself, lunatic,” one of them utters bitterly.
It’s like the room is closing in on me. The panic, the fear, it’s overwhelming.
The nurses step back, taking a moment to admire their handiwork. Their eyes on me make my skin crawl. Then, without another word, they turn and head for the door.
The light switch clicks, a sound as final as the closing of a tomb, leaving me alone in the cold darkness. Panic grips my throat, squeezing tighter with every heartbeat.
A gasp escapes me as I sit up in bed, my heart racing, my breath shallow after the nightmare. I pull my wrists to my chest, rubbing them, trying to calm myself down.
What a fucking shit show.
I struggled to keep myself together after Nash gripped my wrist again last night. It wasn’t him that triggered me. It was the suddenness of it all, combined with my nerves after seeing them at the restaurant.
My unconsciousness pulling me back into my past is less surprising but certainly not a pleasant experience.
I thought I was doing better, not having had flashbacks or nightmares of the institution for a while before I got here.
But it seems like my trauma is just beneath the surface, waiting for me to slip so it can remind me of the painful memories I’ve been trying so hard to bury.
The radio hums in the background, and the fairy lights cast a gentle glow around the room.
I’m out of there.
Pushing open one of the short orange curtains, I see the sun starting to rise on the horizon. Quickly packing my toiletry bag, I make my way to the bathroom block to freshen up and brush my teeth. Afterward, I slip into my running gear, lace up my shoes, and secure my hair into a high ponytail.
I had heard that Lubec boasted numerous cobblestone beaches, mossy hiking trails, and boardwalks perfect for a run.
Desperately needing a run to clear my head, I check the map on my phone to determine which route is closest. After a few stretches with my hands on the outside of the van, I no longer feel as stiff and am ready to go.
I start a slow jog, taking in the surroundings and savoring how the early morning light gradually casts itself over the still-slumbering town where a few businesses are already opening up for the week. It’s tranquil here, so quiet that there doesn’t even seem to be a stoplight in sight.
What a contrast to San Francisco.
I make a mental note to take my camera for an early morning stroll one day before I leave here.
That’s another thing I inherited from Nan.
When I started clearing out our house and selling everything I couldn’t take with me or didn’t need, I found an old analog camera with a collection of pictures and some still good-to-use film in the attic.
I started taking pictures while on the road, and I love the vibe they capture.
Every once in a while, I turn my van into a makeshift darkroom to develop them.
I have a red lamp that provides just enough light to keep me from spiraling.
Someday, when I have a house, I’m going to have a dedicated dark room for developing pictures where I can hang them up to dry properly, not like now with my old laundry wire over a bucket.
One can dream, right?
Panting, I arrive at the Mowry Beach reserve. I bend down, my hands just over my knees, taking a few moments to breathe. When I look up, I can’t help but mutter a “Wow.”
The place is even prettier than the pictures.
The sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm, inviting glow over the landscape.
The beach is indeed a rugged cobblestone one with hundreds of pebbles, but the tide is low, making it look like a mud flat.
The boardwalk on my other side stretches before me, winding through short shrubs, tall grasses, and cattails.
I take a moment to appreciate the beauty and quiet around me, to feel the sun on my skin, the soft rustling of the leaves on the bushes in the gentle breeze, the distant call of seagulls, and the smell of salt in the air.
My initial steps are hesitant as I step on the boardwalk, not sure if it is slippery, but it’s not, and soon enough, I find my rhythm. The wood beneath my feet creaks with each stride, and I feel the tension in my muscles easing.
My breath steadies as I fall into a comfortable pace.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The rhythmic sound of my breath becomes a soothing cadence.
It’s like meditation, a way to reconnect with the present moment and escape the ghosts of the past. The anxiety from the nightmare begins to loosen its grip on me.
I feel better, lighter, as if I’m shedding the weight of my fears with every step.
Reaching the end of the boardwalk, I’m not ready to stop, so I turn and make my way back at a faster pace. A few minutes later, I stop at the parking area where the boardwalk started. The ocean stretches out to the horizon, its waves shimmering in the morning light.
I take a moment to stretch, feeling the pleasant burn in my muscles. Each move is deliberate, a physical affirmation that I’m here, in this moment, alive and well.
The past may have left its mark, but it doesn’t define me.
My peaceful moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of an engine. A black, sleek BMW M6 appears out of nowhere and nearly drives right over me. My heart pounds in my chest as I jump back to avoid being hit. The car comes to a halt, and my anger surges.
I can’t see inside. Its windows are tinted too dark.
No way that’s even legal.
I’m tempted to kick the car, but it’s such a damn nice car. The asshole is the one behind the wheel. So, with my heart still racing and arms crossed over my chest, I’m ready to give the driver a piece of my mind.
But when the door swings open, my words catch in my throat. It’s Business Guy, dressed in running clothes, giving the seagulls and me a great view of his thick thighs and broad, muscular chest.
Since when am I into thighs?
He doesn’t even spare me a glance as he steps around the car, puts on some in-ear headphones, and calmly starts his run on the boardwalk, just as I did minutes ago.
What a fucking dickhead.