Chapter 31
HAZEL
Iwoke in a daze, my eyes taking a moment to adjust in the dark, stuffy space.
My hands splayed on the sheets beneath me, only to discover a thin mattress covered in stiff sheets.
Something was wrong. A cold draught brushed over my body, and as my vision cleared, I stared up at a cracked, worn white ceiling met at the edges by crumbling grey stone walls.
A pit of dread opened inside me, and I threw off the sheet, staring down at my body in horror. I didn’t recognize the frame before me, emaciated and pallid, devoid of life and vitality. My heart stuttered in my chest, and I forced myself to keep breathing as I took in my surroundings.
The sound of waves travelled through the small open window, and I peered around the cold, desolate room, I was forced to reconcile with the fact that I had woken up at the Akala Asylum.
I stared out the window for a moment, my eyes catching on a small seagull soaring beneath dark grey clouds.
Unfortunately, the opening was far too small for me to throw myself out.
I’d be willing to try again, though I doubted this time would be any different than the many times I’d tried in the past.
My toes hit the icy tile floor, bare feet stinging with the change in temperature, and I pinched myself on my arms and neck. I pinched so hard that I drew blood from the crook of my elbow, and my head grew heavy as my vision tunneled.
My fingers were bony and stiff, and I stared down at them like some strange anomaly I no longer recognized.
I tried shifting my hands into their Talassi form, but it was no use.
Instead of being greeted by a cord of flowing magic, my flesh was flat and dry, and I only ended up with a pounding headache.
I sank to the floor, that pit of dread growing into a gaping chasm, uncertainty creeping through my veins. The walls swelled in my peripherals, as if they were closing in on me, and my eyes stung with the river of tears welling behind them.
So it’s true, I thought, hanging my head in my hands. All of it was a dream, and I’m nothing more than a woman gone mad.
My body felt like a hollow corpse, all hope and will to live sucked out in the span of minutes.
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks and over my bony fingers, soaking the cotton shift covering my torso.
This can’t be true, I thought, releasing a choked, desperate sob.
The idea that I’d made it all up, that everything I’d experienced since escaping Akala had been nothing more than a hallucination, hung over me like a hurricane threatening to destroy me once and for all.
All that time in the Talassian Capital, all those days I’d spent with Draya, Cordelia, Maki, and the entire city of beautiful creatures, was gone.
In the end, none of it had ever even existed.
It was a figment of my overactive, severely ill mind.
I jumped to my feet, scrambling over the cot and reaching into the small cubby where I kept my journal.
It was still there, and I slammed it down on the cot, opening to find pages upon pages of my shaky scribbles.
Frantically flipping through, I prayed to whatever was out there that I’d find some clue, some proof that I hadn’t imagined it all.
I needed a tether of hope to hold on to, something to prove that I was sane.
That I didn’t belong in this wretched place.
My last journal entry stopped rather abruptly, and I could feel the utter despair laced throughout my words.
This time, I won’t hold my breath, and I’ll do everyone a favor when they pull my corpse from the tank.
The memory came back in an instant – I’d tried to die in the tank.
I’d tried my hardest to stop breathing, to let my body succumb to the water and drown.
Maybe it had worked, and I’d breathed in enough water to give me brain damage, which might explain the vivid dreams I’d had of my rescue.
Tears blurred the ink on the page, and I set the journal down on the bed beside me.
I allowed myself to cry, to mourn the new chance at life that I was convinced I’d been gifted.
The loss burned, opening a wound that struck deeper than any despair I’d ever experienced in my short life.
Draya had been my one sliver of hope during my years in the hospital, and I’d held onto it because I truly believed it was real.
The last shred of anything I'd ever cared about was ripped from my fingertips, and I was once again left alone on the floor of this prison.
After what felt like a few hours of weeping on the floor of this wretched cell disguised as a bedroom, I took control of my breathing and tried to pull myself together. I needed to know who was outside my room, to see if I recognized any of the nurses or guards.
I had no idea how long I’d been asleep after that last hydrotherapy session.
It likely put me in a coma, and years could have passed and I’d be none the wiser.
What if I were elderly? I’d fallen unconscious as a young woman and woken decades later as an old crone.
My limbs sure felt as if they hadn’t been used in a decade.
Peeking my head out of the iron door, I was met by the sneering face of the nurse I’d dreamt had attacked me during my escape. Apparently, he was my keeper now, and that chasm of dread in my stomach somehow grew even larger.
Not only did his presence confirm that I belonged in this place, I no longer had Bucky, my only friend in this crumbling building full of decay and despair.
“You’re finally awake,” he said, his gruff voice making the hair on my body stand stiff. He eyed me with beady dark irises, his plump red face covered in an ugly sneer. “Get back in your room, I’ll collect you shortly.”
Collect me?
Not wanting to deal with him any longer, I slammed my door shut and collapsed in a heap on the cold tile.
I didn’t want to look at my journal again, or even out at the ocean.
Could I smash the glass of the window and use it to slit my wrists or my throat, to put an end to my misery once and for all?
No, I’d tried that already, or at least I thought I had.
I don’t know how much time passed as I lay there, unable to sleep, unable to think straight, no longer wanting to dream. Instead, I just laid on the hard floor, counting the paint chips in the cracked ceiling until I had no tears left to cry.
The door to my room opened, and rough hands picked me up off the ground. I refused to open my eyes, but I knew who was touching me. His sour, oily scent filled my nostrils and made me want to gag.
“Time for your treatment, sweetheart,” that horrible voice said, and I realized my body was being transported down the hallway in long, slow strides.
Cool metal met the back of my calves as I was laid out on a gurney, and I saw bright electric lights hanging from the ceiling.
Something in the recesses of my mind recognized those lights.
I was back in the hydrotherapy room. Men and women in white coats and masks floated about the room, some taking notes in those ridiculously small notepads, some whispering amongst themselves, and I stilled as one crept up behind me.
His dark eyes carried no life, no soul. In that moment, I realized that to be employed by this wretched place, one must be born with evil in their blood.
“No!” I finally shouted, thrashing my arms as I was wheeled towards the tank of cloudy water.
I cried and yelled, but it was of no use.
Soon I felt a prick in my neck, and within moments my limbs hung limp at my sides.
I was paralyzed, watching as they lowered my body into the tank, left with nothing but my broken, empty heart.
I hoped this treatment would finally kill me. I hoped that as soon as my head hit the water, my body would stop fighting against my death. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t continue to fight in this life that brought me nothing but misery.
Masked faces peered at me from above, and gooseflesh covered my skin as the water slowly rose around me. The lukewarm liquid wrapped around my neck, forcing out a choked, strangled cry as I closed my eyes for what I prayed was the final time.