The rest of the day was rather uneventful after meeting Emmett. I looked for Mysterious Man Bun during lunch and throughout the halls, but came up empty. I was more than a little disappointed. The random encounters I had with these guys were pretty much the only entertainment I got from this place. Other than watching the patients, of course.
The medicine Dr. Ferrer had me on made me feel so numb at times that the giddy rush I got when I saw one of those guys was like its own kind of drug. I could feel myself sinking further and further into a haze. Most of the time I felt scattered and disconnected. Outside of those moments with the guys, that suffocating apathy was only broken up by irregular flares of rawness, where the world seemed to be moving too fast, where every sound felt like nails raking across my mind. During those moments I felt like I needed to scream, like I needed to break things or claw at my skin.
So, I was willing to focus on anything that helped disrupt the numbness and held the rawness at bay.
Sure, it was probably a bad idea to get caught up with a bunch of psychos, but it beat dwelling on my descent into madness, playing board games with Rob The Chess Licker, or watching Harriet The Hoarder sulk at having lost her ultimate power. I actually felt bad for Harriet. She was a nice enough lady, she just had delusions of grandeur, an obsession with hoarding things, and the occasional biting problem. Now that her power belonged to Darla The Klepto—who took every chance she could to show off her new prize—Harriet was sad and mopey. Almost made me want to give her a hug.
Almost.
At least I had art to look forward to. I wondered what that hot artist would be painting today. I needed to come up with a nickname for him until I figured out his real name. Maybe he would even be sane. He’d have to have some semblance of sanity to paint such a breathtaking scene. I needed to ask him where he learned to do that.
With a slight pep in my step, I walked into the art room with my group. I was happy to see they still had the easels set up and took a seat at the same spot I’d sat in yesterday, hoping that he’d sit in the same place, as well.
I snuck glances over my shoulder every other second, waiting for him to arrive. When he finally walked through the door I tried, and failed, to keep my jaw from dropping. Somehow he seemed even more handsome than he had the first time I’d seen him. I managed to contain the beaming smile that wanted to spread across my face, but I fully embraced the buzz of excitement and anticipation I felt.
I turned back around, not wanting to be caught staring, and fidgeted impatiently in my seat as I went to work painting a mountain scene on my blank canvas. I wanted to give him time to get into his painting before I initiated a conversation and asked where he learned such an amazing skill. After about fifteen minutes, I couldn’t stop myself from peeking past my canvas to his.
My jaw dropped for the second time, only this time it was for a completely different reason.
The pitiful, oddly proportioned stick figure, standing in a field of yellow and orange grass with a blob of a sun shining in the top corner, was not at all what I’d expected to see. I transferred my surprised gaze from the… painting to him. He was hunched over, fully absorbed in what he was doing. His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and his brow was furrowed as he concentrated on adding some shading to his little stick figure. Where was the master painter I saw yesterday? I didn’t think he could draw this badly even if he tried.
“What the hell?” I muttered, then slapped a hand over my mouth when I realized I’d accidentally said that out loud.
The guy turned his head to me, fixing me with those incredible eyes and a far more surly expression than he had the day before.
“What? You don’t like it?” he asked gruffly, pointing to his painting and leveling me with a look that dared me to say something bad about it.
Blinking rapidly, I stuttered, “It’s… uh. Well… it sure is… ”
I grimaced as I tried to find something to say to cover up my obvious disconcertment. I couldn’t even lie to him. It was awful. I was no Picasso, but he made me look like I was a painting prodigy.
Finally, a slight smile picked up at the corner of his mouth and an amused glint entered his gaze. “You can say it looks like shit. I’ll agree with you.”
I let out a breath of air and relaxed my shoulders. “Cheese and rice, I was trying so hard to think of something nice to say. It’s pretty awful. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly. “Painting has never been my thing. Jason’s the one who excels at this art crap, not me.”
I felt my face screw up in confusion. Peering at him, I tried to see if he was joking, but he looked perfectly serious.
“Riigghhtt. And you’re not Jason?” I asked, pointing my paintbrush at him.
He shook his head and frowned a little, as if I were the weird one. “No. I’m Mason.”
“Ah,” I articulated, nodding slowly.
I realized with a sense of disappointment what was going on. He was definitely a schizophrenic. Or maybe it was called multiple personality disorder? Whatever it was called, he obviously had it. It was the only way I could think to explain it. One personality, Jason, painted beautifully and seemed more chipper and easy going while this personality, Mason, was more surly, brooding, and couldn’t paint to save his life. I shouldn't have expected anything different from anybody here—hot or not.
It made me wonder if this guy only had the two personalities, or if there were more hiding in wait beneath his very handsome surface.
I didn’t push the conversation any further. I remembered hearing once that crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. I didn’t want to upset him so I nodded again, as if what he said made complete sense. Mason went back to adding more detail to his stick figure, leaving me to my thoughts.
Why, even after these guys showed what was, to me, a very clear lack of sanity, did I still feel drawn to them? I’d never found crazy people attractive or alluring before, but even knowing now that Mason thought he was two separate people, I still felt an inexplicable pull toward him. It was starting to make me think I was the crazy one.
I pushed it out of my mind as best as I could and went back to my own painting.
After going through the rest of my daily routine, I found myself face to face with a different kind of crazy when shower time came around.
I was soaping myself up in the stall and concentrating on the fact that I needed to just let everything go and focus on getting out of here, when a hand suddenly shot out and tried to grab the soap out of my grip.
“Hey!” I yelped.
I spun around, covering my breasts with the hand not holding the soap, to find Harriet The Hoarder standing in my shower stall. I scanned the room behind her, looking for the orderly who was supposed to be supervising us, but the woman was nowhere in sight.
“I need new power. Soap! I need soap!” Harriet mumbled crazily as she lunged for the bar again.
I was extremely uncomfortable at having this woman’s naked body so close to mine, but I also didn’t want to give up my only means of getting clean. I had no idea if I’d be given a replacement bar of soap.
Harriet gripped my wrist, trying to pull my arm down from where I’d stuck it in the air. Why I’d done that, I didn’t know. It’s not like I could hold it out of her reach. She was at least five inches taller than me.
“Let go!” I yelled at her, fighting to yank my wrist out of her surprisingly strong grip while I pushed on her shoulder with my other hand.
“Give it to me!” she hissed, her cloudy blue eyes wide and wild.
She snatched my hand off of her shoulder and brought it to her mouth faster than I could blink. Baring her teeth, she bit my arm hard enough to hurt, but thankfully not hard enough to pierce the skin.
“Ow! What the hell!” I screeched.
Reacting instinctively, I slapped the bar of soap across her face, shocking her enough that she quit biting me. For a split second I regained control of the soap. I wasn’t willing to see how much further she’d go to wrestle it from me, so I made a quick decision.
“You want the soap?” I yelled then chucked the bar over the edge of the low shower wall and across the room. “Go get it! Hurry, before Darla gets that too!”
Harriet gasped and hurried out of my shower stall just as the orderly who’d been missing stepped back in. I quickly rinsed off, shaking a little at the adrenaline pumping through me, and glared in angry disbelief at the orderly. What the hell was the point of these humiliating supervised showers if we weren’t actually supervised?
As I grabbed a towel and dried off, I caught a glimpse of Harriet cackling maniacally in another stall, holding the soap up with reverence.
I need to get out of this place, and fast.
* * *
After another bad night of sleep—to go with every other terrible night of sleep I’d had since coming here—I woke up to the same abrupt pounding on my door. I sighed and shuffled sluggishly through the morning routine, making sure to keep an eye out for Harriet during shower time. I spotted her, still holding onto my stolen soap, but she didn’t so much as glance at me so I relaxed a little.
After having my vitals and weight recorded, and taking yet another dose of medication, it was time for my one-on-one therapy session with Dr. Fletcher.
I realized I was itching to tell someone about all the things that had happened in my time here, most particularly the guys. I couldn’t talk to Dr. Ferrer or Dr. Park about it. I was sure they were both convinced I was mad as a hatter and would berate me for becoming fixated on other people when I was supposed to focus on getting better. I sure as hell didn’t want to give Dr. Ferrer a reason to up my dosage or come through on her threat to keep me here past two months. There was only one person who’d yet to treat me like I was crazy.
I walked determinedly towards Dr. Fletcher’s office, outpacing the orderly—thankfully not Brad The Creep—escorting me.
My sessions with Dr. Ferrer—or Dr. Terror as I’d taken to calling her in my mind—were to determine what medications I supposedly needed, as well as what restrictions were placed on me. Dr. Park was there for group. Dr. Fletcher was the one who dove more into the deep, emotional issues the patients faced. She was kind and had a calming vibe about her that just made it easy to open up.
And open up was what I did.
Dr. Fletcher just continued to listen and add the occasional “uh huh” in the small pauses between one sentence and the next. There weren’t many pauses since I was talking faster than I ever had before. I was sure it all sounded like a jumbled mess, but I was in the middle of one of those manic, too-fast moments and couldn’t slow down enough to order my flood of words into something more comprehensible.
“Mysterious Man Bun stole the salt shaker! Can you believe that? And, oh my gosh, the TV remote is like a talisman of the gods here. Speaking of, Harriet The Hoarder stole my soap! I had to play fetch to get her away so she didn’t bite me again.” I shook my head ruefully before continuing. “And Sexy Schizo with the paintings. Paris and then orange grass? How? Can you explain that to me? Oh, and Pretty Giant with the whole Dr. Jessup thing. Did he really think that would work? And my damn soap! I wasn’t even finished!” I fumed.
I stopped and took some deep breaths, then huffed a laugh and relaxed back into the padded office chair I was sitting in. I felt a lot better after explaining everything that had been happening. It was pretty clear I’d been holding onto a lot of stuff, allowing it to build up in my mind to the point it just flowed out of me like a river breaking through a dam.
Dr. Fletcher scribbled a few things in her notebook before closing it and resting it in her lap. She pulled off her glasses and leaned forward with a serious but sympathetic expression.
“Between Mysterious Man Bun, Handsome Giant—”
“Pretty Giant,” I corrected.
“Of course. Pretty Giant, Sexy Schizo, and… ” she paused to consult her notes. “Harriet The Hoarder, I think you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed. You’ve obviously had some very stimulating things happen during your time here. Maybe you need to take a step back and just clear your mind. Get some fresh air. I see you haven’t had outside privileges yet. I believe you would benefit from a little sunshine. Take a stroll in the courtyard. Sit on a bench and just breathe in the crisp, cool air. I have a feeling that’ll do you more wonders than any medication Dr. Ferrer prescribes you, Lydia. I’ll put a word in with the orderlies to give you outside access.” She reached over and patted my knee. “Dr. Park made a note that you’ve done well in your sessions with group therapy and are well mannered. I see no reason to deny you. Now would probably be a good time.”
She muttered that last bit, but I didn’t take exception. I was too excited about being allowed outside. She was right. Of course she was right. I needed to just get some air and gain some perspective.
Yes, that’s it. I’m not crazy, these walls are just trying to suffocate me.