Before I fought for my life in the manor with my love, we were trapped in a hospital.
I used to work as a psychologist in an old, worn-down hospital. I took care of many patients as best as I could. My job felt normal until I walked out of my part of the hospital one night. I saw what it looked like to be a very secure and isolated room. It was sealed off from the rest of the workplace. Out of my curiosity, I impulsively walked in despite the consequences if I got caught by a coworker. To my surprise, there was a man who was strapped down to a table. He couldn't move an inch, the sight frightened me. The room was dark, it wreaked, it hadn't been cleaned in months. Needles, unusual sharp tools, buttons and blood surrounded the interior. The man's clothes were filthy, his hair was greasy, his eyes looked to have no shine, and he had deep eye bags. My first thought was,
I don't know what is happening here, but I need to rescue this poor person.
First, I released him from the restraints and propped him up. His skin was dry, his body was fragile, and thin. If he hadn't been so light from what it looked to be starvation, I do not think I would have been able to carry him out of the room carefully. The longer I held the individual in my arms, the more I noticed about him. He had small punctures and scrapes all over his body, even his delicate face, some even looked fresh. Covering him with a towel, it only looked like I was carrying a pile of used clothes or cloths. It allowed me to escape the horrid and terrifying room. Although, that was only the first obstacle.
Not only were there more workers in the open area, but the space somehow seemed more scary and dark. There were eyes everywhere. I think we had more patients that day so it was busier. I tried to walk with a calm expression, hoping not to bring attention to myself and the man I held in my arms. I know that we had not found many good treatments for our patients but this individual that was close to me was suffering. He was hurt and frail. Clearly what the doctors had been doing were not benefiting him. I had to try on my own to help him. When I finally managed to get to my car to take him to my house, I set him in the backseat diagonally from me so I could see him while driving. I covered him with the towel like a blanket so he felt comfortable. I rubbed his head, gently, and said,
"It'll be okay, you'll be alright soon." He looked at me with eyes that screamed,
Help me, please.
And I knew I'd do my best to end his suffering.
I got into the front seat to drive, looking back to check on him before we took off.
"I am going to make you feel better. Just wait. My name is Ada, I am a phycologist."
The gloomy figure sat curled up in my backseat. He kept repeating my name until we got to my home,
"Ada . . . Ada . . ."
I had to help him, it was my new responsibility and goal.
