Can't run away from crazy | ✓

Chapter 2

The sun is already down and I'm relying on the moonlight. At sunset the power gets cut off in all the rooms, which is idiotic since this is the time we need light.

It's stuffy in here. I can't breathe properly. What if I die of asphyxiation and never manage to escape? Should I just break the window? I'll be fine. Everyday it's like this. What if today is different?

A nurse came in earlier and gave me two cups, one with my meds and the other filled with water. She checked that I had actually swallowed my pills and left. The nurses that come aren't every day the same, this is so that we can't form any sort of friendship with any of them. There have been a few scandalous cases in Ainsworth that have created the necessity for this rule.

I am kneeled down on the floor with my black backpack in front of me, filled with the few clothes that aren't from the hospital that I haven't worn in four years but magically still fit me. I've actually lost weight, most of them are baggier than what I remember.

Clothes are my only possession, besides one other thing. I dig to the bottom of the bag until my fingertips reach a small folded up paper. I'm not supposed to have this so keeping it hidden from the staff has been a challenge.

I pull it out and unfold it with shaky hands. Two little boys smile widely, the eldest having his arm wrapped around the other's shoulder. The photo has a rip in the middle, separating the two boys, that is put back together with clear tape. I fiddle with the bended corners.

Rip it. Rip it again, this time for good.

My fingers move closer to the tear and pick at the tape. I start removing it, but then I stop.

Destroy it. You don't need it. We will never be this happy anymore.

My eyes start getting teary and I put the tape back in place before shoving the photo back at the bottom of the bag. I take a few more minutes to recheck the bag a couple more times to put my mind at ease, then zip it and place it behind the door. I take three deep breaths before knocking on the metal frame. I knock two times and put my hand down.

Knock three times. Not two. Do it three times.

I raise my arm and knock again, frustrated at myself. It takes forever to get a response.

"What is it?" The guard's sleepy, hoarse voice comes from the other side of the door. They don't really move much around at night besides the scheduled patrols every thirty minutes, so when they aren't patrolling they are sleeping on a chair at some quiet corner where the mumbling voices are harder to hear.

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Hold it."

"I can't."

"I don't care."

I look around the room for a solution. I am going to be the reason our plan will fail. If anyone messes up that will be me.

"Well, the responsibility to clean it will fall on you tomorrow morning" I say fully expecting it not to work and for a moment there is no reply. Then, the lock opens. The guard motions me to walk ahead and I put my head down acting embarrassed.

I can't believe that actually worked. Maybe luck will be on my side for once. With the corner of my eye I see his stunt gun strapped loosely to his belt. My hand twitches as I have the urge to take it immediately. I stop for a moment and pretend to fall. The guard groans and grabs me harshly. "What now?"

"Got dizzy for a second there, sorry." I stay a little more in that position and I let my arm fall close to his belt before getting up straight. I keep walking in front of him, keeping his gun out of his sight.