Don't. Touch. Me. [Book One]

It's Been Five Long Years...

*5:30 a.m.*

"Number 12210!"

"Here!"

"Number 12211!"

"Here."

"Number 12212!"

I looked up from where I was sitting. The room was cold and dark, like it's always been for the last five years. My wrists hurt from the handcuffs. I looked at the only source of light coming from the door.

"Number 12212!" The security guard banged on my cell door. I didn't move.

".....here."

He peeked inside and we made eye contact for three seconds, before he continued roll call. His voice faded down the hall, as I sat still on my cold, hard bed. The only noise was coming from the other inmates. We were all trapped in this prison, they call a 'rehab'. I was sent here by my so-called friends and family. They called me crazy, possessive, a lunatic, psychotic.

Well I say.....to hell with all of them! They stole away my good years from me, and I want them back.

This would be my last month, for the state of California is letting me out early. On good behavior. They put me in here for the murder of my girlfriend, which was bloody, but they let me out this place for good behavior. The reason I killed my girlfriend, you ask?

She said she was going to leave me.

She told me she loved me.

She said she cheated on me with another man......and was pregnant.

She was going to leave me. I couldn't take that.....I didn't want her to leave.

.....I didn't want her to leave...

*8:00 a.m.*

"Number 12212, it's time for your medicine."

In walked my private nurse, Trina. A short, brown skin woman, mid twenties with short brown hair. She was nice.

I watched as she pulled in the cart carrying my medicine. A needle containing morphine mixed with Prozac. I hated the needle, they call medicine. It didn't work the way they claim it does.

She screwed every piece together. Before injecting the needle, she walked over and reached for my arm. I glared at her, mad that she forgot. We've been through this a hundred times, but that doesn't give her the right to touch me freely. People need my permission to touch me.

"Oh, I'm sorry. May I?" She quickly remembered, and I relaxed my face. She gave me a small smile and I nodded my head.

She rolled up my sleeve, then cleaned my arm. The spot where she would inject the needle. She walked back to the cart and picked up the needle. I watched every move she made, wishing she would fuck up. Waiting for her to trip up, but she's been doing this for as long as I've been here and she wasn't gonna mess up.

"Ready?"

I nodded, still watching her. She slowly, but surely, injected me. The medicine entered my system, like it's been doing for the past five years, and I barely felt anything. I was so used to the drugs, all I could do was wait for her to pull it back out. I waited and waited. She finally pulled it out, then cleaned my wound. She fixed my sleeve, then returned everything back to the cart. I watched as she filed out my cell and locked the door.

*10:00 a.m.*

Food was slid into my room. It woke me from my sleep. I groaned before climbing out of bed and grabbing the plate. I ate and slid the plate back under the door.

*2:30 p.m.*

"You know how to play poker?"

"A little. I don't remember the last time I played."

I was playing cards with the only security guard who I actually like. Jeffery. He kept shit real. I appreciated him for that.

"Well, how bout we just play Go Fish?"

"We play that all the time. Can't we do something else?" I laid my cards down, feeling extremely anxious.

"You know we can't do anything else. Now pick up your cards."

I looked out the window. Other patients at this rehabilitation center, were free to walk around. Outside. With fresh air. I was trapped in solitary confinement. Along with others, but no one talked to anyone. That's how fights broke out. It was everyman for himself. This side of the hospital was for those who have done 'heinous' crimes because of their mental illnesses. The other side was for drunken bastards, or people on heavy drugs. Quote on quote normal people.

I slowly picked up my cards, looking at my hand.

*9:00 p.m.*

"Number 12210!"

"Here!"

It was roll call again. They take it whenever we do anything. After breakfast. Before we take the rat poison they call 'medicine'. When we get our free time, which is usually only two hours long.

And in that time we really can't do anything.

They roll call before and after every meal. Then the final call is before bed.

"Number 12212!"

I looked up from where I was sitting. The room was cold and dark, like it's always been for the last five years. My wrists hurt from the handcuffs. I looked at the only source of light coming from the door.

"Number 12212!" The security guard banged on my cell door. I didn't move.

".....here."

He peeked inside and we made eye contact for three seconds, before he continued roll call.

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(A/N: Please leave comments!!! They are much appreciated. Tell me how this intro was!)

Thanks!!