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WAKING UP
MY EYES FLUTTERED open as I tried to swim through the dark haze that clouded my brain. Questions jumped out at me: Where am I? Why am I here...wherever I am? Why do I feel so weird? At the moment, I can answer none of them, but my brain is starting to clear up. After blinking a few times I glanced around the room. I appeared to be in a hospital room-mine, by the looks of it. There is a single 'get well soon' card on my bedside table that is addressed to me, Lucy.
Looking down at myself I notice that I'm attached to one of those machines that monitor heart rate; an IV is dripping who knows what into my arm. I look to the side, towards the door, and I see a relatively young, pretty woman-a doctor, I'm guessing, by the white coat-watching me. "Good afternoon, Miss Arnold," she said with a grim expression.
"Oh. Hi..." My voice was hoarse, like I had been screaming at the top of my lungs earlier. Then my questions were answered, some of them anyway, as I started to remember.
I am at Beckingdale Mental Health Hospital; I should be in prison, technically, but instead I came here. I am here because I set my home on fire and my parents, younger sister, and older brother perished in that fire. I probably went on another rampage last night and had to be sedated, which explains why I'm here now-swimming through my foggy mind and my psychiatrist next to me. "What did I do last night?" I asked her warily. I wanted to know, yet I didn't. What if I did something truly awful?
Dr. Marissa Howard looked at me uneasily-it must be awful then. "Lucy, I don't know if I should tell you..."
I cut her off mid-sentence, "Oh God, it's really bad isn't it?" I shuddered. "Was it worse than the last one?" If that was even possible; my last rampage I injured several random patients, though it was nothing serious. A few bruises, at the worst.
"Yes." She sighed, disappointed. "I'm sure you will hear others gossiping about it, and I would rather that I tell you now, rather than you hearing it second hand." I looked at her with curious yet cautious eyes and waited for her to begin. "Last night, you were in my office for an extra therapy session. We were talking, and I pushed you a bit too far. For that, I apologize. You most likely remembered some traumatic event, and immediately you started to cry. I felt awful and I put my hand on your shoulder to comfort you.
"That's when it really started; you had this furious look in your eyes as you yelled, 'Don't touch me!' I backed away, but did my best to calm you down from a distance. It was clear though, that this would end in a fight; you weren't going to be calmed down with words.
"You stood up and totally destroyed my office-furniture turned upside-down, papers scattered, and my lamp shattered. After that, you decided to take your angry tirade down the hall. I alerted security, but I'm sure they already knew, you were screaming at the top of your lungs the entire time." That explained my sore throat. "We were searching for you for maybe five minutes. Quick, but not quick enough."
Dr. Howard paused cautiously. "Nobody knows for sure what happened in those five minutes. But when we found you, you had pushed another patient out a window-first floor, thank God-and you had cuts all over your wrists and forearms." My expression was no less than shocked; I harmed another person in a moment of rage. I can only pray that she didn't die, or I would probably be facing another murder charge-which didn't frighten me nearly as much as killing another innocent person did. I suddenly noticed the burning sensation on my arms, and I looked down at the thick bandages. "Though you were bleeding heavily, you were still uncooperative. We had to sedate you, and that explains why you're probably feeling so weird now.
"If we hadn't found you as soon as we did, you probably would have bled to death, still, you needed a blood transfusion." Dr. Howard's eyes turned concerned; she misinterpreted what my shock was for. "But you're fine now! We stitched you up, and now you're alright."
"No, I don't care about myself!" I didn't. I wasn't suicidal, but if death came, I wouldn't protest. "I hurt another person! They didn't do anything to deserve it, and I did it."
I was on the verge of tears. Dr. Howard was thinking, "But, Lucy, you already did-four times!" She would never say that though. They don't understand anyway. Her next words came out in a rush, "Lucy, honey, she isn't fatally injured! Shelley-the injured patient-only sustained a broken leg and a few lacerations on her face and arms. She'll be just fine!"
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's good." I looked at her with a charming expression. "Do I have to stay in here all day?"
Usually after an angry tirade, I was stuck in my room for the rest of the day, while they concealed the damaged I had inflicted. "I did sort of provoke you, so I think you can go have some fun in the recreation room." She smiled as she detached me from the machines. "Be good!"
I was alone again, as I walked down the hallway to the rec room. It was just me and my thoughts, and the occasional screech coming from other hospital rooms. It was dangerous for me to have my mind unoccupied. That is when my thoughts could turn to memories of my past, before I killed my family.