Page 19 of Madness

“In the bathroom!” I call back, and his shuffled footsteps echo into the tiled room.

“I thought…”

“I know, but I couldn’t resist showering off from being down there, y’know?”

“Keep the shower on for me? I feel gross, too,” he says.

Dusty turns to the sink, rummaging around in the cabinet underneath, and pulls out two toothbrushes and toothpaste.

He wastes no time scrubbing his teeth, repeating the process twice more before he finally slumps against the counter, “They still feel gritty.”

I reach for the towel and step out, “Shower and see if that helps; if not, we’ll do laps around these corridors until you get tired.”

“Thanks, Des,” he sighs and jumps straight into the scalding water, sighing blissfully, much like I had.

I change into joggers and a striped t-shirt, preparing myself for a night of laps to tire Dusty out from the thoughts that plague his mind. Otherwise, he gets lost in them, scrubbing his arms raw from the phantom pains of needles penetrating his skin.

The rabbit hole fucked us both up, and I just hope that being on the top level of Wonderland helps us both.

“I…” Dusty says the moment he emerges from the bathroom, his arms scarlet from how hard he’s scrubbed.

I stand, holding out matching clothes, and he smiles, taking them and getting changed.

“Come on,” I say, holding the door open.

The long, seemingly never-ending hallway is dark, but thankfully, there aren’t many otherpatients out as we emerge from our room. I bask in the comfort of being next to my brother as we walk—no talking needed.

I hope the top level of Wonderland is different from the rabbit hole. I don’t think we could survive it again.

Chapter Seven

A fist pounding against the wooden door to the room I share with my twin has my heart beating furiously against my chest.

I suck in ragged breaths as the screams from the rabbit hole haunt me.

The thin walls between each room do nothing to muffle the cries of the patients as they beg not to be sedated again, missing days at a time from the grogginess of the drugs.

Desmond glances at me, and I see nothing but a silent understanding that we are in this together and that we are both affected by the stay in the ward below us now.

“Dus?”

“I’m good,” I say through choppy pants, “I just need a minute. What time is it?”

The familiar niggle at the back of my mind has me asking, not wanting to lose any more time than I already have.

“It’s eight,” Desmond says, and I have to hold myself still, so I don’t spiral, “We’re not late, Dus.”

We have nothing to be late for, but my brain can’t comprehend that as I remember we have group therapy at two.

If we get food now, we can go straight there after breakfast and wait.

We can’t be late.

We just can’t.

The need to stick to a precise schedule gnaws at me, and I relay my plan to Des as I get changed. I hear him sigh in defeat, and I know he’ll agree to the plan that my head has made.

But we must stick to it; otherwise, Des might die, and I can’t lose him. He’s the only thing I have in this place – without him, I would be lost.

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