Page 23 of Madness

“Are you now?” I ask, having taken note of the scars that litter her arms over the last two days.

She doesn't cover them, but I assumed you didn’t really have to in a place like this.

Every one of us has probably contemplated suicide at some point to escape our realities, however, real they may be. I have no judgment towards the woman who lays next to me if she has.

“Sometimes. Though, I don’t think it will be my hand that kills me…”

“Wh-”

“Come on, we have group therapy, and you can’t be late on your first day. Abe will have a fit,” she chirps, jumping from the bed and pulling me up with her.

I follow, taking a mental note to ask her about what she meant later.

The moment I step into the hallway, my delusions appear again, warping and twisting the halls. The beady eyes in the corners follow me as I walk and blink.

“Al?” Red stops and turns.

“It’s all twisty,” I murmur.

“Lost, lost, lost down the rabbit hole you go, go, go,”Queenie starts, and I grimace from how loud she is inside of my head.

“Come on. I got you,” Red retakes my hand, leading me down the halls.

The delusions retreat but not far, only just enough that I can walk hand in hand with Red without feeling like I’m going to fall down a never-ending tunnel and get lost there forever.

We reach a blue door, and the strong smell of incense leaks from the crevices. The scent is thick and cloying, a blend of sandalwood and myrrh that is somehow comforting and overwhelming at the same time.

I cover my nose with my hand, but Red stops me, “Don’t. Abe doesn’t like it when we do that.”

“I’m going to get a headache from how strong it is,” I say.

“We all do, but Abe is the one who decides what Ward we stay on – you don’t want to end up in the rabbit hole or worse, solitary.”

A cold sweat breaks out over the back of my neck at that last word.

I have experienced enough of my own company to know that I would not return from it whole.

I take one last deep breath, where the air is only slightly polluted by the smell of incense burning, and walk into the room with Red.

The dim light of the room casts shadows that seem to dance with the flickering candles—rabbits, foxes, and horses seem to form shapes on the cold wall.

The others are already here, and it seems like we are the last to arrive.

We have set groups for therapy, and I want to sigh in relief when I see that my group consists of Red, Desmond, Dusty, Harry, and apparently, his pet mouse, Doris.

The room is filled with a cloud of smoke, candles burning on nearly every surface, and incense sticks dotted on various surfaces. The sandalwood scent mixes with jasmine and lavender, creating a dizzying scent.

“Come in and take a seat,” the older man says, gesturing to the two vacant seats in front of him. His eyes follow us, and wrinkle lines form around them as he smiles.

The chair creaks as I sit in it, and I fear for a moment that it’s going to give out under me. When nothing happens, I take stock of everyone who is in the room with us and then pause on the psychologist known as Abe.

He has slicked-back white hair, a white beard covering the entire bottom half of his face, and eyes that are almost black in the low light of the room. His blue suit is perfectly pressed and clings to him like a glove. I try to figure out how old he is. He is definitely not in his sixties but not quite in his fifties, either.

There’s an air of wisdom around him, and working in Wonderland tells me he’s seen and understood more than most.

He procures a pipe and sparks a lighter, the smell of tobacco wafting around the room, mixing with the other various smells.

Is he even allowed to smoke during our sessions?

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