Page 30 of Runes To Rain
I concentrate on the food to keep myself from itching at the stitches on my abdomen. The other scratches and bruises have faded, and the pain meds keep the healing wound comfortable enough for me to make it through most of the day now without needing to go back to my room to rest.
My schedule is the same as it’s been since the beginning. A fact I didn’t realize until they changed the pills after I hurt myself. Now that I can think more clearly and the room isn’t constantly spinning, it’s easier to remember the routine.
I also feel as though it’s easier to keep the voices at bay. A fact that the mind healer I’m working with has been praising me for. Just yesterday, he said again how proud he was of me and all the progress I’ve made.
I wanted to ask him when I might be healed enough to leave. However, terror filled me at the thought that his response might destroy the hope that has been building recently, so I kept thequestion to myself. I’ll ask eventually, but I need to hold onto this hope for a little longer.
If I can just keep from hurting myself again, maybe it won’t be that long before I can go back to the mansion and the boys.
The day passes, the routine familiar. Lunch is my least favorite because there is almost always at least one outburst from the other patients, but there isn’t today. Everything is quiet. It’s going to be a good day.
After lunch, I see the mind healer, and we work on quieting the voices in my head again. He challenges me this time, making me upset as he asks me questions about why I hurt myself. I get upset because I can’t remember. After, he shares that he felt I had good control over the volume of the voices. He tells me again how proud he is.
Next is my free period, and I find the book I started reading last time. It’s a story about two people in love. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like something I would read, but the new, healing version of me is enjoying it. The two people are idiots because they’re fighting, and I can’t figure out why they haven’t talked to each other and worked it out yet. By the end of free time, I want to throw the book at one of the other patients, but I resist the impulse.
The mind healer would be proud. I’ll make sure to tell him.
After that, I see the healer who has been caring for the wound on my abdomen. The wound from when I hurt myself. The small room smells strongly of some cleaning agent. He has me remove my shirt and then lie back on the bed like usual while he checks my progress.
This time, he tells me the stitches can be removed, and hope fills me. I’m healing and getting better. He prepares some things and then starts removing the stitches, which is agonizing, but I lie as still as I can. Once he’s done, he wraps a bandage aroundmy abdomen again and tells me to keep the bandage on and see him for two more days.
As I sit up and then stand, the room wobbles and my vision darkens.
When I wake, I’m in my room. I lay quietly with my eyes closed for a while. There are no windows in this room, so while it is dark, that doesn’t mean it’s late. Lying still like this keeps the pain at bay as well as the voices.
Suddenly, I remember losing consciousness after having my stitches removed and realize they must have brought me here. It’s been a while since I needed to rest during the day.
Does that mean my healing isn’t going as well as I thought?
As I lay quietly resting, the door to my room opens and someone steps through it. My heart races; this isn’t the routine. No one is supposed to be in my room right now.
Maybe a healer has come to check on me? The voices get loud, trying to tell me how to defend myself.
The pain is making the voices worse, and I press my hands to either side of my head, “Please stop, please. Stop talking to me,” I whimper as I squeeze my eyes tightly closed.
“Chaosta?” This voice comes from the person in my room. The voice is male and sounds entreating as it says, “What medication are they giving you? Wait, never mind. Just put this on.”
I feel him set something on the bed near me. I open my eyes and see a small cloth bag that looks vaguely familiar. Before I can look up and see who is in the room with me, the door opens and shuts, and he’s gone.
I push myself up and open the bag. When I see its contents, I freeze. As I sit looking at clothes that were familiar to me at some point, I feel damp trails on my cheeks.
Why are they testing me?
What happens if I put these clothes on?
What if I do, and I’m not healed enough to leave?
My heart pounds as I sit locked in indecision with my eyes shut. Maybe if I just leave the clothes in the bag, I won’t need to make this decision. If I don’t take any action, then I can’t fail this test.
After some time, the door to my room opens again, and I hear someone enter the room. As this happens, my body seems to take on a life of its own. I sense the person move toward me, my eyes still gritted shut, and push myself up in a quick movement. My back is now against the wall as I crouch on the surface of my bed.
Damn the voices, I think to myself. I struggle with the volume, trying to turn it down.
I hunch against the wall, my legs shaking, trying to gain control again. As I finally manage it, I open my eyes and see a large man standing in front of me. He’s wearing the familiar clothes of the center, but he doesn’t belong here.
There are shadows protruding from his back in a way that is somehow both menacing and yet strangely comforting. The voices scream at me to go to him, but I manage to turn down the volume and shut them up again.
Damn, they’re persistent. Good thing I didn’t put the clothes on. I’ll be here for a while.At that thought, a sob escapes from my throat.
