Asleep

by Krystal Wade

  “Hello,” Rose called out, bringing the thin blanket over her head. “Can someone please fix my lights? If I wasn’t crazy before, I will be.”

  The lights stopped blinking, and a rap on the window replaced the buzzing sound from overhead. Rose jumped out of bed and stumbled to the door, her feet unsteady, her head spinning. Everything was spinning, even her stomach. Oh no, the meds were too much again; she needed to throw up, to pass out, to just find a way to sleep through this. She didn’t want Stern Nurse and her buddies to come back again tonight, and she definitely didn’t want to drag Dr. Underwood out in his pajamas two nights in a row.

  She backed away, trembling, cold, afraid, and then the lights blinked back on. Turning in circles, Rose glanced all over the room, wondering what was happening. Was someone really watching her right now? If so, why didn’t they come and help? And why were they messing with the lights? Maybe this was a test. Maybe there really were cameras everywhere, but where? Rose didn’t have the energy to look. Backing away, she accidentally bumped into the bed and fell back onto the mattress.

  “Just ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it,” she whispered, covering her face with a pillow.

  Tap, tap.

  “Ignore it.”

  Tap, tap.

  Tossing the blankets, Rose stumbled to the door and pressed her face against the glass. “Hello?”

  The dark shape from the night before loomed in front of her, and her heart rate spiked. She knew it wasn’t real, knew it with every part of her brain except the part that was putting this image in front of her in the first place. Which meant the most important part was ignoring logic.

  Pins and needles pricked at her skin, kept her breathless and rooted in place, and then the thing turned.

  And Rose screamed.

  Skin melting and dripping onto the floor, Dr. Underwood opened the door and said, “Hello, Rose.”

  Everything went black.

  6

  Rose kept screaming, even as two sets of ice cold hands squeezed her arms and two warbled voices told her to shut up. She would not shut up. She would not hold still. Rose flailed, throwing her legs around wildly, jerking her arms so hard she felt her shoulders loosening in the joints. Nothing was visible through whatever covered her eyes, but she knew someone—or several someones—were moving her down the hall, down some stairs, and into a chair.

  The cold hands snapped her arms behind her back, hugging the chair, and then tied rope around her wrists.

  “What are you doing to me?” Rose’s breaths were coming too fast, her heart on the verge of exploding, and she feared she’d pass out soon if she couldn’t calm down. After gulping down a couple breaths, she said, “Please. Leave me alone.”

  Her legs were bound next, and then the cloak over her eyes was removed, but the darkness in the room was so great that she might as well have been blind.

  Rose couldn’t hear movement. She couldn’t see people. She had no idea what to do, trapped. Oh so trapped. Small spaces were just as bad as small towns. They were just as bad as a life without purpose, without some joy, some future to look forward to. She didn’t know if this was a small space or not, but it felt like it. The darkness pressed in on her.

  Rose tugged against her restraints, seeking a way out. If she could just get her hands free, she could untie her ankles and find an exit, but the ropes were so tight. Intense heat flooded her body, adrenaline replacing the ice cold fear.

  Then something lifted her hair, raising the small hairs on the back of her neck, making Rose hold perfectly still, tense.

  “Hello?”

  No response. No sounds.

  Pulling at her wrists again, ignoring the sting of the ropes biting into her flesh, Rose tried to escape. Over and over she tried, loosening the knots little by little.

  Something feathery light trailed down her bare arm, and she flinched away. Something tapped her toe, a boot.

  “Please stop.”

  A yank at her hair had Rose slamming her feet onto the floor and trying to stand up. The chair creaked and scraped against concrete, but her bound feet prevented her from standing at full height. She hopped while leaning forward, then stopped and swung the chair around in circles, hoping she’d whack someone with the wooden legs.

  Something bit into her arm, and then her breathing slowed.

  Everything slowed: her fear, her anger, her attempt at escape.

  She closed her eyes.

  And the next thing she knew her eyes were open and she sat bolt upright in bed at the sound of the alarm, gasping. The sun beamed down through her window, leaving a shadow of the bars across her legs.

  Another dream. Another horrible dream that felt so real and vivid that she didn’t want to accept that it was anything but real. And then Phillip’s words came crashing back into her mind, “You shouldn’t fall asleep here,” and she wondered if that’s what he meant. If this happened to him too.

  She jumped out of bed and ran to the distorted plastic mirror hanging in her bathroom, inspecting her neck, arms, and legs for bruises. Nothing. Even her wrists looked fine, maybe a little pink, but she couldn’t find any evidence that she’d been in a struggle like the one she remembered.

  “Rose?” Nurse Judy called from the main part of the room. “Are you decent?”

  “Almost!” Rose turned on the shower faucet and stripped out of her clothes, deciding that she had to talk to Phillip again. She needed answers.

  “Then I’ll be back in a few minutes, dear.”

  The hot water felt amazing on her skin, but Rose knew she had little time to stand here. The Shepperd Institute was about schedules and not stepping out of line. If she wanted to keep in good graces with the doctor, she would abide by those rules. Several minutes later, she met Nurse Judy by the door, swallowed the pills, and then practically jogged to breakfast.

  “Wow. You seem to be doing remarkably well this morning for someone who had another rough night,” Judy said, keeping pace with Rose.

  “Excuse me?” Stern Nurse hadn’t come to visit and neither had her sidekicks. And Rose knew she hadn’t woken Dr. Underwood.

  Nurse Judy stopped before entering Hall F and smiled. “Well, Nurse Vicki informed me you were thrashing about in your sleep, screaming out for help, and they had to restrain you just to get a sedative into your blood.”

  “But I wasn’t restrained this morning,” Rose said, looking down at her wrists again. She encircled one with her index finger and thumb, rubbing at the slightly pink skin.

  “Did you wonder how you came by those tender spots?”

  “Well . . . .” She had wondered, but then she hadn’t, because if what she thought happened had actually happened, they would have looked much worse. Maybe this place was making her crazy. Maybe she should just keep her mouth shut and not ask Phillip anything. Maybe Rose Briar belonged here after all. She shook her head, clearing that thought. “I guess not.”

  “As soon as you were medicated, they would have removed the straps.” The nurse patted Rose’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’re doing just fine.”

  At that moment, Rose didn’t feel like she was doing just fine. Her stomach ached, and twisted and turned and felt upside down, and she was a little sweaty, nervous. But she nodded and kept her head down while she picked up a tray of food and sat next to Phillip.

  “Morning,” she said, dabbing her spoon into the cold cereal.

  Phillip didn’t move, didn’t lift his head, didn’t meet her eyes.

  “Great. Back to this, are we?”

  “One, one, one,” he whispered, looking at his elbow. A fist-sized black spot reached around the bone. The third new bruise since she’d been here: eye, collarbone, elbow.

  Rose stared at it, her heart picking up speed once more. A layer of sweat broke out all over her skin, and she felt like she might throw up. Just a few minutes were all she needed to get some answers from him. She only had to hold out for a few minutes. “What happened?”

  Rocking back and forth, P
hillip glanced at her and then away, squinting as if the sight of her pained him. “One, one, one.”

  She reached out to touch his arm, to snap him out of this, and he jumped from his seat and ran from the dining room. Rose followed, knowing eating was out of the question anyway, dropping her tray in the bin near the door. Phillip ducked into Hall D, Rose right on his heels, and then he found the last spot at a table in the far back corner and claimed a seat.

  She marched right up to him. “Can’t we just talk?”

  “One, one, one,” he said, which the lunatics around the table decided would be really cool to echo. One, one, ones all around.

  Rose threw up her hands. She’d have to try talking to him again later, maybe when they were outside where he felt more comfortable. Defeated and pretending nausea wasn’t eating at her belly, she found a seat at an empty table in the center of the room and watched how her new peers interacted with each other. The same two women from the day before squabbled over the television remote once more, each of them with their hands wrapped around it and playing a game of tug-of-war. Didn’t make any sense to Rose why the orderlies would allow the women access to something that caused such a disturbance, but maybe it was one of those freedoms Nurse Judy had mentioned, one of the few. Maybe, when these women weren’t around, other people could watch whatever they wanted, freely.

  A man thudded down in a seat in front of Rose and stared, his eyes rimmed with red and bloodshot, his breakfast still hanging from his chin. He wore a five o’clock shadow even though the hour was early, well before nine.

  “Hi,” she said, unsettled from his quiet intensity. “I’m Rose.”

  A wide, insane smile broke out across his face. Rose shuddered and decided to turn away from him, but the movement made her sick. She pressed her hands over her stomach to ease the ache, leaned back in her chair, and watched time pass, slowly. So, so slowly the time crawled on, the clock loud, the squabbling women almost never shutting up. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

  Rose’s eyes grew heavy, and she found herself dozing off several times, but five minutes before ten, she sat up and stretched, careful not to make sudden movements. Time for her meeting with Dr. Underwood. The walk to his office was slow, and Rose had to use the wall to keep from falling over. She didn’t feel well, but really, the biggest factor in her speed had more to do with not wanting to see him. Not after watching his face melt off in her dreams last night. But skipping sessions would definitely be a rule breaker. Perhaps if she didn’t make eye contact with him, she wouldn’t recall the flesh dripping from his chin, or the blood that oozed out of his nose, or anything that happened afterward.

  Good God. She’d never experienced anything like this.

  Dr. Underwood waited for her by his door, chart in hand and scanning whatever written by whoever, and she glanced away as he looked up and said, “Good morning, Miss Briar.”

  “Morning.” Rose felt like a passenger in her own life, not really sure who was driving. The only clear thing being that it wasn’t her. Taking her normal seat, Rose kept her eyes down and hands folded in her lap. Trembling at the sight of her doctor probably wasn’t something she should allow him to witness, even if she knew what she saw was just a dream, a crazy, likely drug-induced dream. The stress of being locked away from home was getting to her, and suddenly she missed Megan, Josh, drawing, her father, hell, even her mother.

  “Did you hear me, Miss Briar?” Dr. Underwood asked, lowering his head to catch her gaze.

  Shivering, Rose turned and looked out the window, feeling the chill from whatever lifted her hair last night. “Sorry.”

  “Something seems to be bothering you today. Would you like to discuss it?”

  Rose couldn’t—no, she wouldn’t—tell this man about her dream. Of all the people here, she really wanted him to like her, to respect her. Which was laughable, considering Dr. Underwood already thought she was crazy enough to be locked up and kept away from the rest of the world. What would he think if she mentioned she saw his skin melt off, felt like she’d been tied to a chair and taunted?

  Delusional comes to mind. She shook her head.

  “No? Mind using words?”

  “No. I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “All right.” He flipped through her chart. “Nurse Vicki wrote down what happened last night. I’m assuming that has something to do with your demeanor this morning. You don’t have to agree or disagree. I’m merely stating what’s recorded and my assessment. Do you have anything you’d like to add?”

  The painting on the wall behind his head made the best focal point. It would give him the impression she was looking at him without really looking at him. Maybe. “That sounds about right.”

  “If you’re having nightmares still, you could tell me about them. Sometimes our dreams tell us much about the feelings we repress.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I see.” He scribbled in her chart. “Well, I’m happy to also report that it seems you’re getting along well with the staff. Although Mr. Gordon said you weren’t all that fond of exercise time outdoors and wanted to come in early. Can you please tell me why?”

  An image of the sun shining in the sky arose from memory, as well as her fingers’ desire to capture that beauty on paper. “It made me want to draw.”

  He smiled, and for once in the last couple days, Rose felt as if she’d done something right. She also found that she could look at him again, his pleasure at her response momentarily wiping away the image of his melting face and the turning in her stomach. His face was clean-shaven and all sharp angles, but his gaze was sure and knowing, caring. “That would be a good thing, so why run away from it?”

  Rose swallowed. “I didn’t have anything to draw with.”

  “Uh huh.” After writing a quick note in her chart, Dr. Underwood met her eyes again, and she quickly looked back to the painting. “Would you have drawn something if you’d had the tools?”

  Even if pencils had been in her hand, paper in her lap, she wouldn’t have drawn. Not because she wouldn’t have tried, but because her hands would freeze the moment they touched the paper. Images would fly out of her mind, making everything blank. The enjoyment she experienced from inspiration would disappear and turn into fear. Even with everything she needed to create a masterpiece, nothing would have happened.

  And she hated how easily the doctor saw through her.

  Rose thought back to the last fight with her mother, where pictures had been ripped off the walls and pencils and paintbrushes had been broken in half, canvases shredded. Rose had spent the better half of the night sitting out on the roof with Josh, passing a joint back and forth, before a moment of complete and utter clarity hit her: If she made her mother think she didn’t care about art anymore, she’d stop looking at Rose as if she were a bomb about to go off.

  But instead of being happy, Mrs. Briar acted like the bomb had gone off and she was left behind to clean up the aftermath.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Rose asked, chasing her mother into the kitchen. It’s the same question she’d asked every time she got in a fight with her mother.

  “I’m just finishing what you started.”

  “I didn’t start this. You did, and you never, ever stop. All you do is worry about Heather and how I’m like her. But you made me this way! You did. Not me. Not her.”

  “I didn’t go through the house at three in the morning and cover every picture on the walls with blood-red paint. I’m not the one who sits outside and smokes pot on the roof or listens to sad, depressing music in her room, either. When’s the last time you combed your hair, Rose? When’s the last time you even took a shower or cleaned the pile of clothes off your floor? You sleep all day. You’re up all night. You barely speak or look at anyone unless you’re glaring and angry and ready to snap. I don’t compare you to Heather. You do enough of that on your own!” Leah Briar yanked open the pantry door and removed a gigantic black trash bag, then filled it with Rose’s things.

 
; This wasn’t a good idea. This was far from a good idea. Somehow she’d allowed her mother to manipulate her. Again.

  “And this”—Mrs. Briar held her arms out at her sides, indicating the now-bare walls—“will be your future if you don’t snap out of this funk and stay on your medications!”

  “What? A future where my mother comes in and steals everything I like?”

  Leah Briar’s face reddened, and she fixed her stare on Rose and stayed that way for a few beats before shaking her head and going back to trashing Rose’s life. “You would think that.”

  “Of course I think that. What else would I think?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Rose. That maybe you make bad decisions. That maybe you don’t think things through before you react. That maybe I love you and wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t.”

  “I’m done.” Rose turned on her heel and marched up the stairs. That would be the last time her mother pulled the I Love You card. Love didn’t work like this. Love didn’t tear another person down. Love was supposed to be the building block of life.

  “What did you just say?” her mother yelled, running after, her hair slipping from her French twist.

  “I said I’m done!” Rose stomped up the stairs, threw open her bedroom door, grabbed a duffel from her closet, and started shoving clothes into it.

  “You really think this will solve anything?” her mother said, hands propped on her hips. “Your problems are going to follow you, Rose. You can’t run away from yourself.”

  “Watch me.” Rose climbed out her window and onto the roof, the same way she would sneak out with Josh for their late night make-out sessions.

  Dr. Underwood snapped his fingers in front of Rose’s face. “Miss Briar, in order for us to make progress in your treatment, you’re going to need to focus during our meetings.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered. A single tear fell into her lap. Problems definitely followed Rose. She felt like her problems were always following her and would until she was old enough to separate herself from them. Outside Dr. Underwood’s window, three crows called out from the institute’s lawn, and Rose fixed her gaze on them.