Hidden Within

18 | safe space

"Tell me what's going on."

I shift uncomfortably on the leather couch, averting my gaze from the woman who sits across the room from me. I keep my eyes busy by glancing around the abnormally bright room, wincing as the sunlight streaming in through the multitude of large windows burns my eyes.

"What's . . . going on?" I question. I'm nervous. My fingertips shake from where they are placed in my lap. My foot taps rhythmically against the floorboards. I seem incapable of keeping my body still. I have no idea what's going to happen or how this is supposed to work. I'm scared.

What if it doesn't work?

"In your mind," the dark-haired woman clarifies. For the first time since I entered the room, I take a moment to study her. She's not as old as I had assumed she would be—maybe in her late forties or younger. This observation only further unsettles me.

"What you're thinking," she continues. "How you're feeling. Tell me about it."

"Um . . ." I trail off, diverting my attention to picking a loose string from my sweater. "I'm . . ."

"It's okay, Hadley," the woman says. I've already forgotten her name. "This is a safe space."

I want to tell her what I'm thinking, which is that this isn't a safe space at all. Anything I admit to her will be used against me in order to "fix" me. It's already bad enough that I can't leave this place; that I am stuck on this relatively empty farm in the middle of the country, all alone. They even took my phone, leaving me with no way to contact others. None of this makes me feel safe.

"I don't know," I manage to choke out. My voice is barely above a whisper.

The woman observes me for a brief moment. Her icy blue eyes feel as if they are burning me into my soul. Her stare makes me feel dirty, like I need a shower to attempt to scrub off the feeling of her eyes boring into my flesh.

"Okay." The woman nods as she turns her attention to the notebook she holds. "That's fine, Hadley. Perfectly normal, considering your . . . condition. You're confused. I understand. Just know I'm here to help you. Anything I tell you, give you, or ask you to do . . . it's all to help make you better. You want to get better, don't you?"

Tears form in my eyes and blur my vision. I stare down at my bland sweater and clutch the sleeves tightly in my grasp. When I nod, it's not because I agree, but because I have to. I don't want to know what happens if I'm disobedient. 

"Here," the woman says as she rises from her seat and crosses over to me, "take this. It will make you feel better. Less . . . confused."

I study the small clear cup she extends to me, gaze zeroing in on the two cylinder-shaped white pills contained inside. I swallow hard. I don't want to take them; I don't know what they'll do to me when they're in my system.

But I have to. I can't refuse. Being insubordinate will only make things worse.

I take the cup from her with a shaky hand. I reach for the glass of water that had been set before me at the beginning of this meeting and raise it to my lips, taking a sip. The pills in the cup rattle as my arm trembles. Slowly, I down the pills and swallow. At first, I feel nothing. Relief spreads through my veins.

As the woman starts talking again, I notice that I can't seem to concentrate on what she's saying. My insides start to feel fuzzy, along with my head and throat. Panic consumes me as my limbs shake uncontrollably. The room spins for a moment and my gaze is unable to keep up with the speed at which everything around me is moving.

Then everything fades to black.

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a/n: i feel like complaining but i don't have anything to complain about someone help