ᴀᴘʜʀᴏᴅɪᴛᴇ // $ᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇʙᴏʏ$

Chapter Three

ARISTOS (SIX MONTHS EARLIER)

I woke up with a jolt. My head flew up from my bed and I became aware of two things at once. My lower back was killing me and I was sweating much more than usual.

I glanced around my cell as I swallowed. The asylum was not known for their lovely rooms and gracious hospitality to their patients. I didn't know about the rest of the people who resided here, but my cell was small. The walls were a dark grey, with little patches of dark blue here and there for some color. The only furniture I had was an uncomfortable bed, one that was not helping with my insomnia at all, and a small end table with only one drawer. What the drawer was for, I had no idea. I wasn't allowed to have anything. My cell had bars, like a cage, and at a certain time in the evening a sheet of glass would go directly in front of it from the ceiling, what in prison terms would be lights out. The glass, of course, had holes, in case someone needed to have words with me after hours, or during a lockdown. And right outside was a screen for handprint readings, to unlock the glass and the bars.             

I stretched, then leaned forward and put my forehead in my hands. It was considerably cold in the institution, but I would always wake up sweating.

I had been at the institution for four days now. At first I accepted it. But knew that I couldn't be kept here long. There was always a way to get what you wanted. And I definitely wanted out.

And now... now this place was becoming a considerable waste of my fucking time. In all honesty, if I had to be locked up somewhere I'd rather be in prison, or anywhere else. At first it was cute, at first it was a time to rest. At first I didn't mind the treatment.

Now it was a nuisance. I was not insane. I would not accept being looked upon as crazy. My schizophrenia diagnosis only came from people being scared of my anger.

I would burn this place to Hell.

A tap on the bars snapped me out of my fantasy of this building in flames and unclenched my fists. I looked over and saw the moving crew.

"You got yourself an appointment today, big guy."

Craig was on duty today. He was one of the guards who patrolled the levels, making sure everything was shipshape. He was a middle aged man of about 5"10, dark blonde hair that was greying at the temples and receding at the hairline. I knew that his shift was mostly all throughout the evening. Seeing him now must mean he was picking up extra hours. In the four nights I'd been here, I could see how Craig's eyes would grow darker and more sunken. Behind Craig was the team that always moved me.

But an appointment? Oh yeah, I remembered, looking down at my hands. I was meeting my psychiatrist today. The shrink that everyone felt I needed to help heal me, since I was insane, of course.

I swallowed again and hoped my voice worked when I spoke. "And how long will I be away for this useless appointment?"

Craig shrugged. "Don't know. I'm guessing an hour. Up so we can see 'em, buddy." He placed his hand on the screen, had his prints read, and the bars rose.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and grunted as I stood slowly. I waited as they shackled me, and wondered why they didn't go with the straightjacket I'd seen all the other patients wearing when they were escorted from their cells.

"Don't forget," Craig began, securing the locks, "You're on a week trial for good behavior. Any wrong or suspicious move and it's the straightjacket for you, my friend."

"I'll try my very, very best to behave, Officer." I muttered.

As we walked down the dark hall, I could hear the noises from the other inmates. I casually looked into some of the cells, the most entertainment I had since arriving. It only made me angrier. Some would wail as we walked by and some would laugh.

"Here we are."

Further into the asylum, Craig stopped me at an office door and opened it with another palm print before leading me in. It was just a boring off-white room, a few motivational posters on the walls, and a desk with a chair on both sides. I looked up to the corner of the ceiling, and saw a small security camera. Also inside the room was a little refrigerator. They sat me down in the chair closest to the door.

"Why thank you, gentleman. Now fuck off." I glared.

"Yeah, yeah." Craig rolled his eyes. "She'll be here any second. Just so you know, we are right outside this door. That camera up there is watching you. And no one gets in or out of this room without a hand print from one of the allowed staff. Don't mess up. I'm too tired today."

Without another word, Craig left me in the room to wait.

A few moments later, I heard the faint sound of heels clattering closer. A few words and a laugh were exchanged outside the door, and then it opened. And in she walked. She sat in the chair across from me.

I narrowed my eyes, feeling instantly annoyed by her appearance. She couldn't have been but a few inches over five feet tall. Her hair was curly and long, the color of it black as a raven to match the eyes and brows. Her skin was pale. She was dressed in a black skirt suit, complete with navy heels on her small feet.

She smiled at me. I just sat there shooting daggers at her.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Lindsey Burns. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but you look... grumpy."

I almost scoffed.

"I'm happy that you're starting recovery."

I thought I was going to vomit. "I'd prefer it if we got straight to business. I've told them that I don't need or want therapy sessions."

"It seems to me, Mr. Petrou," She began as she took out a piece of paper from the folder she'd carried in. "That you don't get to make those decisions. I have the court order right here. Your six months here will be much more convenient if you cooperate. These sessions won't hurt you."

A throbbing was starting at my temples. I couldn't do this. I couldn't sit here and chat for an hour, however long they were going to make me come here a week.

"Mr. Petrou–"

"Just shut up! Stop with the fucking 'Mr.'! I'm not feeling in a very cooperative mood today. And I'm afraid I have nothing to say to you."

She sighed and opened her folder again and took out a small baggie. She waited until my eyes met hers, and held it up for me to see. It was a small white pill. "This is Olanzapine. Just one. As you've been told, you're on a week trial. We'll be nice to you if you're nice to us. And you've been given the chance for help. If you really believe you don't need this treatment, then that's fine. But the higher ups think otherwise, and I've been given the job. So just humor me then."

My eyes left the small pill to meet hers.

"I understand you've been refusing to take your medication."

This woman is stupid, I thought as I stared her down. That tiny thing, that little white fleck of dust to help ease this disease? I could have laughed.

"You better call for the guards to get their asses in here... because if you try to make me take that pill I will break your tiny neck with my bare hands."