Cord

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟻

Reynolds comes into my room around 8 AM. I know what he's here for. My notebook my freedom. He announces his entry over the intercom, and I go to sit on my bed. My bed sits in the farthest corner from the door, so I can't bolt when someone comes in. I've learned they won't open the door unless I'm on my bed.

No freedom.

Very little leverage.

It's a dream, really.

He steps into my room with his shoulders back and head lifted high. He wants to appear big, powerful, intimidating. His green eyes bore into me when he looks towards my direction. I hate the color green. But I laugh at the fact he's trying to intimidate me. Maybe he fears me, just a little. I consider the possibility, but the reality is I have so little power compared to him. Why would he need to make himself appear more powerful?

I shrink back. He lifts his chin higher and steps closer. He's doing this to make me fear him.

I became numb to fear years ago.

He doesn't have to speak for me to hand him my notebook. I know what he's here for. My notebook my freedom. But I hand over the only thing I can control in my life with ease, because if I show apprehension he'll use it against me.

Torture me with fantasical mind games no doubt developed by the dark side of his mind that would rather have me gone.

The notebook leaves my grip. It's yellow cover brushes against my fingertips. I'm told it will be back in my possession at the end of my therapy session. I'm told. But I can be lied to. There's nothing preventing the notebook from being taken forever. My freedom can quite literally be ripped from my hands forever.

I get a sensation that this is the last time I will see my notebook.

I tighten the very tips of my fingers around the corner of the cover, reluctant to let go. Reluctant because the feeling that I might never see it again pulls at me. There's no evidence for it. No reason that this might be my last chance to see my notebook. But my gut tells me Don't let go, don't let go. But Reynolds' hands are already gripping the book tighter than mine. He looks at me into me. He knows I don't want to let go. In one swift motion, my freedom is ripped from my hands.

I jump up.

I can't let this go I can't I can't I can't. I know what happens when I don't fight for myself. I know what happens when you are forced to give up your freedom your life your joy. I will not let them take away my only freedom. My limited freedom is all I have left. You can't I won't let you take this from me! I will not let Reynolds dangle one more thing over my head.

I crumple.

One look. All it takes is one disapproving look from him, and I'm weak. My knees give. My legs turn into jelly. I feel the jab at the base of my neck. A paralytic. He always keeps them on him. To calm patients if they get out of control. That's what they're supposed to be used for. To protect patients against themselves and others while they lash out. He uses them if I step out of the narrow line I walk on every single day. The line that becomes even narrower when he's in charge of it. He'll use them if I attempt to do anything that I'm not instructed to do.

My vision gets spotty. I blink. Once twice three times. Each time my head swims and my body becomes numb. My head lolls to the side. I hear Reynolds speak.

"You know the rules, Blair." He grabs my arm to keep me from falling.

His voice is muffled. It's no louder than a murmur to my ears.

He lets go. Through blurry eyes, I see myself fall onto my bed. My vision gets darker and darker until my eyes give up and roll back into my skull. The last thing I see is Reynolds' hands ripping into the pages of my notebook.

My dear freedom.