Confiding in You ϟ a.i.

Chapter 67

==Maddie's POV==

None of this feels real. Ever since I woke up it hasn't felt like my life, but more like a dream - a dream in which everyone is incredibly worried about me when they shouldn't be.

The hospital is no help in making it feel like anything else, either. Michael had described it to me once, and it's just as he said it would be. It's nicer than they portray it in the movies, but the florescent lights create a haze around my vision and everything is almost as impersonal as a jail cell.

My room has a warmer atmosphere, I guess. But there's no handles on the dresser and there's only one button to control the shower. It runs for three minutes and then you have to press it again. The only door that has a lock is the bathroom, and I have to ask a nurse to let me in whenever I have to pee.

It feels like I'm in another world, one where everyone thinks I can't handle basic functions. Either that or I'm back in elementary school. All this, just because I apparently combined my sleeping pills with a half a bottle of vodka and cut my wrists a little bit.

My hand shakes as I give my empty lunch plate to an aide. I stare down at my hospital bracelet on my gauze-wrapped wrist and read my name: Arkwright, Madeline R. That's me, I'm sure, but I'm a different person in this place.

"Good job finishing your meal today, Madeline," the aide says with a warm smile.

She's only saying that because yesterday I couldn't even force myself to eat, and apparently you end up having to stay longer if you don't eat. The only way you get out as soon as possible is by doing everything they tell you, I've learned.

"Um, thanks," I squeak out. I turn on the heel of my tennis shoe (laces removed) and leave the cafeteria, staring up at the clock as I head back to my room. In 20 minutes, another group session starts.

My entire body feels heavy at the thought. I have to go this time, and as much as I don't want to talk to anyone, I have to say something. As long as I say something, I will get out of here sooner and be able to talk to Ashton about what happened.

But the problem is that saying things in group involves energy and I haven't had any of that lately. They have me on new medication now - an anti-depressant that makes me feel more tired than happy, along with new sleeping meds. I'm put into a deep sleep and then I have to wake at 7, thanks to the fact that breakfast starts at 7:30.

I'm not sure what could be worse: hell, or this place.

I hurry my pace to my room. In my mind, the stiff mattress of my bed looks more like a cloud. It's a nice, comfortable cloud that will take me away from this nightmare and put me into one that I'm used to.

If I could just nap for 15 minutes, maybe I could get through telling all of these strangers about my cheating ex-boyfriend (there's no way I'm telling them anything else). They'll talk about it for a minute or two and then move on to more pressing issues, like how another girl still sees food as the ultimate enemy.

Or maybe we'll talk about the main piece of gossip since I got here - how some kid named Trent walked in on his roommate masturbating, his arms all cut up from the corner of one of the little plastic butter containers in the cafeteria.

Either way, we'll talk about something much more worrisome than my own issues and then I'll go back to my room and back to sleep.

A nurse stops me right at my door and forces me back to reality. Everyone's smiling here, but they're only walking on eggshells because they think I'm crazy. They think I can't handle anything else. Though, I probably can't.

"You won't be going to group today, Madeline," she says, reading my mind, and I crinkle my eyebrows together. "Dr. Avery would like a private session with you."