Wristbands - M.C.

One

I opened my eyes to fluorescent lighting and a bland off-white room.

Everything was fuzzy, and the light was blinding. I whined at the annoying bright blue.

I looked around the room, trying to make sense of it all.

Soon, my vision cleared up. I was in what I assumed was a hospital room.

I sighed heavily and pulled my hand as close to me as the equipment allowed.

I read the print on the plastic wristband wrapped about my arm. "Parker, Elizabeth J.; Diagnosis: Depression, Mild Multiple Personality". But what was written in place of the name of our local hospital was "Orange Tree Valley Rehabilitation Centre". I was in the politically correct equivalent of an asylum.

Two other wristbands laid around my wrist: a bright yellow with the words "Suicide Risk" in dark letters, and a shiny silver with the same dark letters: "Caution: May Cause Harm to Others". The machines beeped and hummed around me as a turned my arm over. My wrist was sewn again and my inner thighs had long bandages taped on.

There was only one reason I was here -again. Tyler was back.