Obsessive Love Disorder [PART 3]

14

October 1, 2000
Charlotte

"Miss... Wilson?"

I flinch in my seat as a guard calls my name in a bored tone. I clear my throat and subconsciously smooth out my shirt as I throw on a polite smile. "Yes, that's me."

He grunts in response and, with an impatient nodding of his head, opens the door behind him just a bit wider. Standing, I grab my backpack and throw it over my shoulder, then quickly stride over to the guard and through the door. As I do, I can feel a slight twinge in my leg that nearly makes me trip, but I just ignore it and continue on.

The walls surrounding me are... bleak. Cement painted over with a pale blue-ish gray that has clearly seen better days, as there are multiple spots where the paint chips away or is torn off altogether. I struggle to keep up with the fast pace of the guard, who walks through the halls with easy familiarity, greeting any other guards we walk past. There aren't any windows, just big, solid doors with small nameplates on them - I assume they're offices or meeting rooms.

"So," the guard huffs, glancing back at me casually. "You've got ten minutes. We usually allow thirty, but the warden was already pretty nervous about letting you in here at all."

I nod. "Ten minutes is... fine."

The guard nods once, but can't hide a crude grin. "Once you're in there, you can sit at the table and wait. When you're ready, you can pick up the phone and-"

"Yeah, yeah," I interrupt, rolling my eyes. "I've seen crime shows before. Pick up the phone, talk, don't touch the glass."

The guard halts slightly and turns back to me, one eyebrow raised. "...Right. If you want to leave early, just knock on the door, and I'll let you out."

"Okay."

The halls seem to stretch for eternity, every corner we turn and door we go through makes my heart beat that much faster. If I wasn't so stubborn, I'd run out of here so quickly that this guard wouldn't even notice. I'd book it straight to my shitty car and drive a hundred miles per hour nonstop out of California, back to Washington, back to my tiny apartment, back to my little college, back to comfort, safety, and security.

But... no. I have to do this. The moment I received that letter... I knew I had to. I felt it in my heart, even as my body cried at me to throw it out, and my brain tried to create some sort of logic to the whole ordeal. I didn't even tell my therapist about it, I just... packed up my backpack and got in my car. I didn't even stop as I drove across state lines, not to sleep nor eat. I couldn't stop... I knew that if I did, I'd think about what I was doing and I'd make the world's fastest U-turn.

"We're here."

I blink a few times and stare up at an imposing black door, fitted with a tiny window and silver knob. This... feels very real now.

The guard turns around and pats me on the shoulder with just a little too much force, donning that same mean smile. "Have fun."

"Uh... thank you."

He swings the door open and ushers me inside the little room - it's no bigger than my apartment's bathroom, complete with a metal chair bolted to the ground in front of a small table that's nestled between two walls. There's a dusty piece of plastic on top of the table that creates an artificial window, separating my space from a nearly identical space on the other side. It's almost like an illusion... it's as if I'm looking through a mirror, but my reflection isn't there.

Slowly, I amble toward the chair and take a seat, putting my backpack in between my feet for safekeeping. My mind goes back to an hour before when the guards searched through it for any weapons or anything like that, but even more so, the funny looks they had on their faces when I told them who I was there to see. I've seen those looks from hundreds of people in the past few years, and even though I'm used to seeing them, it still makes my head pound and my mouth dry.