𝘿𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙡 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩 - 𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 ✓

15.

━━━

His words haunt me with every passing second. My mind spins with the memories I've gathered so tightly, his scent lingering in my thoughts, the shivers it sends down my spine and the memories of his breath against my neck. In that moment, that cold, utterly terrifying moment, it's the most sickening feeling in the world. But in my solemness, it paints my dreams and thoughts. It's intoxicating. 

I've caught myself becoming more particular with my looks, and how I style myself and dress myself for work. I've noticed how I double-check my makeup in the mirror in the mornings, touching my hair and makeup up in the psych ward bathrooms, more commonly than usual. I place my perfume in very specific places now, my uniform is ironed with better concentration also. 

I can't remember the last time I've focused on my looks like this, it's been years. Marrying a loveless man will kill a woman's self-image. I learnt that the hard way, today was the first time I left my own house for my nail's to be manicured in years. I keep my lipstick in my pocket, constantly. It's become a comfort, almost an awakening. The colour, the bold yet deep maroon, red is an awakening. 

Red is the colour of bold emotion, vibrant desire, and power. It can also indicate impulsive danger, darkness, and deep aggression. This red is Stanislav's favourite colour, so he says. I've worn this colour every single day, ever since. Sometimes I wonder if he lied about the colour, just to see if I'd continue wearing it. He's such an interesting person to speculate about, because everything he says and does is so unpredictable. You never know what he's about to say, but when he does say it, it's perfect. 

Sickeningly perfect, because no man's words have stuck to me with the same intensity. Not even close. 

It's like, as soon as he's there, as soon as I can see him, every bad thing he's said or done completely leaves my mind. Because just his presence, his enveloping scent and gaze fuse together and create the most dangerous poison possibly conjured. 

It's quiet. 

The houses silence is deafening. 

Sometimes in this silence, I like to ponder if Stanislav thinks of me in the same light as I think of him. I mean, I don't exactly know how I think of him in particular, but I doubt he would either. 

But it's a comforting scenario to dream of. 

━━━

It's become a repeated morning, just as any other. I don't hate the repetition, it's a lot more relieving than how it used to be. I'm somewhat thankful we had our fallout, I mean, she could have made better choices, but I cannot control what she does, nor anyone else's choices. 

Mornings are usually quite smooth to work with, unlike my past public psych ward jobs. Back then, work stress was at one hundred percent, from the start till the end of the shift. It was too much for me. Of course, once you adapt to such a fast paced and stressful environment you are able to work easier, but I wouldn't be able to handle it in the long run. Reasoning why I chose to move to a private psych ward, and as difficult as the application process was, I was given a start day and salary. To me, if feels like the best choice I've made for myself in a long time. Yes, there is still a heavy workload, but it's scheduled in a way that works for me.

I'm greeted with soft waves and welcoming smiles almost every day, patients with kind gazes and genuine happiness to see me. Just as many other staff members, we try to build a bond with the patients that doesn't seem overly professional, we want them to know that we are humans too, with struggles just like them. Yet, within even the most peaceful days, the days which you feel like no burden or worry would follow, it seeps in. 

Each hall has a light implanted against the wall, which you will rarely ever see flash. But as I walk, it's Bright, blinking glow begins to beep. It's an instinct, it's the feeling that rushes in when you've become so aware of how to react in that certain moment, it's like muscle memory. 

'CODE - WHITE.'

Repeats over the P.A. system as every wall's light beep and flicks the bright white. Within that split second, every single staff member within the rooms throughout the halls exit, sprinting down the hall to the designated call. 

My heart pumps and my breath hitches, my steps clacking loudly against the scrubbed tiles. Bustling staff members sprint through the halls, the flickering lights passing me by as the P.A. continues its repetitive call. Code White is a much more common call within psych wards rather than medical hospitals, due to its meaning that there is a violent patient that could harm themselves or will/is going to harm someone else. 

Although it's not directly life-threatening like emergency care, it is still a very dangerous and scary call to hear. Especially when it's a patient your designated to, because the responsibility is primarily placed onto you to deal with. The group of staff members rush into the Lounge Hall, a large cluster of panicked patients wailing and crying in complete terror of what they are witnessing. We shove past the circled group, and a tsunami wave of nausea lurches my stomach. 

Deep, rich maroon coat's and dot's the floor, splattered and painted without mercy. It borders the man which lays unconsciously within the large puddle; the source. I can't recognize the man. He is drowning in his own crimson. It's enveloped him and no sign of conscious life can be seen. 

But that's not what stops my feet, my terror and hesitation to forward. Stanislav. He is on top of the man, the same deep, dangerous maroon dripping from his face and speckling his dark clothes. My jaw hangs as I catch sight of his hands, his sleeves rolled up, with blood dripping and coating his knuckles and in between his fingers. 

It's like time itself has paused, everything seems to just stop. I can't hear myself think or even breathe; I can just feel my rapid, painful heartbeat. I can't move, every muscle in my body is so achingly tensed that it refuses to move. I can only watch as the other staff members move past me, forcibly pulling Stanislav's body away from the unconscious, beaten patient. It takes three men to get Stanislav on his feet, and it seems like Stanislav has no will or want to fight back. The staff members are rough and forceful, and as he's urged out by the men, his eye's meet mine, they follow me every second his figure passes mine. 

His eyes are dark, unapologetic, apathetic. His head is low, he's gazing through his black lashes, and the panicking, crying patients muffle from my mind. The darkness that follows this man is incomprehensible. This, this whole situation, from what I've seen and the way he passes me, it's all incomprehensible. And by the way he's looking at me, I know deep down, 

He feels nothing.

━━━