The White Room

Chapter 1

My eyes open and quickly adjust to the bright white walls surrounding me. It's my second year here. I've gotten used to all the routines and norms in this place. I'm 22 or 23 right now. I can't remember. This whole place is like hell on earth. Each day, 3 crappy meals, 3 stupid injections, 3 lousy checkups.
I get bored sometimes and the workers here give me paper to draw on. I hate all of them. A bunch of fake people, probably hate their jobs too, having to work with someone like me. My psychiatrist is nice though. He's the only tolerable one here. He's a 35 year old man, black hair, blue eyes. He's tall, with a strong, yet slim build. His name is Dexter. I call him Dax.
My eyes wander to him as he brings in my first meal of the day, with my daily injection too. I see a small smile on his face as he sets the food in front of me. I give a halfhearted smile back. It was clear i couldn't be bothered with making an effort right now. The food looked foul, per usual. I look at the food with disgust. "Yeah good luck eating that." Dax teases. I roll my eyes and i look up at him, "don't you have anything better to do than watching me eat?" A light chuckle escapes his lips.
"I get paid to sit around and watch you. If i earn money for it, then hell yeah I'd watch you all day." I scoff and look back at my food. "Great." Carefully, he pulls my sleeve up, exposing the bare skin of my arm, covered in past scars from previous injections before sticking the needle in me. I wince but brush it off, so used to the injections that it barely hurt anymore. Still had no idea what they were injecting in me. Poison for all i knew. With a pat on my shoulder, he leaves, opening the small door in the corner of the room and locking it behind him with a click. My nose scrunches up as i look at the food, reaching for the spoon.
After what felt like an eternity eating what tasted like blended up cockroaches, i lean back and grab the sheet of paper and black pen left by one of my nurses. The pen met the clean paper and i pause, thinking. And then i just let my inner thoughts take over, drawing whatever my mind comes up with. Within a mere amount of moments, the paper was covered in doodles, from scribbles to messy drawings of a box, and within the box, a trapped animal, chained down. It's how i felt. I look around the room. So white. So empty. I grab the pen once more and i draw on the wall a small drawing. A drawing of a girl, in a field of flowers, reading. That was my dream.
My bubble was burst when a nurse comes in with a hair curler. Oh crap. Over the past few years that I've been trapped here, each day introduced a new form of torture. Pulling out my nails, burning me, cutting me, drugging me. The list goes on. My body was covered in scars and wounds from past torture methods. My once clear skin now looked like a grotesque map of torment, each scar and wound a sign of 2 years of unrelenting agony. The flesh, sliced and puckered seemed like a patchwork quilt stitched together by a sadists hands. My skin was raw, jagged, as if i had been sculpted by the devil himself, leaving behind a living canvas of suffering and anguish. "Clothes off. Now. Boss's order." Her words rippled through me like a pebble having been thrown in the water. "Please Cassie. Not today."
"Boss's order." She repeats in a sharp tone that could cut through glass. "Don't make this harder than it already has to be." My hands shook as i cautiously undressed, feeling the cold air brush against my damaged skin. Her fingers tightened around the hair curler as she approached me. "Don't make a sound." She hissed as she brought the hair curler up to my skin. I held my breath as she pressed the curler against my arm. The sound of my burning flesh flooded my ears as a strong overwhelming pain rushed through me, my breathing picking up and adrenaline pumping through my veins. Silent tears streak down my cheeks as she repeats this process all over my body, with each burn a sizzling sound followed. Smoke filled the air, the strong scent making me dizzy. The pain is excruciating, a pain which i wouldn't wish upon even my worst enemies. It felt like i would pass out from the sheer intensity of the pain, seconds feeling like decades. Pulling the hair curler away from my skin, i let out a sharp gasp, falling back on the padded floor as i cried softly. Blisters and burns form along my skin like flowers in spring blossoming. My flesh bubbled and reddened, oozing with the evidence of torment. Each touch, each whisper and whistle of the wind sent shocks of fiery anguish through me, as if my whole body was aflame. And with that, i was left alone, drowning in my own pain and agony, crying softly to myself as the door shut behind that cruel beast which burnt my skin like a piece of wood. This was my life.