𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨́𝐧 𝐈𝐯𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑𝟎.

Smiley's Pov
I slid down the wall, gradually collapsing onto the frigid floor. Each time I glanced around, the room overwhelmed me—not because of sunlight streaming in from a window, as there were none—but due to the stark whiteness of the walls, bed, ceiling, and even my designated uniform. The only reprieve from this relentless brightness came when I closed my eyes, surrendering to the enveloping darkness. The room contained a bunk bed, and I occupied the bottom bunk, just in case.

The oppressive whiteness seemed to seep into my very soul, making it hard to distinguish where the walls ended and I began. The sterile environment was suffocating, devoid of any warmth or comfort. I longed for even a hint of color, something to break the monotony, but there was none. The only sounds were the soft hum of the ventilation system and the occasional creak of the bed frame as I shifted my weight.

Every night, as I lay on the bottom bunk, I would close my eyes and let the darkness wash over me. It was my only escape from the blinding brightness that surrounded me. In those moments, I could almost pretend I was somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't so stark and unyielding. But inevitably, I would have to open my eyes again, and the harsh reality of the room would come crashing back down on me.

I hadn't eaten anything since I arrived, which was nearly three days ago. Much of this stemmed from an inexplicable feeling deep inside, suggesting that if I abstained from eating, perhaps time would pass more swiftly. Though I had no logical basis for this belief, it stayed. Since it was nearly impossible to inflict suffering on others, perhaps tormenting myself would suffice to satisfy my need for control. Moreover, the cafeteria food resembled slop, and I yearned desperately for even a nibble of Ivy's cooking.

One thing I deeply loathed about this place was the constant control. There were specific schedules for lunch, recreational activities both indoors and outdoors, visiting hours, group therapy, and even a fixed bedtime. It felt reminiscent of being a child in school, but far more oppressive. Throughout each activity, thoughts of Ivy gnawed at my mind, and just thinking about her made me feel even more unhinged than I already was.

Apparently I was.

At first, when I was informed that visiting hours were allowed, I nearly jumped out of my seat at the prospect of seeing Ivy. However, my excitement was quickly dashed when they explained that those hours were restricted to family members only. Not only was Ivy technically not considered family, but I also had no family to visit me.

While I tried to convince myself that there was no reason to feel sympathy for my situation, the reality of having no family to rely on made it difficult to avoid feeling a deep sense of loneliness and despair. I could sense that this place was already starting to weaken my mental strength, and I didn't like it one bit.

I sighed and reached over to the bed beside me, lifting my pillow and retrieving the small portrait of Ivy I had managed to sneak in. Whenever I felt sad, I would gaze at the small photo of her, taken during our first picnic date. She looked so serene and joyful, and I could only imagine what she was feeling at this moment. I slowly ran my index finger over the photo, as if I could physically touch her one last time, hoping to draw some comfort from the memory of that day.