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Part Three

In the days that passed, she planned. The hours she had when her mind was clear were essential. She studied the patterns of nurses, guards and of The Doctor. He came every few weeks during his lunch break at twelve o'clock. Sometimes he visited more than that, his mood varying from mellow to explosive depending on the day.

He was a variable.

The Doctor only saw her when he wanted to. Usually, it was when there were no nurse patrols, for his own convenience. The longest she had gone without a visit was two and a half weeks.

She had to time it just right.

But then there was the pill. Everyday without fail, a nurse would bring her a glass of water and a capsule. They would watch as she took it, their eyes tracking every movement. If she wanted to keep her mind, she would have to fool them.

She only had one shot.

***

It had been too long without a visit. The Doctor was going to come today. She knew this as soon as she awoke. Sitting up slowly, she waited for the regular knock of the nurse.

The woman who entered her room was the same as she was every day. Dark hair twisted into a bun clipped underneath a tacky hat. Her name was pinned to her chest, reading 'Yvonne'. The nurse gave the girl a warm smile, her face lined with age, handing her the cup and the pill. Yvonne was a nice woman, the girl liked her the most out of every adult she had met.

She pushed the pill into her mouth and tucked it under her tongue before lifting the glass to her lips. The water passed down her throat without dislodging the tablet. She passed the cup back to the nurse. Yvonne left without a word, she had long since stopped trying to get a conversation going.

As soon as the door swung shut, the girl spat out the pill, the disintegrated pieces leaving a sharp tang in her mouth. She forced herself forward towards the bathroom, washing her mouth out with the coppery water. Glancing up at the mirror, the face that looked back was not one she recognised. Her usual dull eyes held a new fierce spark, her face more alive.

With a sharp intake of breath, she swung her arm back and rammed her fist against the glass. A giant crack echoed through the room, tears prickling in her eyes. She gingerly retracted her hand from the glass, her knuckles smeared a deep red with shards lodged deep into her flesh. The mirror's face was shattered into a web of fractures, an imprint of her fist slathered with blood in the dead centre.

Using her uninjured hand, she hooked her cracked fingernails around a large shard of the mirror and pried it from the wall. It was bigger than her palm, the jagged ridges of the glass giving it a knife-like edge.

The press of her skin against the sharp edge left her palm covered in small cuts, if she held it with any more force it would embed deep into her fingers and probably slice right through the bone. She lifted the fragment to her sleeve, the glass ripping through the fabric, creating two long cloth strips. She wrapped one tightly around her fist, shielding her from the shard of mirror.

Careful not to cause any more damage, she began to remove the specks of glass dusting her knuckles, they glinted like diamonds in the dim light. She knew that it was futile, some of the glass was as small as grains of sand, making them impossible to remove.

After painstakingly picking out every shard she could see, she wound the second piece of cloth over her knuckles, the blood seeping into the white fabric, dying it a saturated red. It would soon be damp with the liquid, but it was better than nothing.

Her hand stung, a constant throb that left a sour taste in her mouth. She dragged herself back towards her bed, avoiding the glass that coated the floor. She slipped the thick shard of the mirror into her waistband, hiding it under her shirt.