YELLOW

PART 9

The walls were marred with scratches, evidence of countless struggles—perhaps remnants of food, blood, and who knows what else. After my recent crisis, the MRI had shown no damage to my brain, which meant I had been sent to the psychiatric unit for evaluation and care. As I surveyed my surroundings, I noticed many unfamiliar faces, a world I had never truly understood before.

We were granted a certain freedom to roam, but nurses kept a vigilant watch over us, observing our every move with careful scrutiny.

A sudden bell rang, jolting my attention as everyone around me hurried toward a room. I glanced down at my gray suit pants, the crispness of my white shirt completing my ensemble. The sound of my Versace slippers echoed against the sterile floor as I followed the crowd, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling within me.

As I entered the room, chaos erupted. "I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna kill you!" someone screamed, yanking at their own hair, their fingertips clawing into their skin. My heart raced, and a wave of unease washed over me. I couldn't help but think, I'm not like them.

Feeling out of place, I stood frozen for a moment, grappling with the reality of my surroundings and the emotional turmoil that enveloped the room.

"Silence!" A firm voice cut through the chaos. It was the doctor, seated calmly in the middle of the circle, exuding an air of authority. "Welcome, everyone. For the new patients, this is our circle—a space where we can open up and explore our darkest thoughts and fears." He paused, scanning the group before settling his gaze on a patient directly opposite him. "Michela, would you like to start?"

Michela, her eyes wild with emotion, shot back, "You know, doctor, it's easy for you to speak from that chair. Have you ever taken those medications that leave you feeling numb? When your mouth feels like paste? Before we talk about how to help, perhaps you should experience this yourself." Her words hung in the air, a challenge that silenced the room.

I turned to Olivia, my heart racing. "What if you leave me?" I whispered, anxiety creeping into my voice.

She smiled softly, brushing my hair back as I rested my head against her chest, feeling the reassuring rhythm of her heartbeat. "You're being silly. I would never leave you," she replied, her tone soothing.

"But what if you find someone who makes you feel the way I can't? What if you never come back?" The fear of abandonment gnawed at me, and I needed her reassurance.

Olivia gently lifted my chin, making me meet her gaze. "There will never be anyone like you," she said earnestly. "I will always want and love you. I'll never love anyone the way I love you. And besides, you're stuck with me." She playfully nipped my nose, her laughter a balm for my worries.

In that moment, I felt a flicker of hope amidst the darkness surrounding us.

Screams echoed in the background, pulling me back to reality. The doctor was doing his best to calm everyone down, but the atmosphere felt chaotic, as if the room was filled with a whirlwind of delirious thoughts.

"Marcus, you're new here. Could you explain to everyone why you're present?" he asked.

I glanced down at my hand and then turned to see a shirt adorned with a butterfly—a design that matched the tattoo Olivia had gotten with her boyfriend.

"Marcus?" the doctor repeated, drawing my attention back.

"I can't believe you call him 'Darkest Yellow.' I thought I was your yellow," I blurted out, my thoughts spilling out before I could stop them. It felt like being left behind, only to discover that someone else was stepping into the space we once shared.

"It's not the same thing—we're talking about butterflies," she replied, her voice defensive.

"Oh really? It's amusing that you go by 'Miss Bourgeois.' That was the nickname I gave you on our very first night together. You hated it at first because you didn't want to be referred to by your last name," I added, watching her struggle to find a response.