Thirteen

Thirteen - Chapter Eleven

Over the next couple of months I went through what they called Anger Rehabilitation. Yet they didn't realize that they wouldn't be able to stay calm in a place like this; they would surely go crazy.

    During my rehabilitation period I saw no one. Naida was never allowed to come back and at night I heard Scarlett screaming in her sleep, shouting about something being inside her and to get it out.

    But no one helped her.

    I had to lay in bed at night listening to Scarlett shriek and I couldn't do anything to help her. And it was tearing me apart.

    I hated it.

    Throughout the day they took my blood and did tests on me one after another, making sure I wasn't going to change, and then I had to have therapy with a scientist I had never even seen before, telling me that violence was for the weak minded and that you shouldn't hurt someone just because they didn't do as you asked.

    I knew that and yet they still kept me in therapy. It wasn't even me who had hurt them; it had been Ivy! And yet they still couldn't get that through their thick skulls after the fifteenth time of telling them.

    The thoughts of escaping were always at the back of mind through all that but after being constantly pushed aside as being crazy they soon dwindled to nothing. I couldn't help anyone being in that room.

    I was useless.

    They sent therapists in everyday. They told me that suicide wasn't the answer and that I was more that. They were under the impression that because of the white walls and the tests and the screaming I was going insane.

    What they didn't realize was that I was going insane but I was going crazy without my friends. Without Lexi's constant jibs and Saffron's motherly instincts and Merlin's whispers inside my head I was surely going to go mad.

    They didn't make me go through this like an animal though. They sent in food, gave me a bed and generally made it okay to live in there. But they still couldn't understand why I was so unhappy. The only thing bad about the room was that I wasn't allowed to leave and that I wasn't allowed to see my friends.

    It wasn't fair.

    Ivy had been the one to hurt those people and yet I was suffering because she made me out to be a monster.

    I hated her.

    I’d trusted her and she betrayed my trust and now I was paying the price.

    I didn't talk to the therapists. I didn't need to; they thought I was off my rocker and nothing I said was ever going to change that. At first I tried to convince them that it'd been a ghost that'd made me do that stuff but I was just digging my own grave. And I had to wear handcuffs as well. They didn't trust me enough to sit like a normal person.

    I started thinking about stupid things in there, like would I lose my voice if I didn't speak or would my head fall off if all the blood pooled to the top or had Lexi killed Sebastian yet. The last one wasn't as stupid as the others but I needed something to occupy my time.

    Soon I was sleeping most of the day and didn't even bother getting out of bed to not talk to the therapists. And I started getting paranoid. I started believing they were sucking the energy out of me and that they were using it to plot against me. That made me talk even less.

    It wasn't until a day in April, I think, that I got the weird therapist.

    He strode in with a rare confidence that I sat up when I saw him. I was lent against the wall, wrapped in the thick blanket from the bed, but he still saw and smiled widely.