Burlap

6 - Camisado

I nearly jumped out of my skin the next morning after I stepped out of the shower room, hair still dripping wet trails down the back of yet another slightly too big dress Esther had let me borrow. I ran right into a pair of cold, hazel eyes. George stood in front of the girls showers, leaned against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest. I glanced down both sides of the hallway to see if anyone saw him waiting there. Surely someone would have questioned him if he had been seen, right? The only rooms down this hallway were the womens showers, bathrooms, and a couple supply closets filled with spare bedding and other odds and ends.

“No one has come down this hallway since you went in. You’re a late sleeper this morning,” he said, the way he answered my unspoken question sending a wave of goosebumps down my arms. I may have been in an asylum, but I was still level headed enough to know he wasn’t psychic. Just unusually observant. And that was even scarier than the possibility he could read minds.

“Why are you here? Won’t you get in trouble?” I asked, my nerves feeling as though they’d jump up out of my skin and take off running down the corridor at any moment.

“You missed breakfast, and I need to talk with you. I know what I need you to do for me, if you want me to keep your little secret,” he replied, breezing through the sentences as if he weren’t talking about something as vile as blackmail. My eyes widened as my stomach sank to my toes and twisted into tight knots.

“What’s that?” Caution laced each syllable. Another droplet of water from my wet hair hit the floor below me, making the tiniest plop as it made contact with the cold tile floor and splattered a bit.

George pushed himself off the wall and came to stand close to me. Much too close to me. Alarm bells rang in my head at the sudden breach of personal space, but I held my ground. Not because I was especially brave or courageous, but because fear had frozen all four of my limbs, preventing me from making an escape. All I could do was stand there, stiff as a statue, as visions of past confrontations flitted through my mind at breakneck speeds, leaving me disoriented and terrified.

Hit him! Scream at him! Something, you pathetic swine! You’re useless! Let me out! Let me out! Let me OUT! Power screamed over and over as his overbearing demeanor suffocated me from where he stood not even six inches away. Her fists pounded on the stone and mortar wall, threatening to crack it and tear it down if I didn’t do something.

George leaned in, his eyes peering into mine as he opened his mouth and spoke, his words quiet enough for only me to hear. “I want you to watch over Lottie when I can’t. There are times I can’t be with her to keep her safe and sane, and those are the times I need you to be there. You can’t let her have a breakdown, and if she does, you can’t let any of the doctors or orderlies see it, understand? I won’t have her taken to the thirteenth floor, and you’re going to help make sure of that,” he said, his voice low and barely audible as he spoke into my ear. It was a command, his tone making sure I knew there was no room for negotiation.

“I can do that,” I whispered, frustrated with how scared and weak my voice sounded. My hands began to tremble as he stared down at me, studying my face for several seconds, his eyes flicking between mine over and over. Satisfied with whatever he saw there, he broke the terrifying glare and reached for a dripping strand of my mousy brown, limp hair. He curled it between his fingers, ringing out some of the water and both of us watched as a thin stream of water poured onto the floor.

“Dry your hair or you’ll get sick. I need you well enough to do your job,” he instructed, breaking the small trance the water had held over me. Without another word, George spun around, hands deep in his trouser pockets, and strode back down the hall, toward the lounge.