Sub Zero

Part Two

There's only one word to describe myself now; empty. I've wasted down into the lunatic I was mistaken to be. My dreams are always haunted by the empty eyes of Ren and the limp body of Raven. Both of them are dead. Dead and never to return.

I also see Indie. Her sage green eyes are always wide with fear, and she always says the same thing every time; "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" This goes on until I wake up. But the worst dreams I have oars of Finn. His face is contorted into the horrified expression that I last saw it in, right before I was killed. I had to have been killed. There's no other explanation, besides the doctor's theory, and that is certainly not true.

Day after weary day, I sit in the corner of my room. They have to force me to eat, and sleep is out of the question. Every time I doze off, the horrible memories return, and I wake up screaming. I used to anyways. Now I just whimper like some trapped animal. The bed scares me. Most of my dreams take place on that thing.

I pretty much live in a windowless cell. The walls are a pristine white, with small chips in the paint here and there. The steel door has nothing but a sliding window that is primarily closed. There is a small fur bet-like cot that I sleep on, completely "child proof" so I can't harm myself. There's a type of toilet that I'm afraid to use, and another child proof sink. But that's as homely as it gets.

My lack of appetite has caused my stomach to shrink and my bones to become more defined. I honestly miss my curves and healthy glow that most teenage girls seem to have. My eyes have become dull, the ice blue paler than ever before. Dark circles have appeared under them, all gray and baggy and revolting.

Every time I look in the bulletproof mirror of the sink, I remind myself of a corpse. My skin is almost transparent, my hair tangled and greasy, and my face and body worn out and tired looking. I look old, which is rather depressing since I'm only seventeen. And to think that I used to hate how I looked.

I've been in the asylum for only four months, but it's felt like an eternity. The echoes of wails and screams somehow seep in through the walls, and I sometimes sit, sobbing, with my eyes shut tight and my hands clamped over my ears.

We sometimes "socialize". In other words, the nurses drag or wheel us out of our rooms and watch us like hawks as we sit at tables lined with cards and chess boards. Most of us, including myself, just stare blankly into space during these times. Others either flip the tables and go on a rampage. Some actually try to play.

As far as I know, I'm the most sane person here. Although, between the nightmares and screams and wails, I think that I am actually going crazy.

When we return to our rooms, I allow myself to collapse on my bed and sob until my chest hurts. I want Finn with me. I hate it when the therapists try to erase him from my memory and say that he's just a figment of my imagination. I always punch, scream, and curse at them until they sedate me and drag me back to my room.

Yes, I must be dead. I had to have done something so despicable that God punished me for it. That's the only explanation.