Bitter Sweetness...

Part 3

3

Alice:

I woke groggily from my fitful slumber and wiped away the tears that were dampening my thin pillow; I always did this, crying in my sleep had become as natural as breathing to me.

I cried for lots of reasons, some obvious; some not so.

I cried for my family, it was better to think of my kind-hearted parents as dead; rather than face the truth of my hate-filled and disgusted parents that haunted my dreams and tainted my memories. Even though they despised me I loved them; I missed them more with every ragged breath and every quiet, frightened heartbeat. I had become accustomed to the loss that my body shook with, when I weeped in the early hours of the dark morning.

I could never get used to the lack of light in here though; is it not natural to expect to see sunlight when your eyes open after a restless night?, I realised how much I had taken for granted. Seventeen years in the sunlight and I hadn't even appreciated it. I was twenty one now; my awkward transition from a girl into a woman spent sitting in a dark room.

I felt anger overwhelm me at the thought as I looked down at my body. I was petite but not pretty; my chest was small but not flat, I had a slim waist and longish legs, my arms were thin and my ribs poked out through my clothes. I was skinny and sickly. I was ugly.

I pulled the ratty covers over me again as a breeze from under the door bit at the exposed skin of my legs.

I lay back down and closed my eyes; I had checked the time a few minutes ago, by the slithers of light poking through the shutters, I had just been able to make out the dust-covered hands of the clock on the wall.

I had three hours till my next meal. I clutched my aching abdomen and exhaled sharply, the hunger pains not unusual when you only get fed twice a day. The food was watery thin porridge, a small bowl that barley filled my small stomach. I had been loosing weight ever since I was locked up.

I had once been pretty; my long ebony hair had cascaded down my shoulders and my slender body was slim and soft, I was a well-fed girl, I had a happy family and friends who adored me; I loved life. Young men had courted me, I had humoured them and giggled at their romantics gestures with my younger sisters; but I had never been kissed, never been held by a man who loved me. I had thought I was too young and free for such things.

-And now I had to accept the hard truth that I would never see light of day and I would never be loved.

The harsh reality of that shook me and I buried my face in the scratchy cotton sheets. I would have ended my life long ago if there was ever anything in the room that would help me do it.

I had tried to take the metal hands off the clock but the damn thing was nailed to the wall; Doctor Richards had seen my bloody fingers and warned me that I would never know the time again if I tried anything. Suicide never looked good on a mental hospital record.

I was glad when he was fired; he had been removed from his work after he attacked a patient. I shuddered when I thought of how he had hit me when I had a vision. The nurses had simply watched.

My new doctor...Matthew, he was different; I felt...safe around him. That was the only way I could describe it; even without seeing his face, I could tell he was kind and meant me no harm. I had not seen him for two days now. Nurse Jemima told me he had gone South for a few days on medical business.

I sat on my shaking hands as another wave of nausea rolled over me, making me dizzy. I could feel a panic attack looming and I whimpered, knowing no one would come and save me with him gone.

I shut my eyes and willed sleep to take me. Dreams were my only escape from this hell-hole. They were strange, my dreams; it was like the worlds of reality and the unknown blurred together; I was often flying in my dreams; my own inbetween world.