Bruised (Phan) [EDITING]

11

Doc judged everyone's portraits with a stoic face. Chris hated that, hated her. She acted so neutral and calm but he stole enough documents and personal items to know better.

He was what you would call the runt of the patients. He was the weakest besides Troye, they tied. He weighed 91 pounds and bruised the easiest.

One time, Chris snuck into her office to call his mom only to see all the dietary pills in her purse. It lay open on the floor under the desk, an abundance of orange bottles and red pills. He was caught of course and his punishment was extra ensure.

Chris sometimes wondered why they weren't allowed to call home. The best way to recover from depression and other stuff is social activities with your friends and family, right?

There was no music, no cellphones, nothing. They wrote letters to their family and once a week were allowed to the nearby outlet to get whatever necessities they wanted. Of course whatever they bought was checked when they returned to make sure no laxatives were bought or other forms of dietary things, like the doc's pills.

It was lunch time and he dreaded it. The most he wanted were some pineapples or something lighter, it seemed like the doc had it out for him though. He and Troye always got the most on their plate, but especially Chris because of all the things he's seen.

Chris saw his tray and groaned internally. He felt so fat and he wished they didn't monitor his toilet. He would've already vomited all this stuff up, but the scars on his knuckles were healing. They were pink and fresh, but healing.

That meant he was gaining weight. And gaining weight meant bigger pants and heavier steps and bigger shirts. He couldn't breathe.

The doc sat right across from him, a smile still on her face. He licked every crumb feeling sick.

What an evil Doctor.