It had been seven months, and the doctors think I'm taking too slow to progress, if I want to get out in a year. How can this be happening? I had put all my effort and energy into getting better to see my daughter. But according to the doctors, if anything, I'm getting worse. My "Episodes" were getting more frequent and intense, and my dreams were becoming more violent. I needed to get outta here. This place is meant to be making me better, but its making me worse. I wake up on morning, after a dreamless sleep. I walk to the bathroom and look in the mirror. I looked tired, physically and mentally. I'd been trying everything I could, but nothing was working. I looked at my watch, 8:30 am. I'm not going to therapy today, I can't face more and more people telling me that I'm getting worse. I don't want to believe it, I want to be better. I get dressed and sit on an armchair, beside a giant wall that had been replaced by a window. I watch the new daylight sun rays, dance across the ground, and the wind weave in out of the trees. For one moment I could just stare out and forget everything around me. I take the picture of my family of my desk and just look down. I look at Jacks face, happiness. When he comes to see me, he is so incredibly happy when he arrives, but is incredibly sad when he has to leave. Summer. Her bright shining face, and her developing, yet huge personality. I cry, I miss them so much. My daughter needs her mother, and I need Jack. I sit with my head in my hands and continue crying. Why am I not getting better?! Why? I've been doing all I can! What else do i need to do? I wipe away my tears, and lean back in my chair. I take a deep sigh, and look out the window. I can feel the heat through the window and I close my eyes. I had the brief image of my family, before I knew what was coming next. Lewis. He was coming closer to me, I was tied up and I couldn't move. He had a gun, and he was pointing it at my head.
"Jack never loved you, now...now I'm wondering what you are even doing on this earth. You are worthless, and no-body wants you around. That probably why your parents dies, they would rather die than bring up a daughter like you...you don't deserve to live" I couldn't speak, my breathing started to increase.
"Open your eyes, just open your eyes" I keep thinking to my self. But every time I opened my eyes, he was still there....BANG! He shot me, in the exact place he shot my in the first place. Tons and tons of blood was pouring out and I was in pain. I started to squirm, but then everything went black. I opened my eyes and I was back in my room. I take a deep breath, and my heart was racing and I felt dizzy. I secured my head as the room began spinning, I grip the seat beneath me, and and slowly brought back to a solid, and steady room. I hear a knock at the door, and I get up to answer it. Evan.
"Hey" I sigh sadly.
"Hey pika, you didn't show up to your therapy session, Dr. Simmons was worried. Are you okay?" Evan replied whilst pushing some of his pitch black hair from out of his face. Pika was the nickname he gave me after we had a like, days long talk about pokemon. I mentioned that I loved pikachu, and I guess the name stuck.
"Yeah, I'm fine" I sigh, and I walk away. Evan follows me in and closes the door.
"Look, I would like to think we have become quite good friend in the past seven months. I think both of us, need each other to help us through this. So tell me whats up?"
"I need to get outta here" I whisper whilst leaning against a nearby wall.
"We all wanna get out of here, but we just have to just get through this"
"No, I need to get outta here now. They are meant to be making me better, but I think they are making me worse."
"They are doing there best"
"And so am I"
"Okay, come with me. I will tell Dr. Simmons, you lost track of time. And you come with me, we'll get a coffee, and talk. Get ready and I'll go talk to Dr. Simmons"
