The Insane

II

Ugh, I feel like crap. Whose idea was it to inject me with sleeping juice? That stuff's strong. I opened my eyes and blinked until the blur that masked the world subsided. I was relatively aware, except for some drowsiness ( a side affect of the drug I guess ) and felt something cold wrapped around my wrist. More handcuffs, great. I jiggled my hands and feet to try and free myself, but my efforts were fruitless, as I made no headway on the cuffs. Just then, the woman from before walked in.

    "Ah, you're up!" she said, a little to cheerily for my taste.

    "Yes, now could you please release me?" I replied angrily.

    "In a little bit, but we have to keep you restrained until diagnosis. That was quite a stunt you pulled out there."

    "Stunt?"

    "Attacking the orderlies, ring a bell?"

    "Well, yeah, but I wouldn't call it a stunt."

    "Whatever you want to call it will be fine," she dismissed, "I believe we have yet to be properly acquainted. I'm Dr. Jacobs."

    "I'd shake your hand, but I'm feeling a little, what's the word, oh yeah, restrained."

    Dr. Jacobs just scoffed and let out a little chuckle.

    "Where am I?" I asked.

    "You're at Brownstone Psychiatric Hospital."

    "Why?"

    "Well, answer my questions and we'll see."

    "Okay," I finished, uncertain. I made a silent vow to myself not to answer anything too personal, though I suspected I would be forced to.

    "Alright, we'll start with the basics. What's your name?"

    "I thought you already knew."

    "Remind me."

    "Avery Claire Dentilla."

    "And how old are you?"

    "Sixteen."

    "How many hours of sleep do you get a night?"

    "It varies."

    "Ballpark it for me."

    "Probably around three to four."

    "Why do you get so little sleep?"

    "Nightmares."

"Do you have them often?"

"Most nights."

"What are they about?"

Now we were straying into that personal zone I was talking about.  I was hesitant to answer, but I figured that it was no harm, no foul; I was already labeled crazy. 

"Monsters," I answered truthfully.

"Could you expand on that?" Dr. Jacobs persisted. 

"I have these nightmares about people turning into monsters. Most of the time it's just random people I've seen on the street, but sometimes it's people I know."

"Like Mr. Berkeley."

"Yeah, like him."

I stared down at the white tile floors, tapping my foot anxiously.  I waited for the next question, but it didn't come, so I peered up again only to see Dr. Jacobs scribbling on the paper her clipboard held.  She finished her sentence and placed the pencil in the holder within the clipboard handle.