Raising a Psychopath

TWENTY SIXTH

Nothingness. That was all I felt. Or, rather, didn't feel.
My eyes opened, faced by a white ceiling with a familiar texture that I didn't recognize.
I looked side to side.

The whole room was cushioned. The walls, the floor. Everything except the ceiling. It looked as if I entered some sort of white pillow fantasy world. My surroundings had an air of familiarity to them, but I was still confused and discombobulated.
A sense of panic soon ravished me.

I was about to sit up straight, when I realized that my arms were bound.
I was in a straitjacket.
Why was I in a straitjacket?

I thought the whole room had no in and out of it, but a door opened - all cushioned from the back too, giving the illusion of being inside of a cushion cube.

The face that was before me shook every cell in me.

Greg.

My eyes were wide, staring at him, alarmed. He was in a suit, taking careful steps towards me.

"We had to sedate you," he said, reaching for something in his pocket.
"You're supposed to be dead," I almost whispered. "You're supposed to be dead! I saw your blood! I saw your heart ripped out!" I yelled, trying to fight myself out of the straitjacket, but to no avail. "Where am I?!" I shouted, the fear and confusion slowly being replaced by anger. I felt like a lioness trapped in a tiny circus cage.

Greg pulled out a recording machine. "Appointment number six-hundred and thirty-two. Patient slowly drifting towards a hysterical state, again."
"Patient? Six-hundred and thirty-two? Again?!" My voice was loud, fear raising in me again.
"She's experiencing the same illusions and hallucinations."
"You're a lawyer! Why are you here? Where am I?!"
Greg sighed, unintentionally reflecting that he had grown all too accustomed to this.

"Hey, calm down, or we're just going to have to put you to sleep again," his threat made my lips purse, my green eyes glaring at him.
I had to convince myself to be silent. I didn't understand his threat, but something inside of me obeyed it.

I watched him as I forced myself to mute mode, my eyes wide, my soul lost and confused.
"You're going to be okay -"
"Where's Roman?" I snapped.
Greg exhaled in exasperation, speaking into the recorder once more, "patient asking same questions. No sign of improvement as of yet -"
"Where is my nephew?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
Greg shoved the recorder into his black suit's pocket, his eyebrows knotting, "your son is outside."

My son?
Had I adopted Roman?
No.
I don't recall that.
I would definitely remember if I had adopted Roman.
"I'll let him in when I know you're calm."

I looked away, trying to compose my breathing and stabilize my rapid heartbeats.
"Look at me," he ordered, but I didn't say anything. Greg reached for his other pocket, pulling out a small circular mirror and putting it in front of me, "look into the mirror and tell me you know who you are."
What? This is ridiculous.

I turned to the mirror, shaking my head at the stupidity of his request.
My heart almost leaped out of my mouth.

I was different.
Very different.
My copper hair was a light blonde shade.
My green eyes were blue.
My skin rosier.
My structure moulded into another face.
I wasn't me.

"Are you okay, Susanne?" Greg asked.

I was silent.
What the fuck was going on?

Greg shook his head and stood. He walked over to the door and knocked on it.
"Bring in her son," he told whoever was behind the door, then walked back to me.