The Burning Girl

Chapter 25 - A N N A

One clear thought.

Get out of here.

I remember the pounding of blood around my ears, the sharp pull of air down my burning throat. The cold night air on my skin under the hospital gown. I managed to break out, the long run to freedom lying in wait for me. I could feel it pulling me, the deep twitch in my body trying to drag me out of that hospital.

I pretended to sleep when the nurses were doing their rounds, I managed to swipe a key card when they were checking my vitals. My quick fingers finding the shiny plastic in the dark. She walked away none the wiser, not feeling her missing pass to freedom. I unplugged myself from the drip and all those machines, making sure no one noticed me, as if what I was doing was normal. I managed to grab a robe and some slippers from somewhere, before heading towards the exit. I swiped the card, and that pure, satisfying click of the doors opening was one of the happiest moments I've felt.

And I ran.

That place made me angry, made me fearless. It gave me fire. 

I bolted out of the doors and it was at least a minute until the alarms went up and I could hear the snarling and scuffing of heavy boots running after me. The outside world was starting to get cold, the beautiful green leaves of summer turning russet coloured, but everything looked grey in the dark. The hospital was on the outskirts of a small town, and if I could make it, I could disappear.

But they caught me, dragged me back and strapped me down again to my bed, this time in isolation, away from the other patients. I was kept drugged up just enough so that my thoughts were scrambled. They could never solidify, a permanent mist of blues, whites and greys.

More injections, more needles breaking my skin, invading my body. Sometimes in the neck, other times in my arms, but always painful. They told me to relax, it would hurt less. But the only protest I could make was a silent one. I would never let them inject me willingly, so I always tensed my muscles until it hurt so much that the needle would have to be stabbed in.

Don't get me wrong, it hurt like a bitch. Yet it was the only control I had, my only chance at rebellion, so I took it.

The thing is, I wanted to get better. I really did but on my own terms. Not with those stupid stuffed shirts they called professionals. The only time I felt safe was when I was out of there with my therapist. She never forced me to do anything, it was all on my terms. I could talk if I wanted to, but sometimes she would just sit with me in silence, and let me be with my thoughts. It was all I needed, and it was good.

However, my new prison is underground, made of steel and concrete. The smell of sharp disinfectant has been replaced by a deep, earthy musk. The drugs don't keep me asleep, I at least have my sanity with me. But this time, I'm not going to get caught. I'm going to break out of this god forsaken hellhole, and if I fall, I'm gonna take Jim Fucking Everett with me.

The Bastard.