Broken Doll {ManxMan}

CHAPTER 9

I saw Jayden a few more times after that, always following the sensitive, Gale. He tended to walk into walls or tables a lot, and everyone else in the room would sigh like it was a common occurrence. More than once Demi would lead him away from the wall and have him sit down, and Jayden would brush his hand over the red area on Gale's forehead, looking pained.

"He's kind of a scatter brain," Jayden explained once, "He walks into stuff a lot."

"You should put him on a leash," I offered, and he smiled at me.

"I considered it before, but I don't think he'd appreciate that."

People came and went a lot, mostly Arthur, Dakota, and Demi, though sometimes Kailas came in, and I saw Ian a few times. Evidently, he wanted to thank me for helping him, but it wasn't like I could do much. Truthfully their company was a hassle to me. They were always talking, trying to wake me up, and all I wanted to do was lie here peacefully and sleep.

I was basically a vegetable at this point, never moving unless I was freaking out from a flashback, usually consisting of Bay leaning over me with his hands around my neck and throat, and that happened so often one could joke I was at least getting exercise. If flailing my limbs and screaming counted as exercise I mean.

Unless that was happening, I was completely still, and I had no desire whatsoever to move. The fact Demi and Dakota kept trying to coax me out of whatever stupor I was in kind of annoyed me. I almost wanted to snap out of it just to tell them to fuck off and let me die. At one point, I did snap a little, but I have no idea how it happened.

Not that I suddenly became responsive, I mainly moved on instinct, my hand grabbing a scalpel from Arthur when he was checking my stitches and attempting to dig it into my arm to sever the artery. Everyone kind of freaked out on me, which was sort of rude and unnecessary. They were just lucky I acted stronger than I was, because it was easy for them to pin me down and take the sharp knife from me.

I became less and less responsive each day, because each day I cared less and less. I just wanted to sleep, whenever I slept I had such amazing dreams, it would be nice to just stop being awake so I could dream forever. When I was awake, I relived my trauma, when I was asleep I had fantastical dreams. It was true that even the good dreams ended in tragedy, but the in between was always wonderful.

Dakota was sitting next to me now, a bag on his lap, and he was listening to Arthur as the doctor listed out all these rules, what to do with me, what not to do with me, come grab him if I start seizing, don't let me get near sharp shit, the usual list of rules you would give someone who's babysitting a catatonic suicidal nut-job.

"I got it, Arthur, I'll keep an eye on him. This isn't my first time watching him, it's been almost three weeks since we brought him here."

"I know," Arthur wrung his hands out, nodding, "I'm just worried."

"He'll be okay, now get out of here, you're working yourself to death."

"I'm okay," Arthur argued, but he really did look like crap.

His hair seemed to be as pale as his skin, there were dark, heavy bags under his eyes, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose.

"I will force you to bed if you don't go on your own," Dakota threatened, "and I'll get Malachi to help. You know everyone would lock your door and force medicine down your throat to get you to sleep."

"Okay, okay," Arthur held his hands up in defeat, walking around the bed, "I'm going. Just remember-."

"I get it, I'll remember, now get the hell out of here."