(chapter three)
Scene is recreation of last chapter
A N N I E
I wake up, my heart beating 100 miles per hour. Another nightmare. I look at the window to my left; the sun is already out. I sigh and try to get the terrifying images out of my head, but so far it’s a nearly impossible task.
It wasn’t one of those nightmares you have once and you’re done. The worst part is that although it may have a different beginning, the ending is always the same.
I get up and walk to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the bear in my other hand. The events kept replaying in mind; the way he touched me, the faceless doctors… how he hurt me. My eyes begin to water as I look for the small razor I’ve had for about two years now. I had found it on the floor as a doctor left my room; probably confiscated it from another patient. I cleaned it and kept it for myself, using it every now and then. Once I find it, I begin picking at my skin. The cuts this time aren’t as deep.
One, for my mother who couldn’t help me.
Two, for my drunken father; for never being there.
Three, for all these bastards, trying—
A sudden sound from outside interrupts me. There’s shuffling and people talking.
“Here’s her file, Dr. Malik,” a nurse says. I shake my head, not believing they’ve got another one of those monsters here for me.
They’re not monsters; not all of them. Some of them were really nice to me. But, in reality, none of them want to help me. They just see me for what I look like: a crazy girl that gets their food on the table.
The door handle turns, and I clench the bear tighter, quickly hiding the blade. I clean the small slits in my arms with a paper towel and dispose it as I hear the person, Dr. Malik, entering the room. He’s trying his hardest not to make any noise. Slowly and quietly, I walk out of the room. I see a handsome, tan skinned, raven-haired man. His caramel eyes wander across the room; probably looking for me. I step out a bit more, and he sees me. We stand in silence for a few seconds.
“Who are you?” I ask, half my body hidden behind the doorjamb. I hug the bear.
“M’name’s Zen,” he replies in a strange accent. He takes a small step forward. What is he doing? “What’s yours, love?”
I almost forgot he’s a doctor. The way he’s casually dressed, how he’s speaking to me… then I see the file, rewritten so many times, in his big hand. I shake my head, pointing slightly to it. His eyes follow my finger and he throws it to the rubbish bin beside him.
“I don’t know how many doctors you’ve had before me, love,” he tells me. “But I don’t like files or records. Do you wanna tell me your name?”
I spot something—a line—running along his neck, and smaller lines across his bare (let’s be honest, tattooed) arms. Has he cut before, too? His eyes reflect hope, something I haven’t seen in a long time. For some reason, I decide to trust him. “Annie,” I say; it’s almost a whisper.
I see him smiling faintly, probably proud of himself. “It’s nice to meet you, Annie. Can I sit down?” he points with his head to a chair.
I nod, padding to the made bed. I observe as he closes the door, no notebook or anything in his hands. He picks up a chair and settles it close to my bed. He looks at the covers and sighs. I cross my legs on the bed and hug the bear, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the silence. His eyes travel up and down my body. I hear him ask something, but I wasn’t paying attention.
I keep looking at the scar on his neck. I look at his sleeves. Some of the scars there are deep, others are still pink. “Why do you have cuts?”
He looks down to his arms, crossing them. “That’s a tale for another time, yeh? What’s your age? You look a bit too young to be here.”
“Seventeen…” I retort, caressing the bear. “What about you?”
“I’m twenty-five. Did you cut yourself, love?”
I knew it. He just wants to get this out of me. I stay quiet. Zayn sighs, “You don’t have to tell me now, love. What if we just talk? Do you have a mum, a dad?”
"My mum died and my dad..." I don't finish. No one else knows about this because no one else will believe me. Would he? He motions with his hand gently for me to continue, sitting straighter in the chair. "My dad did this to me."
