Too Late

She wonders how much longer she will be here for. There is, in fact, no way of knowing the passage of time. One can only assume how long each moment is and hope that they are right. She guesses that it has been 3 days. Three meals, three days....right? Or maybe they are feeding her twice a day? Or maybe, and she despised this thought for it meant that time is crawling by at a pace too torturous for her, they are feeding her three times a day and she had only been here for one day.

She wonders how she had gotten here. When she thought back, there was blackness. But not the blackness of a memory; no at this point that would almost be a comfort to her. This was the blackness of space. An empty space to be exact. What she could only guess was hours worth of missing memories. She rubs her hands over her bare arms. Her current t-shirt not helping with the chill. She's greasy. So, so greasy. Rubbing her fingers together lets her know that they're slick with her oils. A hand through her hair lets her know that it's no better. Actually, it's much worse. What was once a mass of long dark curls, is now a mass of long dark tangles, covered in oil. She has been here too long already.

She wants to know where she is. How she got here. Something, anything at this point would do. She wants to be able to see her own hand when it isn't two inches away from her face. Hear something other than the clank of the metal tray on the concrete floor when she gets food. Feel something other than the chilling cold that is now just starting to seep into her bones. She wants to go home.

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She's now taken to talking to herself. A way to pass the time and to remember what her own voice, not to mention sound in itself, sounds like. She's running out of things to talk about though. To any outside person, she's sure that she would look insane. Who knows, maybe she is. But she has nothing else to do in the silent darkness that is her cell. Is it right to call it that? She dosen't want to call it her room, that sounds too personal. Like she belongs here. Like she has accepted that she would be here forever. And she won't be....right? Someone must be looking for her....right? She's not so sure anymore.

Things had started to blur a little while ago for her. She can't quite remember what light looks like anymore. All she can remember is the darkness that currently surrounds her. She's gotten use to the cold of the room as well. It no longer buggs her. She no longer looks for warmth in the empty room; not that any can ever be found. Sound is also escaping her in her memories. Anything other than the noise that is her own voice has vanished from her mind like a cheap magician. Gone, but she knows it's still there. She knows everything she has forgotten still exists outside of her now so small world, but she's beginning to realize, that she just doesn't care.

The food changed. She doesn't like it. She can't see what she's eating and her taste buds have long ago gotten use to the stale, wet dog taste that had accompanied her last however many meals, so she's not sure what she's now eating. Only that it isn't the same thing as before and it's making her uncomfortable. Why would whoever is keeping her here switch it? Did they run out of the other stuff? Couldn’t they just go get more? She chews at her lip and stares at the spot on the ground where she knows the food is always set down for her to grab. She doesn’t want to miss it, it was gross. Tasted bad when she first started to eat it. But now….she does miss it. She wants it back, and as she feels along the floor for the tray of food, she barely registers the fact that she really misses it. And that scares her.

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Sound. So. Much. Sound. She has no idea what's happening, but it's loud; at least to her unused ears. It's loud to the point it hurts, and she wants the silence back. Why has it left? It's never loud here. She pushes her hands against her ears even harder. This is unfair. Why does everything bad always happen to her? She just wants the noise to leave so she can go back to counting. She was at 872 061. She has already lost count a few times while eating she doesn’t want to lose count again. That number is her pride and joy. Counting is the only thing she has to do in her room.

The sound is getting louder. Voices worm their way past her hands and into her ears. At least she thinks they're voices. She not sure at this point. It's been too long since she's heard one other than her own, but there are words, and only voices can say words. Her eyes widen. And with voices, come people. She doesn’t think she can push against her ears any harder, but she trys. She's confused. She doesn't know if she wants there to be people. The people that are with her here never speak, around her at least, so these are new people. What are they doing here? What do they want? She doesn't have time to make up answers to those questions as the door to her room slams open and light floods the area. It's too much. Her senses are being overloaded and she can feel herself panicking. Blackness covers her again as she passes out, and by the time she wakes up, she realizes just how far gone she was.
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It's too bright. Too loud. Too irregular. She wants back her darkness. Her silence. Her normal.
They don't let her turn off her lights. Not during the day at least. She's tried. They turn them back on every time, saying that she has to get back into a regular sleeping pattern again. Whatever that means. All she knows is that it's too bright. Even with the lights off.

They don't let her turn off the heart monitor either. It's too loud for her. Makes too much noise. But they say that it's mandatory for her health. She doesn't care about her health. She just wants her silence back. The beeping and strange sounds from the hallway are giving her a headache.
They give her too much food too often. She's not used to eating that much and she wonders why they are giving her all of it.

She looks out her window to the world beyond and wonders how she's gotten to this point. To the point where normal life is no longer an option. She knows she is messed up now. She can't talk (the doctor says she just needs time. She doesn't think so.), eat ‘normal’ amounts or even sit in a room where the lights are on or people are talking. The smallest noises now make her go into a panic attack if sudden or persistent.

She closes her eyes. They are always watching her now. To make sure that she won't turn anything off. She sighs. She's tiered, and if she's honest with herself, she would give anything for things to go back to the way they were before she was “saved”. Her eyes then snap open, a realization coming to her as she winces from the sudden light. They don't watch her at night. They've never had a reason to.

That would be their biggest mistake.