Mental

06 | s c r e a m i n g

"Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results."

— Narcotics Anonymous

/ / e v e l y n / /

I let the cube drop from my hands and I bring them up to shield my ears. Dr. Sanchez is quick to get up from her seat and she nearly drops everything as well. The screams are loud and clear as if someone's being tortured. Each scream gradually gets louder and I had no idea such a thing was possible. They're all full of different types of pain and even with my hands over my ears, I can still hear the horrifying sounds. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on something else. 

I think about Joe and how he promised to cook dinner tonight. 

I think about what we will talk about at the dinner and I think about possibly watching a movie with him tonight before going to bed. 

I think about—

The screams become too loud for me to think about anything else.

I yell, "What's going on?"

"Follow me, please!" Dr. Sanchez yells over the mad screams and I frown.

I'm not going anywhere when someone's screaming like this. Dr. Sanchez doesn't know that, though. She's already out of the room and is making her way back down the hallway. Why is she acting like nothing's happening? The person who's screaming sounds like they're about to die. I don't bother picking up the cubes as I hurry out of the room to catch up with her.

"I don't understand." I whisper. "What's going on?"

"I won't know until I get back downstairs," she says as we pass Marcel. He hands me my purse and receipt. I toss the receipt in a trash can we pass and we head back to the stairs. "Keep your head down once we get back to the first floor. Anything can be going on right now and the last thing we need is for you to get in the way."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

She sighs, "From what it sounds like, one of the patients probably decided to have a mental breakdown during their session."

"If it's coming from the first floor, I don't understand." I say as we jog down the stairs. "I thought the patients on the second floor aren't as mental as the patients on the third and fourth."

"Yes," she says and she is no longer looking at me. "But that doesn't mean they cannot have their own breakdowns. We all have our moments." I open my mouth to ask another question but I quickly close it back. What else is there to ask? "When we get down to the first floor, step to the side. It's your first day and I don't want to overwhelm you with anything."

I shake my head, "I can handle it."

"No, you cannot."

"And how do you know that? I know I can handle it. If you just give me a chance—"

"I told you no," she hisses as we approach the door that leads to the first floor. I open it and allow Dr. Sanchez to pass through first. The screams are even louder and as I step through the doorway, I place my hands back on my ears like a child. As I was told, I move to the side and notice there are at least a dozen people standing before me. Dr. Sanchez joins them and I stand on the tips of my toes to see what's going on. Even on tip toe, I can't see a single thing.

"Hold him down!" someone yells and the screams seem to overpower the voice.

"He's fighting back!" someone else yells.

"Be careful! We've got ourselves a biter!"

Dr. Sanchez yells, "Someone get me a syringe!" No one moves. "Now!"