What Happened Last Thursday

Prologue

I hate her. I really hate her. When I think of her, no face is brought to mind, no memories of light, or dark, or falling or flying. Just intense, melting, burning, ice-hot hatred. I'm not supposed to be angry. But I can't help it. It's part of who I am. What I am.

Trapped.

Alone.

And so very, very angry.

She comes in my dreams, usually. Sliding in like a shadow, whispering taunting words of hurt into my ear. And then suddenly there is light and heat and sound, and every part of me is on fire. I wake up screaming. I'm not the only one. Everyone here gets nightmares. I think it must be part of the madhouse application form.

Constant nightmares. Tick.

Paranoia. Tick.

Anger issues. Tick.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock." The clock on the wall of my cell stutters and flicks forward. I can just make out the time from my bed. 12 o clock. Which means...

Oh hell.

Psychiatrist's visit.

"Hello Leigha!" Doctor Ardjo, an Asian man of about 40, unlocks my door from the outside and steps inside the cubicle I'm forced to call my home. This is the fith time I've been graced with his presence since I ended up here.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Mmhmm." I wouldn't know. I don't go outside anymore.

"Well then, shall we have a little talk?"

I say nothing. I've learned by now that answering just provokes him to talk further. Instead, I stare at him, taking in his appearance. He has a long, thin face that looks like a chestnut, and heavily lidded eyes the colour of seaweed. His cheeks look like he's been on botox at sometime; there is a permanent smile etched onto his face. A smile that seems just a little too bright, a little too forced. All teeth but no warmth.

"So Leigha, how are you feeling today?"

I glare at him. He speaks to me as if he honestly thinks I'm five years old.

"Bad dreams? Still angry?"

I nod. I guess I should at least give him a chance.

"You know, you reeeeally shouldn't be angry. It's not good for you." He rolls out the 'e' so it sounds as though he's stuck on the sound. I guess he can't help it. If I was a psychiatrist, I might just die. I don't think I could deal with coming in here every day and trying to calm the chaos. Ardjo pulls on a pair of gloves. He looks like a mad scientist. Fear bubbles in the pit of my stomach.

"Now, we're going to play a little game called 'answer the question', ok sweetie? Because I know," He gives me the most patronising stare, "that you have problems."
I snap.

"And what the hell do you suggest I do about it?! It's not my fault I'm here! It's not my fault that I get nightmares! I can't help it if people think I'm insane! I don't even know what I'm doing here! I'm totally alone, and that doesn't make me sad, or scared. It makes me furious." I pause for breath but I can't seem to find any. He seizes the opportunity.

"Perhaps we should do a little breathing exercise Leigha. Leigha?"

I'm gasping for air. The world is blacking out around me. I'm panicking but I can't stop myself. Ardjo is staring at me, obviously confused at why I've stopped screaming at him.

"Leigha! Talk Leigha! Say something to me!"

"Get...to...fu-"

My world goes black.

*****

When I come to, I'm lying in a different room. I've never been here before. The floors are white, but above me is a beautiful tangle of colours painted across the ceiling. I shift to look at it, and feel a tug on my right arm. I look down. A long, clear tube filled with blue liquid is snaking away from me, over the side of my bed, and joining up with a machine. It bleeps as I sit up. I'm in a long room filled with hospital-like beds similar to mine. I am the only patient.

"Wow." I say to no one. "They actually had to sedate me this time. They must've had a job getting me in here."

"They sure did." Someone answers back. I snap my head towards the door so fast I feel my neck crick. A woman stands in the doorway. A beautiful woman. Her face is the colour of dark coffee, as are her arms that peek out from behind a blue rainjacket. Her hair is the darkest black I've ever seen, wavy strands falling out of a messy bun. I can't see the colour of her eyes, but the light reflects off them eerily. Her mouth curls up into a small smile when she sees me. So shy. So innocent.

Suddenly, there is light. And heat. And sound.

Suddenly my hatred has a face.

She steps forward. Leans down.

I guess in retrospect, I shouldn't have punched her. I wasn't going to.

At least,

Not until she tried to kiss me.