Found

54 Hours

Perhaps a warning, but I'm not sure. 

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears as I sit in the chair. My name is being called, a bid for me to focus on their voice, but I do not listen. I feel disgusting, sat with black lines under my eyes, slouched down - awaiting an opinion of someone who only cares about the cheque at the end. 

They rustle their papers, the white sheets being smoothed out by their wrinkled hands. "Grace?" She ducked her head down slightly, catching my eyes despite my lowered head. There was no escaping her words now. "I need you to talk to me." 

"What if I don't want to?" 

I could tell she was displeased, sighing deeply and crossing her legs over one another before placing her hands in her laps. She was like one of those women from that book I had read. I'm coming home. The sick girl. 

That's what they'd told John when I left fireflies, she's sick and can't perform. I'm not sick, just scared. My past decided to haunt me in my sleep as well as in my wake. A neverending nightmare of looking over my shoulder, scratching the back of my hand - trying to stay awake. 

54 hours. I haven't slept in 54 hours. There has been talk of making me sleep. I do not want to sleep. 

She cleared her throat once more, glancing down to the pen that lay on her notes. She wanted me to talk, but I had nothing to say - to her at least. 

"Grace," she pinched the bridge of her nose, "you need to talk to me. I need to know what you are thinking. It's important I know."

I wasn't going to talk, not here. They moved me out of the apartment, to a shared home - they wanted to monitor me. The broadway kid who can't sleep, the kid whose brother is messed up. The kid who will follow in his direction. 

"Can I go back to my room now?" I had made no plans to sleep, but I wanted to be by myself. "Or do I have no freedom now?" 

She leant forward, her elbows on her knees. I didn't break eye contact. I was challenging her, and she did not like it. "This isn't a mental institution if that's what you're thinking." 

"Then why am I here?" I was blunt, no use for emotions here, they'll only use them against me, contort my mind into a long rope to which they can use to pull me into their ideas. 

She placed a hand on my knee, I made no move to push it away. "We are here to help you. You should stay for the full session, but if you want to go to your room and dwell in your own thoughts... be my guest." 

I no longer wanted to listen, nor say anything in return. I stood from the chair, striding towards the door and opening it. I looked back at her once more - she was sat straight in her chair, her eyes hoping that I might choose to save myself. She was wrong. 

There was no queue for the phone, I don't even know how many people live here. I haven't met any of them. I picked up the phone, placing it to my ear. There was only one number I cared to remember when I was brought here. 

"Gracie." 

"Josh, I need to leave. I can't stay here." 

There was a pause at on the other end, muffled voices echoing down the line. I counted the seconds that passed until Josh spoke again. "I'm sorry Gracie." 

"Josh-"

I felt a sharp pain in my arm and I cried out in pain. I collapsed into the same arms that had grabbed me moments before, falling backwards. I gasped for air just like when I had awoken from the dream. I was lowered to the ground. I tried to sit up, run away from the adults who surrounded me but two pairs of hands grabbed either one of my arms pinning them above my head. I kicked at them, before more defenceless as the seconds passed by. 

"Let go of me!" I watched as another person picked the phone that was dangling from a cord and place it back on the receiver. "You have to let me go!" 

I gasped again, my body growing tired. No. I can't sleep. 

I stared up at the two men who, despite my stillness, kept hold of my arms as though I were going to jump up once more and fight again. I want to fight. But I can't. 

I've been awake for 54 hours. Now I must reset.