Existence

Untitled Part 2

Upon reaching Amelia’s sector, I was greeted by a peppy blonde nurse.

“Miss Burke’s observation room is right around the corner. Just walk in and stay as long as you’d like.” she said with a flirtatious smile, bouncing down the hallway.

I carefully turned the metal knob and entered into a room with one wall completely encased in one way glass. Shutting the door behind me, I slowly walked to the window. And that was the first time I saw her.

Her anxious footsteps continued to twist in circles. Pacing, walking, and sometimes running back and forth, from each side of the room. I can tell, through the thin wall of glass, that her breaths come in short gasps. Her fierce auburn hair, tangled and disheveled, fell around her shoulders, caressed her shoulder blades, and was constantly pushed back by frantic, twitching hands. The room, padded and bleach white from floor to ceiling, was empty except for her. Yet, she spoke.

                “12 years, 17 days, 13 hours. Left, right, left right. Shut up! Just, shut up!” she swung her frail limbs at the open air, continuing to speak. “This is none of your business. No. No, no, that’s not right. Be quiet!” she screeched at the air, her hard voice breaking. She bounded over to what she saw as a mirror; for me it was a window. Unknowingly right in from of me, she pounded her small fist against the glass.

                “Help. Me.” With every word she pounded on the one-way mirror. “I. Will. Not. Be. Treated.” She removed her fist from the glass, but pressed both palms on the mirror.

                “I’M NOT A PATIENT!” she wailed. The young woman pressed her forehead against the glass, panting. After years lacking in nourishment and physical activity, just about anything could take her breath away. She sunk to the ground, and placed her face in her hands. Though attempting to be still, her feet were in constant motion, twitching and trembling. Her hands spastically swatted at her ears, like some unseen force was supplying her with words she didn’t want to hear.

                A few quiet minutes later, a doctor and two nurses in starched grey scrubs unlocked the door and entered the room. As soon as the girl heard the locks clicking, she went wild. She stood up, stumbling, and retreated to the opposite corner of the room. Cowering with her body language, but lashing out with her words, the rebellious patient shrieked at the figures entering the room.

                “GET OUT! This is my place- mine! You have no right, get out! Out!” Her unwillingness to cooperate was obvious; several security guards were called in to restrain her. I was one of those guards.

She fought and scraped and tried to free herself from our grasp; but she was weak and we overpowered her easily. I held her around her waist as she squirmed. Her limbs were bound to the wheel bed, and she thrashed, screaming.

   I hated this so much. These people did not deserve to be tested like this. The injustice of the entire organization nauseated me; almost as much as the fact that I was part of it. They told me to calm her down. And I was an order follower.

   Walking over to her writhing form, I took her pale face gently in my hands. She screamed and cursed, but I just held her.

   "It's going to be alright. Shh, it's okay. Hush, it'll be alright." A tear escapes my eye, and fell upon her cheek that was already drenched in hopeless sobs. "I'm so sorry."

The nurses and guard I was with stirred uncomfortably at my sudden display of emotion. But frankly, I didn’t care what they thought. I was sick of pretending that this entire system was okay. I guess my words were the only way I could fight back.

   Her dark green eyes looked up into mine, and for the first time I saw her for what she really was. Not a patient, not insane; a person. A woman with thoughts and feelings and emotions. She just could not convey them. And it was this debilitating flaw that caused her detainment. In her eyes I could see her horrific past; one made mostly of imprisonment, abuse, fear, and isolation. I could also feel her utter lack of faith for the future. This girl had never felt love, never expected to find it, and it showed. I could see her lack of trust in me, this man who held her in his hands, but did nothing to help her. But what she did not know, is that I wanted to save her from this. More than anything.

   Looking into her eyes, she became beautiful to me. Not because she was physically breathtaking, but because she had struggled for so long but was still enduring.

   Her thrashing subsided, and she just stared at me with harsh, accusing eyes. "Why do you even care? I'm nothing to you." One last tear trickled down her cheek. She pulled her face out of my hands, and turned to look away from me. Everything was quiet.

   "Just go."

    As they wheeled her out of the room, I stayed rooted to the spot. I had never felt a connection that deep to anyone before. The guilt of letting her be taken away was already starting to eat me alive. I walked to the door of her cell, and closed it behind me.

   Walking back to my room, began to mull over the events of the last few weeks. Horrific images of thrashing patients, mental torture, and brute force played and replayed in the amphitheater of my mind. I knew this was wrong, and no matter how much the administration and higher level officers told me that it was for the good of the people, I remained true to my moral compass. I could not let this continue.

   A determination settled in my mind, and was met with stronger willpower than anything I had ever felt before. I was going to save her.