― 𝒃𝒆𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏.
❝ no, i am not nice or lovely.
i am just a pair of shaky hands
and an empty body
numbed by pills.
please don't think i am more.
i don't know if i am. ❞
or, in whic...
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BEYOND THIS ILLUSION (book one). °• CHAPTER TWO •°
" BECAUSE I'M TIRED OF BEING THAT WORTHLESS ADDICT. "
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IDA'S LIFE FELT LIKE A CONSTANT PROCESS. It was a never-ending step-by-step list she had to follow through. Before the accident, she found joy in it. At least, looking back, it was a lot more fun. Wake up, eat a light breakfast, drive to school, go to classes, take a break if needed, eat lunch, drive back home, eat dinner, and do schoolwork before bed. She loved the procedure despite how repetitive it was. It was her entire life. Then it soon became waking up, taking your pills, even the ones you don't need, and going back to bed like you had no meaning in this world. All Ida wanted was to go back to one of the two methods she was used to, but it didn't seem like the hospital had that in mind either. She was brutally exhausted and still had to wake up at 8 AM sharp to take her daily medicine every single day.
The first pill slips down Ida's throat and she picks up a paper cup on the tray offered to her that sloshes with water so she can wash it down. The second one almost dissolves on her damp tongue so she cringes and takes another drink. She stopped bothering trying to remember the names on the rattling pill bottles. Ida only knows they're both small, white, oddly shaped, and one is a simple antidepressant while the other helps control the physical reactions of her withdrawals. Some days, they seemed to be working. On other days, the only one who helped herself was Ida.
"You should head on to breakfast now, honey, while it's still warm. You'll have your daily therapy right after," the nurse who brought the tray of morning pills recommends with an attached reminder. Ida's stomach rumbles quietly almost on cue. It was a struggle to eat with how much nausea that's been twisting in her gut for the longest time, so she mostly felt more empty and hollow than usual.
"Sure," Ida mumbles flatly. She waits until the nurse leaves so she can tug on a loose sweater. It didn't have the strings looped through so the hood flops against her upper back. Ida's hands are dug deeply into her pockets as she mopes through the halls until the dining hall comes into view.
Groups of patients have already gathered at tables, but there's one who sits alone. Kaia Nieves is picking at what looked like scrambled eggs with a plastic fork, jabbing at the yellow food like it would fix her bored expression. Ida feels a spark of comfort that causes a faint smile.
A metal heating container is what keeps the patient's meals warm. A volunteer for the ward stands by it to hand them their labeled trays, consisting of some steaming food and a plastic spoon, fork, and knife. They didn't allow metal cutlery, and Ida knew they'd be scanning their trays after they finished and brought the trays back so they wouldn't be able to pocket any of them. The food was never great, but at least it didn't smell rotten or like plastic as the scent passes through Ida's nose.
