His eyes sparkle with sympathy, as if he feels sorry for me, and I hate it. He doesn’t know the truth, he doesn’t know how I feel. He doesn’t have the right to console me, not when the monster sits beside us. The most painful thing about it is the gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach every time I think about the image of the male with vicious carvings all over his body.
It’s an image that will never disappear.
The most disconcerting thing about the situation is that I can sense the woman’s lips twitching upward in the corner of my eye, something the psychologist in front of me isn’t aware of. She is pleased with this whole situation. She did a good job, getting away with such a crime.
It kills me bit by bit, day by day, to know that she will never suffer from her crime, but that’s why I need to do it myself.
“Naya!”
A voice wakes me from horrible memories, and I stare into the psychologist’s eyes. This room is not a plain office, instead, it has warm colors and a comfortable ambiance to make it comfortable.
You are not back at that place. You are here, safe.
I’m not sure if I believe them when they say this place is safe. My arms reflexively pull close to me, cocooning me from the external environment and the voices inside my head. No matter how hard I try, my legs bounce up and down rapidly.
Do not show your weakness.
No one will know the secrets that dwell within my blackened soul, a soul that only a heathen can possess.
One who deserves nothing.
Scratch your wrist.
The voice inside my head shouts with authority, and I instinctively obey, too scared not to follow its orders. Obedience leads to punishment, punishment leads to pain, and pain leads to more punishment. It’s a never-ending circle where I cannot win or be freed.
“Naya?” The voice is soft and gentle, and the eyes are full of gentle warmth that reminds me of pets.
I remember the warm, furry body of my grandmother’s dog, Prince, as he would sneak up and curl up next to me in bed at night. He was my rock when I felt alone and everyone else’s attempts to comfort me failed. During the same day my mother regained custody of me, I was separated from the dog as well. Now I won’t ever see him again, for he is in the heavens with my grandparents.
I give her a subtle nod, letting her know I heard her calling my name, even though all I want to do is escape. Dr. Lewis pulls one leg over the other, crossing them before grabbing the pen in her hands again and looking at me with interest. There is something in my throat, and no matter how much I swallow, I cannot escape the feeling of swallowing a sharp stone. I struggle to find the words and shake my head instead. The sound of the pen scratching the paper reverberates in my ears, and she hums a tune while writing and casts her glance toward me.
“Do you have any memories of past events before arriving at Dankworth Institute?”
Her queries leave me feeling exposed, and I quickly erect a fortress around my soul, desperately trying to conceal my emotions. If she isn’t aware of the truth now, she can’t ever know it. No one can. I won’t allow it.
I pause and take a deep breath, feigning a moment of thought like any other person would do before I jerk my head in a negative motion toward her. I recall snippets of memories, but I’m not willing to divulge them to her. The route that brought me to this point is still unclear and murky. While I watch her well-trimmed eyebrows being drawn together before lightning, she doesn’t notice my forceful observation of her body language.
“You were in an accident that left you with amnesia. You were considered at high risk of self-harm after the accident because of traumatic experiences, and that’s why you have come here to Dankworth Institute. We’ll get you back on your feet, don’t worry. Soon, you will be back with your family again.”
Her words feel like a punch to my stomach, like she has pressed her hand right into my chest, tearing the skin and organs apart until she has a hold on my heart, and then squeezing until it physically hurts. The entire world tilts on its axis with the unknown that I know nothing about and never will know anything about. Anguish envelopes me as I sit there, experiencing grief all over again, just as I once did when my heart festered in the pit of darkness.
All emotions swirl inside me in a cacophony of chaos, and I know I need to get out of the room that isn’t welcoming anymore. Instead, it closes in on me, caging me in a confined space, making me feel like a prisoner. Or a mouse caught in a cat’s trap. Rising in a rush, I cause the chair to crash to the ground, eliciting an astonished yelp from Dr. Lewis.
Suit yourself.
I falter as I attempt to track down the door, and dread fills my thoughts when I realize I cannot find it. I am trapped.
Trapped again inside a room that is supposed to make me feel safe. But nothing about this place is safe; it’s just a matter of time before something horrible happens.
“You should sit down, Naya,” the woman says in a voice that sounds far unlike hers.
It’s a voice that once belonged to a woman with far too much blood on her hands. The woman comes closer to me, blood dripping from her mouth like a waterfall. There is nothing beautiful about the sight.
The woman’s brown hair has completely transformed into a wildness of bleached blonde curls, each dripping with the dark red color that stains her clothes. The sound of my name on her lips is pleasant, yet I know it’s a ploy to capture me.
“Come here, Lily. I will take you to the underground with me.”My mother’s voice calls for me, trying to capture me once again.
A stifled sob comes out of my mouth as I stumble backward, desperately feeling the wall for the door and finally finding it. Hastily, I open it and dash out of the office, away from the menacing creature lurking behind closed doors. I hear that name being shouted out again, and feel the ground shaking from the footsteps behind me.
