Tragic Magic (Ronnie Radke Love Story) [Book 2-sequel to The Drug In Me]

5. Morphine

****Any guesses who He is? You know His name now, John Hastings (sorry if I've ruined your teachers name, or a friends or something), hmmm hmmm hmmm. I'm giving you discreet, subtle hints, but they're probably not that helpful. And I guess they're not discreet since I've just told you, oops****

When I woke up, I was alone in the room. I heard hushed voices outside my door. I looked down to see that I was restrained to the bed. No, no no no, this can't be happening, not again, no!

I began to freak out, my heart beat quickening, my blood pressure drastically rising. It was like He was back, and I was completely under His control all over again.

He used to make me restrained on the bed, keep me tied down, even put me in a straitjacket once. And no one said anything. He had the authority to do it, He had complete authority over me.

H-how can it be that even when He's gone, He's still with me? I lost myself the day He first revealed himself to me. The day I learned who He truly was was the day I became a sad, scared little tyke. I was nothing anymore, nothing but terror and hatred and sadness all mixed together.

I-if He came in right now, I wouldn't be able to defend myself, wouldn't be able to fight, wouldn't be able to resist. I'd be completely under His control, I'd be His to commandeer and do whatever He wanted. H-He would control me.

I started screaming and thrashing at the restraints, the rough fabric scratching and rubbing at my skin, chafing me. I think I started to bleed, or maybe it was just the sweat from my struggling.

I didn't really care, I only cared about getting out of these restraints. What was the meaning of tying me to the bed? What could they possibly come up with to say that it was beneficial for me? Or did they just not care at all?

Soon the nurses came back in, wielding another needle. They were probably about to inject me with morphine, or some sort of depressant to knock me out. I struggled more, shaking my head and crying. "P-please, let me loose! I-I can't be restrained, He's going to come back!" I screamed, trembling.

I struggled more, terrified for Him to come back. The nurses said something, but I didn't hear what they said. Someone was screaming and banging on the door from the hall, but 2 nurses leaned against the door, keeping whoever it was out.

"We ought to move her to the Disturbed ward" one of the nurses muttered to herself. "Dear, no ones going to come back. We're not letting anyone in. You're safe here" another one said, laying a cold, stiff hand on my arm. It lacked any warmth, gave me the knowledge that this nurse was completely cold towards me, not sympathetic or understanding at all. Well then why was she here?

"Safe? Safe! Ha! I'm never safe, Ill never be safe, especially not if you fucking tie me to the bed so He can do whatever He wants to me you-" I began to yell, but I couldn't force the words out after the needle stuck into my skin, injecting it's coldness into my body.

Maybe that's why that nurse was so cold. Maybe she had been injected like me, injected so much that the coldness never left her blood, consumed her.

Would I end up like her?

---------------------------------------------

When I woke up again, I was in a different room. I could hear the sound of wails somewhere in another room.

The restraints had been loosened. Only my torso was tied down. My arms had been freed. I guess it was the most I would get. I wanted to thank the nurses, but they were much too needle-happy. Medication is not the solution to everything. I didn't like that instead of talking to me, they just stuck a needle in my neck and knocked me unconscious.

After a few minutes of silence, the cold nurse came into my room carrying a tray. "Here's your lunch dear" she said. She called me dear, as if she cared. Dear. It was a term of endearment, something I'd expect from some nice little nurse who smiled a lot and whose eyes twinkled. Not from this cold, stiff nurse. Her uniform was pristine, and when she spoke it sounded forced and hollow, completely lacking emotion.

I couldn't blame her. I found myself acting just like her a lot myself. But she didn't have to force herself to say dear. When she called me that it made me wince, it sounded bad, like metal nails scratching a chalk board. I didn't like it. It was fake. And I hated fake, I hated it. I just wanted something real, I wanted the lies, the pretending, the fake gone. I wanted it all gone.

No more pretense. I just wanted the truth.