Oracle Days

Chapter Twelve

I strip off my filthy clothes, exhaustion clinging to me as I step into the bath-shower combo. The hot water washes over my skin, melting away the tension in my aching muscles, offering fleeting relief after the long night in the cell. I lather shampoo into my hair, closing my eyes for just a moment. But when they flutter open again, my breath catches, the tub is streaked with dark blood, crimson rivulets winding down its surface. Panic coils in my chest, and a scream rips from my throat. I stumble out of the tub, slipping on the slick floor. My head collides sharply with the tiles, pain splintering through my skull. Dazed, I reach up, my fingers brushing a fresh gash, and when I pull them away, they're stained with blood.

Cautiously, I peer back into the tub, half-expecting the crimson streaks to reappear, but the water remains as clear as glass. My heart pounds in confusion, the vivid image from moments ago is now just a phantom memory. Trembling, I rise from the water and wrap myself in a soft, white towel, its pristine surface a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside me. I catch my reflection in the mirror, noticing the small cut just above my brow insignificant, but its presence unsettles me. I rinse my hands under the sharp, cold water, the sensation jolting my senses, and press a folded towel against the wound, hoping the pressure will stop the quiet rebellion of the bleeding.

Stepping out of the bathroom, still holding the towel to my head, a sudden wave of dread surges through me, freezing me in place. The air thickens, charged with something unseen but deeply felt. My eyes drift toward the window, a nameless fear gnawing at me, as though eyes could be watching from the dark expanse beyond. But there's nothing—only the inky silhouettes of trees swaying in the night wind. I force myself to move, pulling the curtains closed with a sharp tug, the heavy fabric offering a small semblance of security. With deliberate motions, I change into clean, soft clothes, hoping that the mundane task will quiet the unease prickling at my skin.

But my breath remains unsteady, and my nerves refuse to settle. The gnawing discomfort only grows, an insistent whisper in the back of my mind that something isn't right. I decide to go to the nurse's station. Slowly, I slip into fresh pyjamas, though their warmth does little to fight off the chill creeping through my bones. The hallway feels eerily quiet, the sterile scent of disinfectant sharp in the air, and my footsteps echo softly against the wooden floor, sounding hollow in the silence.

As I approach the nurse's station, she greets me with the same warmth I remember, her gentle eyes filled with understanding, as if she senses the storm brewing within me. "How can I help you, Meredith?" she asks, her voice calm and reassuring.

"I was wondering if you had something to calm my nerves," I asked, though my voice wavered, betraying the anxiety beneath my words.

The understanding was clear in her expression, and she nodded with quiet sympathy. "Of course, dear. Let me get you something to help you rest," she says softly, her voice a gentle balm. Without another word, she slips away into the small office beside the station, her presence fading like a whisper.

I wait anxiously, my fingers tugging at the hem of my Rolling Stones shirt, restless against the silence. When she returns, a small bottle in hand, her presence feels like a quiet reassurance. "Here you are, Meredith," she says softly, placing the small bottle of pills in my hand. "Take one before bed, it should help ease your nerves."

"Thank you... Elara," I say, her name slipping from my lips for the first time, its unfamiliar weight softening in the air. I clutch the bottle as though it's a lifeline, my grip tightening as if the act alone could anchor me. With a deep breath, I turn to leave, a faint sense of relief stirring within me, knowing I now have something to help carry me through the long, restless night ahead.

As I make my way back to my room, I stop by the fridge and grab an already made tuna sandwich and a crisp apple. The door creaks open, and the familiar scent of my room greets me, offering a small but welcome comfort. I settle onto the bed, slowly unwrapping the sandwich. With the first bite, I savour the quiet, simple pleasure of food, its warmth grounding me in the stillness of the moment.