Insane Doesn't Even Begin to Cover It...

Insane Doesn't Even Begin to Cover It... chapter 37

Chapter 37:

I don’t know how long I remain unconscious after that. When I finally become aware once more, I’m still in the same padded chair, with the same IV hooked into my arm. There’s a different fluid pumping into my veins now, however, and I suspect that it was used to wake me up.

It takes me a few moments to become fully attentive, and even more to be able to sit up without slouching over, and move my muscles. With every passing second, I’m waking up more and more, until I finally feel as awake as I would if I had slept for days and woken up fully refreshed. The moment I’m at my full awareness, I assess my situation.

My wrists and ankles are strapped down, and wiggling doesn’t loosen the straps at all. They’re made out of new leather, as are all of the new chairs in the hospital. They had a donation a few weeks ago, of new leather, chairs, padding and furniture. And since new leather is virtually impossible to stretch in just one sitting, I’m not going to be able to wiggle myself out.

Sighing, I lean my head back against the head rest, closing my eyes. Brainstorming for a few moments, I try to think of as many scenarios as possible for how to get out of this chair. I know it’s probably been at least a few days since I was drugged, but that’s about it. I have no idea what else went on during that time, besides the fact that I wasn’t given any nourishment. I know this, because my stomach is growling and my throat is bone dry, making it hard to swallow without it feeling like someone is slicing me open from the inside.

Opening my eyes again, I sit up straight. A passing thought causes me to look up at the observation deck, only to be faced with my own reflection. The room has one of those mirror/glass window things that are used in police stations. I have no idea if anyone is up there right now, nor will I know unless they flip a switch and allow me to see.

Scowling, I manage to twist my arm around enough to flip off whoever might be up there, and then I look around the room. Everything is bare, as always. There’s no possible inclination of anything that I could use to help myself get out. Nor is there any hint as to where the door is. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember this room. This is the room where I would be taken if I misbehaved, or had a phobia episode, one that was so bad that I had to be drugged.

This room is fully padded, floor to ceiling. The observation deck is up higher than anyone in the building could reach without a ladder, and the door is fully concealed. There are no loose threads, no cracks, no switches or visible lightbulbs. The only things in the room are an IV, and this chair. And well, me, now.

Sighing, I peek over the edge of the chair and see that my pen and notebook are still there, intact. I just hope that no one had the audacity to look through them. Not that there was anything bad, but I would hate to have my privacy invaded anymore than it already has been. Leaning back, I stare up at the ceiling, brainstorming more.

Suddenly, I get a thought. Smiling a little to myself once more, I lean forwards as much as I can, even though it kills my back and stretches the muscles in my thighs. I suck in my stomach as much as I can and lean forwards close enough to the strap on my right arm, and use my teeth to be at the buckle, trying to loosen it.

It takes me a while to get it undone. I have to keep stopping to rest my muscles, and relieve the spinning feeling that courses through me whenever I lean forwards too fast. I think this medicine that’s being pumped into me is causing me to have vertigo, much to my displeasure.

When I’m done with the right one, I do the left. In all, it takes me about an hour and a half to get my arms free. Almost laughing in relief, I carefully eject the needle from my skin, fling it away from me. The liquid starts to drip out and onto the floor, but I don’t exactly care. I hurry to undo the straps tying my legs down, and then I gather up my books.

The only way to really determine where the door is, would be to go in the direction I came in to get in here. Doing so, I walk over to the wall on my left and start moving my fingers through the cracks in between the padding. If I was correct, one part should feel more cold, or at least have the movement of air going in and out, seeing as the hallway is always kept at a chilling 60 degrees, while the rooms are kept at 65 – 70.

To my luck, I find it within seconds. Grinning, I start to pull on the padding, trying to remember if they pushed or pulled the door open. Getting frustrated, I just start banging on it. Panic sets in when I can’t figure out how to do it, and I drop down onto the floor, heart racing faster. My breath comes out in heavy gasps, and I can’t seem to regulate it. Thoughts of being trapped in here forever are passing through my mind, leaving me trembling.

Tears come to my eyes and I wipe them away with shaking hands, then throw my right hand out and smack the wall as hard as I can, ignoring the resulting shock that goes up my arm. The only reason why I ignore it, is the fact that there’s a soft click after I hit the wall, and the door slides open.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, I scramble up and stand there like an idiot for a moment, staring out into the empty hallway in front of me. I was actually out, and by accident nonetheless. Shaking myself out of it, I get a tight grip on my things and sprint out of the room, heading straight for the stairs that will take me up to my room.

It takes me only a few minutes to get there, with how fast I was running. I slide into the room and slam the door behind me, honestly thinking that I was going to be pursued by doctors. Being here and treated like that long enough, you start to believe everyone is out to get you.

Which, generally, they are.

Pleased to be back to somewhere familiar, I turn around and drop my things on the foot of my bed, only to see someone’s feet when my eyes travel further. Confused, I slowly scan my way up their body until I see the face of Caden, who’s lying on my bed, staring at me.

His eyes are unreadable, as well as his expression. I can’t fathom what he might be thinking, but I doubt I want to know. We stare at each other for a few moments, and eventually he sits up and looks at my arm.

“You’re bleeding.” He murmurs, reaching for my arm. Eyes getting wide, I jerk away and stumble back into the wall, glaring at him. He pauses, hand outstretched towards me. Frowning a little, he puts his hand back into his lap and waits for me to come forwards again. “You need to take care of that. It’s a little cut, but it could bleed for a while…” He says, still being quiet.

Looking down at my arm, I see that I am bleeding. It must’ve been from where I pulled the IV out. Sighing, I use the edge of my shirt and dab up the blood, pressing it against the wound for a few moments before letting go. Satisfied that the bleeding has stopped for now, I sit at the edge of the bed, moving my things into my lap.

Deciding I want some answers, I settle down to figure out just what is going on.

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Hope you liked it!

Hope you had a good New Years.

And I hope your 2012 is good so far.

-Lexi