Institutionalized

Chapter Fourteen

After seeing off a still panicked-looking Audriel into the trademark black car in a flurry of thrown rice and cheering, Carah put her girls to bed late that night and pretended to go to sleep herself. When she was certain everyone was asleep, she sat back up, her nerves standing alert and eyes wide open. She opened the drawer of her bedside table that held her clothes and began to pack them into a pillowcase she had taken off her only pillow. When she took a brief glance out the large windows to see the moon, still abnormally bright and full, she realized her uniform of skirts and collared blouses were probably not the best clothing to bring in the wilderness. She rummaged through the rest of the deep drawer in search of something more casual to bring. All she found was an old pair of leggings and a sweater she had worn when she showed up at the Institute's gates.

The sweater, still as soft as she remembered it, brought back a flood of memories of the good times at the Institute over her six-year stay. Now, though, each image of happiness was tainted by the gross reality that, all that time, they were really trying to drug her into submission. To block out the angry tears that bubbled up in her eyes, she tried to think of who could have given her the sweater, or of anything before she was Institutionalized. All she came up with was fuzzy memories of warmth and blinding light. She could hear someone's, a woman's, laughter then heard a man's cry shortly after. Her head and chest ached with the longing to know where she had come from and whom she belonged to before she let the Institute claim her identity.

After packing a few more pairs of pajamas and a couple sets of her uniform into the pillowcase, just in case, Carah pulled off the pajamas she had thrown on to shrug her sweater over her head and pull on the gray leggings. The sky blue sweater, which used to swallowed her whole, was still a little too large, but she was grateful to have it at all. As she sat on the edge of her bed, she picked at the couple new holes in the sleeves. She set out her only pair of boots, a worn set of brown leather that had been passed down to her when an older girl graduated a few years back, by the bed. At the time, the boots had been a size too big and came awkwardly high on her calves, and she had to stuff the toes with tissue to make them fit well. She had been ecstatic to get them, however, and loved the intricate detailing in the sides. As she grew, they began to fit more and more snugly until they were just right. They reached her mid-calf, and the laces, though now softer and more worn, were still in good shape.

Carah laid back on her bed and shut her eyes, counting as she regulated her breathing. She knew she could do this. Even if she could not, she did not have much of a choice with her brother going with or without her. Aiden assured her when he debriefed her on his escape plan that Carter was ready and knew the plan like the back of his hand. When she asked what they were going to do about Catrice, who was on the opposite end of Carah's hall, Aiden promised to get her before he came down to Carah. Her mind still raced with all the worst case scenarios, from the Headmaster himself catching them as they fled to Catrice refusing to come with them to Aiden betraying all their trust and throwing them to the wolves. The last two, she was sure, would not happen. She knew Catrice, and she trusted Aiden. Besides, in both of those situations, she had some semblance of control or sway over the person. The Headmaster, however, was not someone Carah could see herself beating or controlling.

****

Carah woke up to someone knocking lightly on the door of the dorm. In a storm of rushing arms and shuffled feet, she pulled on her thickest socks and her boots and knotted the top of her stuffed pillowcase. She sped as silently as possible to the door when the signal three knocks came again but paused when her hand finally reached the doorknob. She looked out over the dorm, over the twenty sleeping girls she had come to love, over the bed she had slept in for three years, over the windows that served as her constant source of tranquility. For the first time, she began to doubt if she was really able to turn her back on the Institute. She was leaving her friends, her lab, and the only home she had ever known. Her hold on the doorknob slackened as she felt herself choking on her sobs.