The Compound (Ongoing)

Chapter Seven

As soon as I round the corner and I'm out of Dr. Thomas' sight I drop to the ground, my back to the wall. I don't want to do this here, but everything's hitting too hard.

I tuck my knees into my chest and try to contain my wails. I don't know how to handle this.

I'm in this insane place, in a world that's falling apart, and I've just been told my mother's dead because of me. And my dad's dead too. I have nothing and no one.

I don't even have my memories. God, what the hell am I supposed to do?

Thinking about everything makes me think about what he said. That I killed my mother. I move to wipe my eyes with the hands that killed her and it all becomes too much.

All of the food I'd shoved down earlier comes rushing out, and I barely have time to move so it doesn't get all over me. Panting, I push the hair out of my face as another wave of nausea hits and anything that might've been left comes spewing out.

After sitting hunched over on the ground for a minute I finally sit back against the wall. The tears are just trickles now. It seems I've given everything I have and now I'm dried out.

Struggling to breathe through my horribly stuffy nose, I decide that I should probably find someone to clean this up.

I push my self up from the floor, my shaky legs causing me to fall back into the wall. Using one hand to steady myself, I use the other to push my ratty hair from my face.

Another sob racks my chest, and just as I'm about to break down again, Sheila rounds the corner.

At first her face is completely shocked and I'm not sure what shocks her more. The fact that she's just ran into a murderer or that I'm standing here surrounded by a puddle of vomit.

But then her face breaks into one of pity.

"Oh, sweetie," she says solemnly, opening her arms wide as she continues towards me.

I rushed forward, throwing myself into her arms. She feels warm and comforting, and somehow I can smell her scent of cinnamon and apples through my own stench.

"Come on. Let's go get you cleaned up." She strokes my hair as she leads me down the hall, away from Dr. Thomas' office. I'm relieved to go, but I pause when I remember the mess I made.

I turn to Sheila, but she seems to have read my mind because she grabs the touchscreen device from her pocket and types something in.

"George will clean it up. Don't worry." She gives me a warm smile and I return it. I didn't know I was capable of a genuine smile after all this, but Sheila seems to make things better.

If I were to think of the qualities of a good mother, she'd be it.

Then again, what the hell do I know?

After making a few turns we reach a metal door, although this one actually has a handle. Stepping forward, Sheila reaches for the knob and opens the door.

Inside is a bathroom, and as soon as I see it I realize how much I need to go. I rush past her and into a stall. With everything that was going on, I hadn't even spent enough time to think about a bathroom.

I finish with a sigh, and open the stall door to see Sheila waiting on the other side. She gives me a small smile.

"I'm sorry. I didn't even think about the fact that you wouldn't know where the bathrooms are."

"It's alright." I say as I begin washing my hands.

When I finally bring my eyes up to look in the mirror I gasp in surprise.

I hadn't thought about the fact that I had no idea what I looked like.

Blue eyes stare back at me. Blonde hair lay matted to the top of my head, and I realize with disgust that there's bits of puke in the ends of my chest-length hair.

Other than that everything about me seems normal. My skin is a little pale, but that could be from the sickness. I'm just slightly taller than Sheila, who stands behind me in the mirror. So I'm not really that tall.

I look back down at my hands and finish scrubbing them. I cup my fingers and bring water to my mouth. After gurgling and spitting, I dry off my hands and turn my back to the mirror.

My averageness doesn't make me feel any better. At least if I stood out I'd feel like it makes sense that I'd be insane. But I'm neither pretty or ugly. I'm just another person.

A mother-murdering person.

Tears run down my face again and Sheila rushes forward, wiping them away with her thumbs.

"Shh. Hon, don't you cry. You don't give them the satisfaction, ya hear?" She tucks my hair behind my ears and stares at me.

"What... what do ya mean? I deserve to feel like shit." I try to swallow the thick spit that builds in the back of my throat as the tears get worse. "I-I killed m-my mom."

Sheila looks at me sympathetically.

"Ashley, I want you to listen to me and you listen good. You don't deserve any of this." She sighs as she pulls me into a hug, resting her chin on my shoulder.

"Things aren't always what they seem. I want you to question everything. You'll figure it out." She whispers into my ear. "I know it."

I pull back from her, staring at her incredulously.

"Figure out what?"

She sighs again and looks at the floor. After a minute her grey eyes move back up to meet mine.

"There's are some things wrong about his place, Ashley. I can't tell you what they are. Hell, I don't even know everything. But don't you give in. Just know that when you remember, and you will, it'll change everything."

I stare at her in shock, not sure what to say. Then she grabs onto my shoulders and looks straight into my face.

"When that time comes, you need to know who's side your on."

"What? What sides are you talking about, Sheila?" My eyebrows push together, confused. She talks like...well like...

"Honey, this country is at war. And you could change everything."

That's it.

She talks like we're at war.

Shit.

Picture of Ashley above!

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I know I've only written a few chapters, so if you want more, let me know and I'll get em going 😊