Ten | newtmas

thirty seven

I'm starting to believe I've lost my fight. For one, I've literally lost. But other than that, my drive is nearly gone. What's the point in fighting when I can't trust the person I was fighting with and it might have all been a lie anyway?

With all of that in mind, my attempt to get better should be my main concern. But I just can't find it in me. It just seems pointless—it all seems pointless. I can't tell them that, of course. That'll just extend my stay, and I'm not sure how much longer I can take it here. Faking it until I make it might be an option. Then again, faking walking normally will end in me being paralyzed, so maybe it isn't.

It's been two days since I last saw Thomas, and two days of trying to forget it happened. But in solitary, I don't have many options. All I can do is stare at the wall and think. When I do get to speak to someone else, it's a nurse or Dr. Janson. Even then, I never hear a word they say and I don't say anything to them.

Until something catches my attention. "You remember my rules of cooperation, right?"

I look up at Janson. "Don't hold back and keep an open mind?"

"Very good. So why aren't you following them?" Janson asks.

I sigh, since I see no point in being overly polite anymore. "I am," I lie.

"You've barely said a word this session," Janson says.

Maybe it has something to do with being depressed. I have many things I could respond with, but the question—however off topic—that rises above everything else is one I can't believe I haven't asked yet. An important one. "When you told me to be careful with Thomas, what did you know?"

Janson gives me a hard stare. I start getting nervous that I shouldn't have asked that, but he starts speaking. "What do you know about Thomas' time here before you arrived?"

"I know he was here for two years, I know how he got here, and I know that he tried to escape once," I say. I'm sure he knows all this, so I feel comfortable sharing what I know. Although I'm not completely sure what the betrayal line is nowadays.

"What do you know about the time he tried to escape?" Janson asks.

"Not much, just that it landed him in solitary," I say. He claimed to learn from his mistakes. I'm thinking that was a lie too.

"He hadn't been here long, and he was a very odd case. His first week, he was unresponsive. Didn't say a word to anyone, and would have regular episodes of yelling and crying. But by his second week, he switched gears dramatically. He was making friends, talking in group, and the only thing that was seemingly out of the ordinary with him was when he'd hallucinate," Dr. Janson says.

It's hard to picture Thomas back then, new and unaware of what was to come. He must have been so scared after what happened with his sister, and to then be taken away from your family and put in this big scary place? It's horrible for a child to go through. My OCD got bad around the same time he got here, and I can't imagine having been sent here at the time.

"Thomas opted to take the classes we offer. He was doing well at the time, and had a few friends, as I said, but he quickly became close to one boy in particular. This patient was in recovery, and had his discharge date already," Janson continues. He lifts his eyebrows at me for some kind of emphasis, then goes on.

"During class one day, Thomas was sitting by the exit doors while the other patient was closer to the middle of the room. Close to the end of their time, the other boy stood up at his table, and lit the papers on top on fire." My eyes shoot open wide, and I hate that Janson almost looks pleased at my reaction. "Immediately following that, Thomas stood up from his table and ran for the exit, since the person guarding it left their post to tend to the fire. It set off an alarm, but Thomas ran anyway."