Page 18 of Surviving the Darkness

I don’t know what she means by that. But whatever the case, we follow her to Meadow’s room. I steel my breath and wait for the door to open. Inside rests the girl I’ve been in love with my entire life. Meadow lies on a bed with her hair fanned around her face. She looks so small and pale, and her skin has a grey tint. What’s wrong with her? Why does she look like death?

The nurse must see the look on my face because she explains that Meadow lost a lot of blood so she will be tired and sluggish for a while. At least until her body catches up on healing. Irelease a breath I didn’t know I was holding and thank the nurse for letting me see that our girl is okay. Meadow must hear us because she turns to look in our direction, and her face instantly hardens.

“Hey, Meadow, we just wanted to see you. We wanted to make sure you are alright,” I told her.

“Go away. I don’t want you here. Haven’t you caused enough pain?” she spits with as much force as she can manage and then sighs as if the words caused her physical pain.

Hearing the hate in her voice hasn’t gotten any easier. I can’t stand being on the receiving end of her hate anymore. I just want to hold her and tell her it will be alright. The thing is... I’m not so sure it will be okay. Meadow tried to kill herself because she can’t deal with what happened to her, and I don’t know how to fix it. The one thing I do know is that I wish I could hold her.

“I don’t want them here. Take them off whatever list you have,” Meadow says as she looks at the nurse.

The nurse nods and tells us to leave before we upset her patient. Once Meadow’s door is closed the nurse escorts us back to that damn locked door. Before she shoves us out, I ask her a question. “How are the doctors going to help, Meadow? I just want to see her live again, smile again. I need to know that she will to be okay. She's been through so much, and she's a fighter. I need her to remember who she is.”

“I’m not supposed to tell you anything, but she’ll meet with a few doctors, and if she opens up, we will help her the best we can and go from there. She survived this; just give her time. I’m not sure what she went through, but from the looks of it, it seems like she’s been through quite a bit. So just be patient and, hopefully, that girl will make it through in one piece,” the nurse says.

I nod my head, and we follow the nurse who enters the code to let us out. I never asked why they lock it, and it’s too late to figureit out now. As we exit the hospital, we climb into the SUV, and I drive us home in silence. I think everyone is feeling the effects of Meadow’s words. She doesn’t want us anymore, and I’m not sure she ever will again.

Chapter 18

Meadow

Ican’t believe they showed up at the hospital. I hadn’t approved any visitors. Gingerly, I sit up in bed, as my body feels wrecked, and the bandage on my arm itches so badly, I want to scrape it off my skin. But I know if I do, my stay in this prison will last a lot longer than seven days.

Once I’ve managed to sit up, I move over to the small chair in the room. The room is minimal, and there’s nothing that I can do to occupy my time. There’s not even a television, and everything is bolted to the ground. I imagine it’s so patients don’t hurt themselves. Not that I would hurt myself in this place; I’m notfucking stupid, no matter how much I don’t want to be on this earth anymore. I may be suicidal, but I’m not a fucking idiot. The only good thing about being here is the drugs they give me that allows me to sleep without nightmares.

I press the nurses’ call button attached to the chair. Maybe they can give me something for the itch on my wrist. Plus, I need to talk to them about the guys showing up again. I don’t want to see them, and I hate that they were told where to find me. I know their reach extends everywhere, but it shouldn’t extend to them breaking HIPPA laws. A few minutes later, the nurse comes in and asks what I need.

“Hi, yes. I would like to know why I had visitors when I never approved any. I don’t want to see them again,” I say.

“Oh. Yes, of course. I can make sure they aren’t on the approved list. Is there anything else I can do for you?” the nurse asks.

“Yes, my arm itches really badly, is there something I can take to relieve it? I don’t want to touch anything and ruin any healing going on,” I tell her.

“Let me call the doctor, so he can put in an order for something. I shouldn’t be long!” she says with a little too much cheer and walks out, leaving my door open behind her.

Well, at least I know I’m allowed to leave this room when I want. I would if I had any energy. Maybe in another day or so, I’ll be able to walk more than a few feet without feeling like shit. With the door open, I don’t feel like the room is suffocating me as much. Sighing heavily, I relax as best I can, closing my eyes, trying to ignore the incessant itch on my fucking arm until the nurse comes back with medicine.

A little while later, a knock on the open door has me opening my eyes. The nurse is back with something in her hand. For the first time since being admitted, I offer her a real smile. She explains that the doctor ordered Hydroxyzine. I just nod along,not caring about the medicine so long as it helps with the itching. Popping it in my mouth, I swallow it with some water, and the nurse tells me there’s a sandwich for my lunch today. They want to get more solid foods in me, and a sandwich is the start. I’m fine with it because all I’ve eaten is soup and toast since waking up in the hospital.

Before the nurse leaves, I ask if there are any books here I can read. I’m sick of staring at a blank wall. I may actually go clinically insane if I don’t find something to occupy my time. She laughs and tells me that she will try to find something. I thank her, and she walks away. How am I supposed to get better if I can’t do anything to occupy my mind? Because another day without anything to do will only allow Damon’s voice to take over again, and I can’t promise what will happen if it gets to the point it did before I landed myself here.

I still hear Damon, but the medicine they have me taking lessens it a fraction. It's a nice reprieve from his voice, even if only for a little while. I doze on and off in the chair before another knock echoes through the room, jolting me from my cat nap. A doctor I’ve never met comes in and introduces herself. The woman is in her fifties, her long blonde hair pulled into a neat bun on the top of her head, her glasses framing her face, and a smile that is kind. She reminds me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on who just yet.

“Hi, Miss. My name is Doctor Madison Storm, but everyone calls me Storm. I’m a psychologist here at the hospital, and I have been assigned to your case. I can’t wait to get to know you!” Storm says.

Storm, I like that. It fits her. From what I can tell she is sweet but means business.

“Hi, just call me Meadow,” I told her.

She nods. “Is it alright if I come in, so we can talk? We can also go to my office where it’s a bit more comfortable if you prefer,” Storm replies.

“Let’s walk to your office. I think it would be good for me to get up and move. I’ve been sitting on my ass all day,” I say with a chuckle, trying to make light of the situation.

Storm helps me up, and we make our way to her office. I look around, trying to remember where things are in this place since I’ll be here for a week or so. When we enter her office, I see a deep mahogany desk sitting toward the back of the room and a black couch in the corner, overlooking a window. The walls are a dark green, reminding me of leaves before they change color. I really like this place; it doesn’t feel like a typical, stuffy doctor's office. The doc leads me toward the couch, and I take a seat on the cushions. They are super soft and comfortable, which makes me uncomfortable. I’m not used to something so soft yet, and it’s starting to make my heart pump faster. I can feel a bead of sweat form on my forehead.

The doctor notices my discomfort and asks if everything is okay. I just shake my head and move to the chair seated across from her desk. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve been through some stuff, and I still haven’t gotten used to the comfort of things again. The beds here are okay because they’re like cardboard and scratchy, but something soft and someone being kind throws me into a panic attack,” I sheepishly tell her, avoiding her gaze.

“I understand. Thank you for telling me. I don’t mean to cause you any discomfort,” the doc says with a warm smile.

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