Page 66 of Petite Fleur

I know the things I'm seeing aren't real, but I can't get my brain to tell my body that.

I keep flinching away from the spiders that crawl on me, realistically I know my mother is far too sterile to have spiders in her study.

Realistically, I know this is a controlled environment, but between the spiders, the snakes, and the man in the corner watching me, I feel sick.

I just want to rest and get dressed.

I've been strapped to this table for 15 days!

I've had a catheter since a few hours after the first day, and my body is sore from laying in the same position for too long.

Why won't she let me sleep?

At the very least, can I not have a pillow?

The table under my head is hard and cold, pressing into the back of my skull and leaving a pulsating headache that hasn't faded since the first day.

Everything is a blur until I snap back into my thoughts; I'm not strapped in anymore.

Did she give up?

Am I asleep?

I don't feel asleep; I still feel sick.

I feel exhausted and uneasy.

Am I dead?

Is this finally over and I don't have to be a puppet for my mother anymore?

No matter what I am right now, I know I can't stay like this.

I have to get this IV out so she can't keep dosing me.

I climb out of bed as quickly as possible, having to ignore how unsteady I am on my feet.

The room spins when I let go of the cold, metal table, but I have to ignore it, I have to get this IV out.

I run until I reach her lab. Logically, I know where the IV is, or where it should be, but the man in the corner followed me here.

I know he's not real, I know I'm alone, but he feels real, and he tells me the IV is in my leg.

He puts a spider on my foot and I watch as it crawls up my leg until it bites a spot in the middle of my calf.

“There." The man tells me, pointing to the spider bite that deep in my head I know isn't real. I just can't seem to convince myself that this isn't real.

I grab the bone saw, desperate to get this IV out so I can rest. So, I cut. I cut until everything starts to go dark. I ignore the crunch of bones, the ripping noise of flesh tearing; I ignore the blood gushing and spraying all over me and the once sterile room.

I ignore the searing pain radiating through my calf.

I even ignore my own screams.

All I can focus on is the man telling me to keep going. I'm almost there, and the IV is almost out.

I have to get this IV out.

The muscles slow me down, making me scream out in agony as my nerves and muscles are severed, but I can't stop, I need sleep.

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