Page 99 of Cruel Cravings

I don’t know what day it is.

Time bends inside this room, becoming a concept that feels unreal. I’m in and out of sleep, barely ever lucid enough for real thought.

The few moments in between where I am, the nurses return and stick more needles in my veins. They force more pills down my throat. Always with the vague promise they’ll return with worse if I don’t play nice.

The cart rattles outside the door and makes my stomach clench in fear. My head’s pounding, full of jumbled thoughts I can’t really piece together. This time, as the door falls open and the light spills in, it’s not Nurse Big Bird.

It’s him.

Dr. Wolford strolls inside in his patchwork blazer and round glasses. Behind him, two orderlies push the cart with the electroconvulsive therapy machine. It looks like a relic out of a time gone by, back when crazy houses really could punish their patients.

Not that that’s ever stopped Wolford and his team.

"Jael," Dr. Wolford says, stepping closer to the bed. "Are we ready to be good today?"

I don’t answer him. I’m not sure I have the energy to. I’ve been depleted, had it drained and zapped and sedated out of me.

Everything’s begun to have a drugged-up tint that doesn’t seem to wear off, like I’m being permanently altered in a way that’s messed with my perception.

I blink dazedly up at him as he exhales a sigh and then gestures to the orderlies. They slip into their usual routine hooking me up to the machine. They place the electrodes on my temple and then stand back to flick on the switch.

An immediate stench of burned metal fills the room, the machine buzzing to life.

“You know what this is for, Jael,” says Dr. Wolford. “We’ve told you what would happen if you didn’t cooperate.”

I clench my eyes shut and stifle the sob that seeks release. My mind drifts elsewhere like it’s done so many other times I’ve been in a session with Dr. Wolford. I’m still in the dark, still hidden away, but the room’s changed.

“Run,” comes the Russian voice in my ear. “Run from the monsters. Will they come find you?”

I take off through the long, confusing halls of the mansion. My sister’s beautiful music echoes no matter how far I go. No matter what closet I hide away in.

But I run anyway. I rush to get away before the monster finds me in the dark.

The switch flicks.

Electricity tears through the vague memory, burning through my skull, setting every nerve on fire. My back arches, muscles seizing, my mouth falling open in pure agony.

“We’ll start off simple,” Dr. Wolford says. “Tell me your age.”

I’m too delirious to make sense of his request, turning my head from side to side, babbling pleas. I look blearily up at the orderlies standing by the bed and mumble something about helping me.

Please. Please. PLEASE!

I scream desperately, starting to question whether in my head or out loud. I’m not sure as they peer down at me with casual indifference and await their next set of orders.

Dr. Wolford sighs. “Turn it up.”

A bolt of electricity sears through me so intensely, I’m knocked back into the dark closet. I’m hiding among the coats and hoping I’ve become invisible. I’m breathless from running, but also from the fear that beats inside my heart.

My sister plays and plays, the music beautiful but ugly.

It’s never good enough. They’re never satisfied.

“Tell me your age!” Dr. Wolford demands suddenly, and my eyes pop open with a gasp. “Tell me your age and I tell them to turn it down.”

“I… I…” I babble, tears slipping free. “Please…”

“Turn it up. Again. Until she learns.”

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