Page 93 of Unspoken Lies
“Do I get to go home?” I ask, coughing hard as my throat complains. It’s hard not to pee myself as I cough, and I squeeze my thighs together as my body tortures me from all sides.
The doctor offers me water, but I shake my head violently.
“I can’t drink water,” I wheeze. “I really have to use the restroom. Please.”
“Lori, we’re really going to have to discuss this when she’s gone,” the doctor complains, untying my hands. “I don’t trust you with her, grab the orderly who pulled her out of the isolation chamber.”
Rubbing my wrists as I struggle to keep my lungs from seizing into another cough, I watch as she scurries off. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I guess I’ll chalk it to one of the many things I don’t remember.
“I really get to go home?” I ask. I don’t believe it at all. “How long have I been here?”
“Almost a month,” he says with a shrug at my wide eyes. “It was easier to keep you on a feeding tube and heavily medicated than deal with you, so that’s what we’ve been doing.”
“Easier?” I whisper, completely confused as to how it would be.
Although my mind is clearer than it has been in forever, it’s still racing with a million thoughts. The outside world has just been chugging along while I’ve been here, and the ones I love have to be losing their minds.
While I don’t know who this supposed husband is, I’m not as concerned about that as I am about getting the fuck out of this place. The neglect is clear on my dry and dirty skin, as well as how sore my muscles are from not being able to move. How have they been handling my bladder for so long?
“Oh yes,” the doctor says with a nod, continuing without knowing the turmoil of my thoughts. “You killed one of my nurses, Rachel. I believe you need to be institutionalized for the rest of your life, but my professional opinions have been overridden. We remembered to insert a catheter for your bladder needs after you had yet another accident, though.”
I wasn’t aware of my body, yet he acts as if this was my fault. What the fuck kind of place is this?
I’m afraid to sit up because I don’t want to come off as aggressive, but my bladder is screaming at me. An orderly walks in without announcing himself and doesn’t look at me, and my eyes narrow at his floppy dirty blonde hair. Who is that?
“I’ll let you take care of her. She says she needs to use the restroom. Her husband is here, it’s completely up to you if you want to get her washed up. I don’t really care after all the trouble she's caused us,” the doctor says, grabbing a file as he moves away.
Brown eyes flick over to him as he nods at the doctor who is already walking out the door.
“Elijah?” I whisper, wincing as I sit up. “I’m so confused.”
“It’s been a shit month,” he mutters, walking over to scoop me into his arms. “Good, at least they took the catheter out. I wouldn’t have known how to handle that.”
“You’re working here…” I say, trailing off as he walks me into the bathroom.
“Were your wrists tied?” he asks, ignoring my words as he looks at how they’re discolored.
“That’s how I woke up,” I admit.
“Fuck. I’m going to help you, don’t complain, please,” he says. “I’ve seen a lot while working here. To answer one of the many questions that you might have, Theo got me a job to watch out for you. I didn’t do a great job, unfortunately.”
I try not to feel embarrassed as he helps me sit on the toilet. I’m pretty sure I wore more clothes when I first got here, but now I’m in a long nightgown and nothing else. Not even panties. If they were trying to make me feel inferior, they’re on the right track.
Elijah gazes at the wall above my head to give me a semblance of privacy as I clean up and then helps me stand. He keeps his body between me and the mirror, and my eyes narrow at him.
“How terrible is my hair?” I ask.
“The nurse lost her ever loving mind and hacked it. I wasn’t there, but I did hear about it as you were dragged off. They haven’t bothered to fix it, but I can try to even it out if you want until you can get to a professional,” he says, looking miserable. “While it’s not great, I can honestly say that your hair has been worse. I don’t trust how much you’re weaving on your feet, baby. Can I help you shower?”
Baby?
“I don’t understand why you’re helping me at all,” I say, raising my hands so he can pull off the nightgown. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me against his side as he leans forward to turn the water on and adjust it.
“I bet you don’t,” he sighs. “I have a penchant for blending into the shadows, and that’s what you needed. Lift your leg, please.”
Doing as he asks, I step into the shower and hold onto the bar as he picks up the spray attachment and runs it over my hair and body. The water feels good after God knows how long of not having a shower.
It also appears as if they’re just leaving Elijah with me alone. I’d much rather have him helping me than anyone else in this place. I know that sounds odd, but I’m beginning to realize that he’s the voice that I kept hearing while I was drugged.
