Page 14 of Love Sick

It’s so surreal—I can see it. And I welcome it…

He retrieves a pair of keys from his pocket, muting the jingling by cupping them into his palm. We turn corner after corner, and before long, the lights grow dimmer and the atmosphere colder—in every sense of the word.

Above the doorway are the words, Acta, non verba, which is Latin for ‘deeds, not words.’ In plain English, actions speak louder than words.

He leads the way, clearly knowing his way through this dark, dank corridor. It’s deadly quiet—the only sound I hear is a drip…drip…drip from a leaking pipe somewhere. The buzzing fluorescents flicker on and off, the strobe effect hurting my eyes.

I venture deeper and deeper into this vision which is sure to be a nightmare.

This place is hell.

It’s stimulation overload, so much so, I think I’m about to be sick. But I quash down my fear—I’ve had enough of being afraid.

A single white tub sits in the middle of the room, and unlike the other rooms, this one is immaculate. It’s so damn white, it actually hurts my eyes. But the white is overruled by black writing, scribbled all over the walls.

It appears like someone was punished and forced to write a single line a hundred times.

That line reads: Cleanliness is next to godliness.

My heart begins to beat frantically…just like his. Butwhoishe?

“Get him out of here!” I tug at the leather straps securing him down, but they won’t budge because they’re locked with a gold padlock.

“It’s called hydrotherapy,” Old Timer explains calmly. “It’s a continuous bath. The cold water is used to treat manic depression and agitated behavior.”

“I don’t give a fuck what it’s called!” I scream, cupping his beautiful face in my palms. “Help me! Oh, god, what have they done to you?”

“You want me to go?” I ask him, clutching his cheeks, and when he blinks once, a sob gets caught in my throat.

Even stuck in a medicated nightmare, he’s trying to save me. And this is the only way I can save him.

And his name…it’s Bowie. No, itwasBowie…but his real name…his name is Dutch…and I love him.

I get sucked back into the present, eyes locked with Old Timer, who grins. “You remember?”

Nodding slowly, I lick my dry lips. “…Yes.”

Who would have thought my first word spoken after so long would hold such power. But it does. It’s the first step toward uncovering why the fuck I’m in here and finding the man whose name has the ability to bring me to my knees.

“Do you remember?”

I shake my head. “Will you help me?”

My voice startles me because I can’t remember what it sounds like. Has it always sounded this…indignant? But I soon realize it’s a reflection of how I’m feeling inside.

I may not remember everything, but I know something awful was done to me and the people I love.

Old Timer nods, but I can see his help comes with a price. “I’ll be in touch. But in the meantime, don’t take the blue pills.”

Before I have a chance to ask why not, an orderly comes over, eyeing us closely. His name is Noah and I want to pluck out his eyeballs. I don’t know why, but I know I hate him. The fading bruises on his face hints someone else felt the same way I do.

Old Timer continues on his way, sweeping like nothing happened.

“How you feeling today, darlin’?” he asks me, bending low to make eye contact with me.

I simply stare at him.

“I know you probably don’t remember me, but I used to look after you. I’ve been away, but I’m back now.”

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