Categories > Original > Drama > Drity: Moments and Dreams
8
One Year, Six Months
I woke up, wet. I was freezing. Where was I? I blinked. Looked up. White. I was in a hospital?
"Good. You're up. You've got a visitor." I turned my head. Trying to focus. What was this place? A woman stood with a cup in her hands. Her nametag was blurry. "C'mon. I've got people to attend to. Get up." It cleared as I stared. Rachel. I stood with Rachel's help. She took me into a room, and there was Patrick. He was sitting at a table. Rachel sat me down.
"I'll be back in fifteen." She left. It was just me and Patrick. He smiled tiredly.
"Hi, babe."
"Hi." I leaned forward. "Is someone sick?" I whispered.
"Yeah." I gulped.
"Am I sick?" Patrick nodded.
"Yeah," his voice was quivering. "Yes. You're sick. But you're getting better. Don't you remember? That's why I'm here Baby." I looked around. I shook my head.
"How long have I been here?" Patrick looked down. He rubbed his eyes.
"One year. One year and, and... six months." I blinked. One year and six months? How...?
"How? How?" I stood. "How? HOW?" Patrick stood too. "HOW? HOW? HOW?" I turned, ran, stumbled, fell. Patrick picked me up by the arms. "How am I sick? How am I sick? HOW!" I hit his chest. Over. Over. "How" was my only vocabulary. I fell to the ground a few feet away.
"You're INSAINE!" he screamed. "You tried to drown yourself! YOUR FUCKING INSAINE!"
"I AM NOT! It was a DREAM! A DREAM! A DREAM! I'M NOT SCREWED UP!"
"YES YOU ARE! You are so fucking screwed up that you won't leave until you have no emotions. No fucking emotions!" I punched him. My pale fist hit the side of his mouth. His head snapped back, and the tiniest bit of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.
"Patrick, baby?" A girl, older than me, stuck her head in this hell room. She had blond hair and brown eyes. And the smallest rack I've ever seen. She was also plump, not fat, but plump. I wanted her to be fat. "Baby, is everything okay? Oh my god! You're bleeding!" Her voice was high and hurt my ears. She rushed to Patrick her flab flapping. I rubbed my eyes.
"Whose this? You're whore to take you're mind off my sexy ass? Humm. She could be skinnier." I stopped. "How old am I?"
"A fucking year older than you were last year." Oh. I stood. And looked over the girl.
"You're Property."
"Yeah," she glared.
"How."
"My baby joined the Wolverines. Got the best prize."
"FUCK YOU!" A door slammed and Rachel came running in.
"What is going on? Why are you distressing the patient? For the love of God. Get out." Rachel took my arm, and led me to the white room. I wanted to go home. I want to go home. He poked me and I feel asleep. Mist in my eyes.
One Year, Six Months
I woke up, wet. I was freezing. Where was I? I blinked. Looked up. White. I was in a hospital?
"Good. You're up. You've got a visitor." I turned my head. Trying to focus. What was this place? A woman stood with a cup in her hands. Her nametag was blurry. "C'mon. I've got people to attend to. Get up." It cleared as I stared. Rachel. I stood with Rachel's help. She took me into a room, and there was Patrick. He was sitting at a table. Rachel sat me down.
"I'll be back in fifteen." She left. It was just me and Patrick. He smiled tiredly.
"Hi, babe."
"Hi." I leaned forward. "Is someone sick?" I whispered.
"Yeah." I gulped.
"Am I sick?" Patrick nodded.
"Yeah," his voice was quivering. "Yes. You're sick. But you're getting better. Don't you remember? That's why I'm here Baby." I looked around. I shook my head.
"How long have I been here?" Patrick looked down. He rubbed his eyes.
"One year. One year and, and... six months." I blinked. One year and six months? How...?
"How? How?" I stood. "How? HOW?" Patrick stood too. "HOW? HOW? HOW?" I turned, ran, stumbled, fell. Patrick picked me up by the arms. "How am I sick? How am I sick? HOW!" I hit his chest. Over. Over. "How" was my only vocabulary. I fell to the ground a few feet away.
"You're INSAINE!" he screamed. "You tried to drown yourself! YOUR FUCKING INSAINE!"
"I AM NOT! It was a DREAM! A DREAM! A DREAM! I'M NOT SCREWED UP!"
"YES YOU ARE! You are so fucking screwed up that you won't leave until you have no emotions. No fucking emotions!" I punched him. My pale fist hit the side of his mouth. His head snapped back, and the tiniest bit of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.
"Patrick, baby?" A girl, older than me, stuck her head in this hell room. She had blond hair and brown eyes. And the smallest rack I've ever seen. She was also plump, not fat, but plump. I wanted her to be fat. "Baby, is everything okay? Oh my god! You're bleeding!" Her voice was high and hurt my ears. She rushed to Patrick her flab flapping. I rubbed my eyes.
"Whose this? You're whore to take you're mind off my sexy ass? Humm. She could be skinnier." I stopped. "How old am I?"
"A fucking year older than you were last year." Oh. I stood. And looked over the girl.
"You're Property."
"Yeah," she glared.
"How."
"My baby joined the Wolverines. Got the best prize."
"FUCK YOU!" A door slammed and Rachel came running in.
"What is going on? Why are you distressing the patient? For the love of God. Get out." Rachel took my arm, and led me to the white room. I wanted to go home. I want to go home. He poked me and I feel asleep. Mist in my eyes.
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