My mouth was dry and my throat felt scratchy; my eyes were heavy and my vision was blurry; my head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. My sleep had been deep and dangerous, and I vaguely remember having to be sedated. My nightmare started to creep back into my head in pieces, causing me to shake nervously. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to push the images out of my mind, I was afraid that if I slipped into unconsciousness again, I wouldn’t be able to wake up from it, and I was afraid that I would have another fit, forcing them to sedate me. I hated being sedated; it was unnatural, and it made everything worse.

I tried to sit up in my bed, and I held my shaking hands against my head tenderly. I put my hands on either side of my face, trying to support my head that felt like it was going to fall right off of my body—it was so heavy.

I sat still for a few minutes, attempting to get my bearings straight. As my senses started to slowly strengthen, I heard faint murmurs originating in the hallway outside of my room. I slid off of my bed in curiosity, stumbling across the room. I was going to open the door, but I stopped myself, hearing voices that I recognized. I didn’t intend on snooping, but their words were confusing, and I couldn’t bring myself to open the door—as if I was in some sort of trance.

“…that’s what he told you?” a voice I recognized as Dr. Crowly asked quietly. I assumed that she was talking about me.

“Yes…” I heard Bree say quietly. A flash of irritation crossed over me because of the way they were talking about me behind my back.

“That can’t be right. I haven’t seen him all day,” Dr. Crowly said. I leaned against the wall next to the door as my body began to wobble—I didn’t understand what they were talking about.

“Well, he was acting strange all morning. When I went to give him his pills this morning, he seemed off, but I didn’t think anything of it. I just figured that he was upset over talking about what happened with his brother, which is completely normal and understandable. But I thought that he took them! Damn it, I can’t believe I fell for the trick,” Bree said, and I hated to hear her so upset at herself. But I was also more confused than ever. My head throbbed at their conversation because I knew they were talking about me but I had no idea what about.

“It’s not your fault, Miss Lewis. We should talk to him, see what he remembers,” Dr. Crowly suggested.

Bree must have nodded in agreement, because I didn’t hear her say anything else—what I did hear was the handle to my door slowly creak open. I jumped backwards—I didn’t want them to think that I was eavesdropping, even though I was—falling onto the ground with a thump.

“Fuck,” I groaned, standing up and gripping the nearby chair for support.

Unfortunately for me, Bree and Dr. Crowly had seen the whole thing.

“Vic, were you listening?” Dr. Crowly asked.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” I said nervously.

“It’s alright, Vic. Let’s talk,” she said. Bree sent me a careful smile from behind Dr. Crowly.

I stood there kind of shyly, but then I decided to speak up. “Did you figure out why Bertha tried to give me the wrong medication?” I asked quietly. Before I had fallen asleep, Bree had mentioned talking about that situation, so I figured that I would bring it up.

“Here, Vic, why don’t you sit down?” Bree suggested, gesturing to my bed. I obeyed, but not without shooting her a worried glance. I sat on the edge of my bed, my legs dangling.

“What’s going on?” I asked timidly as Bree and Dr. Crowly sat down in chairs close to me.

“Vic, what do you remember about this morning?” Dr. Crowly began, dodging my question.

“I, uh, I-I… I can’t…” I shook my head, not being able to remember a single damn thing. “What day is it?” I asked quietly.

“It’s still the same day. It’s about eight o’clock at night,” Bree told me after quickly looking over her shoulder at the wall clock. I silently admired the way her hair swept across her face during the swift, feathery motion.

“Oh,” I said. They had me knocked out for a long time… What happened?

“Everything’s fuzzy,” I said quietly, feeling ashamed for some reason.

“Vic, I’m just going to bluntly tell you: you had a schizophrenic episode today,” Dr. Crowly said. I stared at her blankly.

“No I didn’t,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows. But then my nightmare flashed before my eyes suddenly. I flinched at it, but then it quickly went away when Bree’s voice brought me back to reality.

“It’s okay that you did, Vic,” she said soothingly. “We just thought that you deserved to know that Bertha isn’t real, nor is the red medication. We don’t want you to be confused about that. We don’t want that to be dominant in your head, because you have enough to think about already. Do you understand?” Bree said.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “Why did I see that?” I asked quietly.

Bree looked at Dr. Crowly. “We aren’t entirely sure. But I came by this morning to give you your medicine, and you seemed a little off. I thought you took them, but apparently you didn’t. And then when we had our daily meeting, you were distant and didn’t feel well. I took you back to your room and you fell asleep. Not even ten minutes later you were having intense nightmares. I’m assuming that they were caused by the fact that you didn’t take your meds, but we aren’t sure why you didn’t take them in the first place,” Bree explained.

“I’m sorry I tricked you, Bree. I didn’t know it was you,” I said quietly, feeling bad for making her feel bad.

“Please don’t worry about it, Vic. We just want you to get better,” she said, and her hazel eyes sparkled, like she was being honest. “But we are going to be switching up your medications, now, because clearly the other ones weren’t doing the trick…” she added.

“Because I saw Bertha. But, Dr. Crowly, you said earlier that you were going to talk to Bertha. Why would you say that if she isn’t real?” I asked.

“Well, Vic, that’s because, for some reason, you imagined me there, as well. I never saw you this morning at all,” she said. “We think that your schizophrenia is worsening, effectively making your paranoia exacerbate, as well.”

“I don’t have paranoia,” I frowned.

“Paranoia is a symptom of schizophrenia, and for some reason your mind is very paranoid about the medication,” Dr. Crowly explained.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “So you are changing my medication?” I asked sadly.

“Yes.”

I’m such a failure, I thought.

“No you aren’t, Vic. You aren’t a failure at all. The first few years with your type of diagnosis for anybody are difficult, and you are doing really well. We just have to find the right medicine to make you more comfortable, so that when you are discharged you are safe for yourself and others,” Bree said.

“I’m violent?” I asked.

“No, you aren’t. But we want you to live a relaxed lifestyle, not having to worry about things, not having to question what is real and what is not real,” she explained.

“Oh,” I said quietly, still feeling a little ashamed. I bowed my head and stared at my dangling feet. I think they were talking to me again, but I wasn’t listening. Their voices were like tiny whispers in the wind… the wind that was brushing against my calves and whipping my hair around my face. The air was suddenly thick and humid—normal California weather for the summertime. The sound of rushing water filled my ears, and soon I noticed that my feet were now dangling over a rapidly moving river. This river, I noticed, was the very river that killed my brother. My eyes widened as I saw my hat being thrashed around by the rough current. My eyes widened even further when, out of nowhere, a thin, frail body slammed into the rocks. The color of crimson immediately spread through the rapids, and then the body flipped around, its face staring at me dead on. His eyes were completely black, and an angry scowl inhabited his pale face. Red smeared across his forehead, and his body twisted in unnatural ways. His skin was no longer a lively, tan shade, but now a ghastly grey. He moved in slow motion as the river continued to do its damage on the body. Although he was dead in theory, words slithered venomously through his slightly parted lips. You killed me… you killed me… you killed your own brother. You killed me, so kill yourself…

I went rigid at his words, the phrases seeping through my pores like poison, making my insides shrivel and crumble into ash. My chest tightened, my throat constricted; I couldn’t breathe.

No, don’t do it! I felt hands wrap around me before I could accomplish my life long goal of dying (ah, the irony), preventing me from slipping off of the edge and joining my innocent brother. Although, I technically wouldn’t be joining him—he was probably approaching the golden gates by now, while I was going to be welcomed at the fire pits of hell.

And, suddenly, that’s where I was. I had viciously escaped the grasp of the hands that were keeping me from death, and my stomach dropped and my body shuddered before everything was gone. I had no feeling—my body was probably being thrashed around ruthlessly in the rapids, yet my soul was elsewhere. And now I could feel it.

A burning, torching sensation. My lungs, my heart, my mind, everything was on fire… The image of fire dancing projected itself in my eyes, mixed with the darkness of everything else. Fire, and black. Eternal darkness, eternal flames. Flames that were impossible to put out…

Well, the flames were apparently not eternal; because they stopped blazing, leaving behind trails of thick, black smoke. And when the smoke cleared, I realized where I was. The thin hallway stretched and stretched as far as I could see. The lights above me flickered, and then I suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of my head as my neck snapped backwards.

I asked you a question, Fuentes! A strikingly familiar voice hissed. Was this some sort of joke? I thought as I turned around, coming face to face with none other than Shane, Kurt, and Kerri. Why did you do it, Fuentes? Why did you kill your own brother? You selfish prick!

“No,” I breathed, my vital organs still malfunctioning. What was this place?

Hell, they all said simultaneously, the words some how slipping dangerously past their closed lips. Earth is your Hell, Vic. You’re stuck here forever, they laughed menacingly.

“No,” I said again, this time louder.

No! NO! NO!

Vic!

“Vic!”

“Vic!”

Ow!

I gasped, my eyes opening in terror, my entire body convulsing. I took deep breaths, trying to bring my heart rate down, and I realized that I was on the ground, curled up in a tiny ball on the floor.

I couldn’t speak; instead, I focused on my breathing. It was hard to focus on it, though, because my shaking body and the sensation of sweat trickling down my forehead made it difficult to concentrate.

“…Vic…” someone said carefully. It took me a few moments to realize who the speaker was, and, when I finally comprehended, I shot up in alarm, my eyes wide.

“B-Bree?” I asked. My eyes anxiously noticed a different cot the by the door. “N-no, please,” I begged quietly. I didn’t want to be sedated; I didn’t want the leather constraints to be strapped on my wrists and ankles.

Bree didn’t say anything, as I looked around the room further. “W-why is there b-blood on the f-floor?” I stammered, wrapping my arms around myself.

“…um…” Bree bit her lip.

“It’s okay, Vic. It wasn’t your fault,” I heard Dr. Crowly say, but her voice was muffled. I turned to the source of her voice and saw that her hand was over her nose, and, to my horror, blood dripped down her face.

“I did that?” I asked, my voice and body rattling.

“It was an accident,” Dr. Crowly reassured.

“I hit you?” I asked in a painful whisper. Dr. Crowly shook her head, but in my mind I imagined my outburst: my arms and legs flailing, one of my extremities smacking her in the face… “I’m s-so s-sorry,” I said louder, just so I knew she heard me.

“It’s okay, Vic. I think you know now that you just had another episode,” she said quietly.

“No,” I cried, burying my face into my hands. Tears streamed down my face. “I want to be better. I don’t like seeing these things,” I cried. “I don’t like being out of control. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” I continued to cry, shrinking away from both of them. I assumed that they recognized that I was calmer, and I heard the sound of rusty wheels getting quieter and quieter—someone was carting the constraints away. Thank God.

“Miss Lewis, please stay here with Vic while I go get my nose fixed up,” Dr. Crowly said. “Can you handle him?” she asked.

“Of course,” Bree said—her tone a little harsh. Dr. Crowly made an unintelligent sound resembling a pig snort and left the room, leaving me alone with Bree.

Can you handle him? What was I—a dog? An angry side of me was now glad that I hit Dr. Crowly—even if it was by accident—but then I immediately pushed the evil thought out of my head.

“It’s okay, Vic,” Bree cooed. The air shifted around me, and I realized that she moved closer to me. I was still on the floor, and she knelt down so she was at my level.

I jumped away from her, though, cowering into a corner. “Your afraid of me,” I told her, despite the way her actions suggested otherwise.

“No, Vic,” she said. She stayed where she was, though—either because she was actually afraid of me, or because she didn’t want to corner me. Smart girl.

“Come back here,” she said, opening her arms. A gesture for a hug? Why would she want to comfort me? I was dirty and fucked up in the head.

“Stop saying those things about yourself, Vic. You are not dirty, nor are you fucked up in the head,” she said—and I was genuinely surprised that she used that language because she was supposed to be a professional. “You are wonderful, but broken. And that’s okay because I am going to help you,” she said, and she emphasized her open arms again. Shyly, I crawled over to her.

Before I even made it to her embrace completely, I broke down into tears again, nearly collapsing into her. She pulled me close, and I buried my face into her neck. I squeezed her gently—not trying to hurt her, but to feel her. Bree’s voice had brought me back to reality before, and now I clutched on to her desperately, for she seemed to be the only real thing in my current life.

I wanted to say something else, but I couldn’t form the words. Instead, the phrase thank you came out, muffling against her hair.

“You don’t have to thank me, Vic,” she said softly, smoothing out the hair on the back of my head.

That’s right; Bree is my assigned therapist. This is her job. She has no choice but to be there for me.

“No, Vic,” she said quietly. She loosened her arms around me, pulling back so she looked me in the eyes. Her hazel eyes swirled in the most magnificent way. “It has nothing to do with my job. I’m not even being paid for this, you know?” she said. Her words were surprising, and they made me feel better… but then what was her incentive to care for me so much?

“My incentive…” she said—I seemed to have lost the ability to keep thoughts in my head, always saying what I was thinking out loud. “…Well, I have no incentive. It is nothing more than me wanting to be there for you because that’s what friends are for.”

Notes

Lalalala helloooo

Soo, poor Vic again

Is this his turning point, though? Can he ever get better?

Thanks for everyone who has read so far! :)
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