The following morning I wake up with my alarm and I'm exhausted. Grogginess overtakes me but I know that I need to get up. I know that I need to keep going. I know that I need to make Lydia believe that I was not up all night talking. We all do.
And so I wash my face with expensive cleanser and I put makeup on and I pick out a pretty outfit as carefully matched as all my other outfits used to be. And I go down the too-large halls to the cafeteria. And I chat with Valentina and Labonita.
We do not talk about last night. For everything that happened last night is a secret, and we cannot risk any chance of being found out. We carefully converse about conversation topics that are normal, petty, shallow. Things that will not get us or anyone else in trouble.
All around me at all the tables the girls eat their breakfast without complaint. And the breakfast feels too full to me, too loaded. The flavours feel too strong, the textures too varied. But I eat without complaint as well. Because I have to. Because it's the only choice I have in this facility where we all are being kept locked up.
Lydia comes into the room at the same time that she always does. She is wearing something stunningly gorgeous, as she always is. It's pale green. I don't notice it that much as I smile towards her cheery face and chirp a hello that rings hollow in my own heart.
I'm afraid of her. I've never been so afraid of her before. But no, that's not true. I think back towards the three days of hedonism my friends and I partook in. I was still scared of her then. I think that we were all scared of her. I just did not realize it. I repressed it.
I hope she cannot see the fear behind my eyes. Fear that I am trying so suffocatingly hard to hide. I think I am a good actor. I've had to be, in order to get through my school life and my home life and everything between those two things. I hope I'm good enough for this moment, the moment in which it all really, truly matters.
"Hello, my sweet girls!" Her voice is bright and cheerful. But there is a slight, subtle edge to it. An edge that is oppressive and threatening. Was it always there, did I just miss noticing it before now? Or is this a new development? Is she on to us?
"Hello, Lydia," we echo back all together in a messy unison. Our voices sound almost normal. Almost. There is just the slightest, tiniest bit of difference. I hope that the difference is too small for her to be able to notice it. I hope she doesn't think too deeply about the way we sound. I hope she doesn't notice anything amiss.
"Are you all excited to begin your day?" She smiles. And there is something just subtly, just deeply unsettling about that smile. I pay close attention to it. Though I know that there isn't any point. If she's on to us, she's on to us. We are powerless. There is nothing we can do.
But I look over at Clara. And she smiles at me, a shimmering orange lipgloss smile. But behind that smile there is something understanding. There is something heartbroken. There is something tragic. There is something kind. I smile at her back.
And in that moment I know.
We are not powerless. Not really. We have each other. And we have the strength within our own souls. The strength that has gotten all of us this far. Strength that has taken us into cold streets, into thick forests, strength that has taken us into suicide attempts. Strength that has made us into who we are. And that will shape us beyond that, shape us further.
"I am sorry, girls, but today we cannot go on any fun adventures."
We all voice our loud dismay and disapproval. Our fake dismay and disapproval. It is what we are expected to do, so it is what we do.
"I'm sorry. But it's just one day. And it will help you in your journeys to heal and grow and to become functioning members of society. Is that okay, my girls?"
"Okay," we relent unenthusiasticly. The fear inside my chest is growing. Why are we not going to do the normal routine? What are we going to do instead? Why?
"Today you will all have a long session with your personal doctors. Answering questions and the like. Your progress will be charted and any changes necessary to your recovery plan will be made. After that, you will have another session of mind healing. You will be put to sleep and your brains will be injected with the chemicals necessary to help them heal and flourish."
"Okay Lydia," we chorus back. The fear has a hard, icy grip on my heart now. Another mind-healing session? Another session where we get our minds bored into and altered? That is not okay. That will end any and all chances we have of reaching freedom. I remember what the last session did to me. I remember all that it made me forget, all that it made me deny.
I flit my eyes around, and on everyone's face I can see the faintest traces of fear. Fear that shows through even the tiniest cracks in their masks. This is no is okay. This is not okay. This is very much not okay.
"You have a few hours before the doctors will come in for your sessions though. In that time you can spend your time however you want."
We go back to eating our breakfast, thinking of how to get out of this all.
"Let's go to the hot tub after we're finished breakfast," Delores calls out loudly.
"That's the perfect idea!" Zindagee declares. And it is the perfect idea. It really is. Because we can all sit close together in the hot tub, in the relative privacy of the room where no-one will bother us.
We all voice our agreement to the plan, and quickly go to get our bathing suits on. I wear the first one I can find and rush to the hot tub.
It feels too warm, feels muggy in there. An unnatural sort of warm that melts into your body. But nonetheless, we all crowd together.
"We can't let them mess with our brains again," Clara states.
"You're absolutely right," Ishani remarks. "The last time then did that, we forgot everything. We forgot our history, who we were, what we wanted, what we needed. Never again."
"But what if we help each other remember again, just like we did before?" Brigely suggests. "Then we can undo the harm that they have done."
"That only worked last time because I had a dream about my brother," Maggie explains. "It won't work again if I don't have that dream. Which I probably won't."
"Well we have to do something to make it so that they can't destroy us again. We have to foil their plans." Nocta's voice carries notes of doubt.
"What if we pretend that we're all better?" Lavinia suggests. "What if we go tell the doctors that nothing's wrong and we can be spared from another procedure?"
"The doctors already think nothing is wrong," Avalon retorts, "They already think that we are healing perfectly fine. They want to do the procedure anyways."
"We could ask them to please not do it maybe?" Ashlee's voice is doubtful."
"As if that would work," Aisha replies.
"Guys," Bik calls to us.
"Yes?"
"We were all willing to kill ourselves before. Let's just do it again."
We are silent for a long while, taking in her words, letting them sit inside us, digesting and interpreting them. Feeling the horrible promise that they hold.
"That's a good idea," Brigely finally states into the silence.
"But how are we going to do it?" Zeinab replies.
"Well, I don't think they're restraining us this time," Clara responds. "We can just not take the pills to go to sleep and we can ram our heads into the needles."
"That's a great idea," I reply. And it is a great idea. Really great, but it's also a terrible idea. Really terrible.
"Are we going to be able to sit through the pain?" Nocta asks, "The pain of the drilling before the needles are really hitting our brains?" We are silent again after this. She has a good point. Everything relies on us being brave enough, being strong enough. And I don't know if we are.
"Well, we'll have to," Ashlee finally declares.
We continue planning, one eye and one ear open for Lydia's approach, until she finally does come.
"Get up girls. It's time for your appointments."
"Aww." We pretend to be disappointed. But we dry ourselves off and wear nice, new, freshly-cleaned clothes. And we walk to the large, well-furnished set of rooms the doctors see us in.
I walk through the large intricately-carved ivory door and into the plush, softly-lit world of the doctor's office, that has a fake fire burning away beneath a large mantle. I sit on a soft sofa, trying to look unperturbed. And he sits on this sofa across from me, with a crowded crystal table in front of him.
"Hello," I smile. I know that I'll be dead in a few hours. I know that all my friends will be. And the feeling chokes my throat and my mind. But I have to keep pushing myself forwards, pushing myself forwards. I have to go on. Right to the very end.
"How are you feeling today?" He smiles, his voice smooth.
"I'm feeling great, actually," I lie through a shining grin.
"And why are you feeling so great?"
"Well, it's so fun here. I have all my friends. I get to relax and I get to play. I get to go do stuff. I get to heal."
"And is this atmosphere more calm than the one you left?"
"I think ... I can't remember, actually. But it must be." I have to pretend to not remember. They expect me to not remember.
"What do you remember?"
I pause for a long moment, pretending to be thinking. In that moment I look at the many furs and paintings and pretty little pieces decorating the room. The furs that lay spread on the grand, uneven tile floors. I listen to the song tinkling through the air. None of it calms me. It all just serves to put me more on edge than before.
"I don't know," I finally say. "I just remember waking up in this lovely bed in the rehabilitation centre."
He types something down in the translucent keyboard that appears in the glass of his table, and to one side a floating strand of letters takes shape in the air, forming words, and then sentences.
"Do you miss your past?" He asks me.
"No, not at all." I keep my voice even, keep it jovial. As hard as that is. "It must have been one heck of a hard past in order to lead me here."
"Do you dislike it here?"
"No, of course not. But this is a place of healing, meaning I must have had something I needed to heal from."
"And do you feel like you are healing?" He pauses for a bit between the last two words. There is something hard and cold about his friendly words. Something menacing. But I don't let him know that I have noticed anything amiss.
"Yes, I do. I'm happier and happier each day. Each day seems brighter and and more exciting. Except for today of course."
"And what's wrong with today?"
"Oh nothing much. It's just that we're not doing anything. Just medical stuff." Today's the last day that I'll be alive. But I don't say that of course. Not to him.
"And do you mind, the medical side of things?" There is something pushing in his words.
"No, I don't. I recognize that it's necessary. It's just that it's not as fun."
"But it will help you have more fun in the future."
"I know. I know it will. But still. The future is the future. The present is today." I think about how I will have no future. And the thought screams through my blank mind. But still, the oblivion of nothingness is better than this crowded, hedonistic life.
"And what about your friends? How do you relate to them?"
"Oh we get along greatly. We do so many fun things."
"Do you feel like you relate to them because they're in the same position that you are in?" He keeps typing.
"Maybe. But mostly it's that they're just teenaged girls, just like me. I have to make friends if I don't want to be alone." This whole place feels so oppressive and claustrophobic.
"And do you not like being alone?"
"I'm fine with being alone, as long as I have something to do. But sometimes I guess you start to think, when you're alone."
"You start to think about what?"
"Oh, just, random stuff that doesn't even matter."
"And do you not enjoy thinking?"
"Anyone will tell you that it isn't that fun."
"How about your roommate? How well do you get along with her?"
"Maggie? She's awesome. We get along great."
"We're thinking of moving everyone into their own separate rooms. Then it will be less crowded. What do you think about that?"
"Oh, that'll be okay. I've always wanted a bit more space."
"That's fair. And how about Lydia? Do you trust her?"
"Of course I trust her. Why wouldn't I? She's like a parent to us."
"She is rather cheery, isn't she?"
"Yes, she's always so happy and that makes the rest of us happy too."
We keep talking, question after question after question. My mind is screaming blank. I don't even have time to process my emotions. Not before it all comes to an end.
And I am left standing in the large hallway in front of the medical room. But at least I am not alone. I am more afraid than I have ever been in the entirety of my life. But at least I am not alone. All my friends are out here standing with me.
Every girl instinctively draws closer. And then we all hug. We say no words, because words are too dangerous, right here and right now. But we feel each other's warmth. We feel each other's heartbeats. We feel each other's lives as we stand there together, all flowing into each other silently.
We break the hug just as we hear footsteps in the hall.
It's Lydia.
"Hi girls."
"Hi Lydia."
"Are you all ready?"
"Yes." And I have to be. I have to be ready right now. I push myself forwards.
The doors to the medical room open, and there are no people inside. There are only rows and rows of soft-looking hospital beds and a variety of sophisticated, sharp-looking tools arranged all about. Beside each bed is a little tray held up by metal rods. In each tray is a glass of water and two pills.
"You girls can go find whichever bed suits you," Lydia starts explaining, "and take both pills. The small pill is for the pain and the large one will knock you out. Be ready before the doctors come."
"Alright Lydia."
We are left alone again within the room.
"This is a jackpot! Zeinab exclaims.
"It is," Cara agrees. "We can only take the pain pill and stay conscious through the whole thing."
"I love you guys," Valentina tells us. "Good bye."
We all say our goodbyes to each other and our I-love-yous. Most of us start crying. We dry our tears and gulp down our pills, hiding the other ones in our clothes.
I feel overwhelmed and numb both at the same time. The world feels all-too-real and not real at all, both at the same time. I don't know how I am going to make myself do this. But I know that I am going to make myself do this. I have to. I have to.
Because even if I don't die, the only people who have ever understood me in my life will be dead. And I can't live with that. Even if I don't die, all the world around me will be a cage. And I can't live with that, either.
I hear steps echoing through the room. I keep my eyes closed. Not letting any expression show on my calmed, blank face. There is talking all around me. Cool, clear, methodical voices that send shivers through my spine. I hear some tapping and clicking noises and then the whirring drill is there, cutting through my skull.
It feels so weird. It doesn't hurt. Not at all. But it feels so deeply wrong. And it feels so deeply wrong to be dying without pain. Death should include pain. Death should be terrible and magnificent and altogether completely overwhelming. And mentally, mentally it is all that. But not physically.
I don't know how much time has passed. Maybe a second. Maybe a minute. Maybe an hour. But eventually the drill does get all the way through my skull. I can tell because the spinning motion stops. And now, instead of feeling hot, it feels slightly cool.
Now is my moment.
Fear crashes into me like a huge, lightning-fast truck. I am overwhelmed by the sheer terror, the sheer terror, the sheer terror that envelops all my thoughts. It's as if my body is screaming at me not to die.
But I cannot listen to my body. Not now. Not here. Not like this. I know I have to push myself on. So I scream internally. I scream louder, braver, more powerful than all of the fear. And through the screams echoing through my mind I jerk my head to the side, almost not thinking.
I don't feel pain, even still. Part of me wishes I could feel pain, part of me doesn't. It just all feels so hot and so cold both at the same time, as I am quickly fading away, fading away. Fading away into the nothingness and the everythingness from which I was born.
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