My recovery was difficult, to say the least. Physically, I was doing well at each check up, but mentally, I was a mess. Uncle Ben's treatment of me had driven nails of self-loathing deep into my soul, and every day I found myself wondering the same things; was I really a monster? Had I mistaken Sarah for a monster? Had she been kind to me?
There was no answer to these questions, and since none of the nurses would talk to me - beyond asking me the usual questions about my physical wellbeing - I had no way to vent these painful feelings.
My feet were healing slowly, but it was obvious to the doctors I'd never regain full motion. I still stuck by my decision to refuse amputation, and though the pain was excruciating when I started walking on them again, I persisted. It didn't help that several metal pins were holding my feet together, the one operation I'd consented to, and though I was in tears of pain every therapy session, I refused to give up and have them amputated. They were my feet, and I was going to learn to walk on them again no matter how long it took. I think this might have painted me in a slightly more decent light to my doctors, who did take care to treat me with all their skills in the same way as they would treat other patients, but I knew better than to expect them to view me warmly. My uncle had clearly painted me in a less than favourable light, but I was not going to let them see me as the unstable monster he wanted them to see. Even in the face of my self-doubt, I was keen on proving that I was a decent person, no matter what.
So I persevered.
The nurses, on the other hand, didn't even bother to hide their disdain for me. According to them, I was an ungrateful brat who didn't deserve this level of care, and in their opinion, I was fit only for the nuthouse. They never stinted in their care, mercifully, but it was plain as day to them that I should be getting only the most basic care to keep me alive long enough to get me transferred. But I said not a word of complaint to them, instead letting them trash talk me all they wanted. I knew better than to report them, though. I had no way of proving their words to me, and it would only serve to strengthen the general opinion that I was a lunatic, and not fit to be allowed out into society.
It hurt me to the core, however. I knew deep down I'd done nothing wrong, despite the nails of doubt driven deep into my soul, but with no way to prove myself, I had no chance of reversing the hateful opinions my nurses had of me. And I couldn't befriend any of them. They all looked as if they ate rocks for breakfast, and picked their teeth with the bones of small animals. That didn't engender confidence in me at all, but I kept it to myself. I didn't want to be sent to the psychiatric ward, and I had a feeling Uncle Ben wouldn't let me be sent there, despite his threats. He wanted to deal with me personally once I was fully recovered, and getting myself sent to the loony bin would be an escape in his eyes. Therefore, I was to be kept within his reach so he could enact justice on me for my supposed "mistreatment" of Sarah.
Sarah herself visited often. And as much as I wanted to punch her in her smug, stupid face and scream at her to get the hell out of my room, I held back, forcing myself to endure her fake tears, and her false promises that such a terrible "accident" as I had suffered would never happen again. I simply had to beg her forgiveness for "provoking" her, and I'd be allowed to return to the packhouse when I was better. Of course, this meant that I would be a virtual prisoner in my own home, allowed nowhere except school, with only Uncle Ben being allowed to pick me up and drop me off, and not being allowed to interact with anyone, either during or outside school hours.
How did I know this? Uncle Ben himself told me during one of Sarah's visits.
"You are still dangerously unstable," he said coldly that grey November afternoon. It was pouring outside, and I was more than thankful I was inside in a warm - well, semi-warm - hospital room. Winter had hit hard with a vengeance, and I envied not a single person out in the storm currently raging outside.
Uncle Ben, as per his changed attitude, seemed to think I deserved to be out in that storm.
"I cannot allow you to resume your normal place in the packhouse when you return," he continued. "To that end, you shall be confined to the top floor of the packhouse. All your meals will be brought to you, and you shall be permitted no conversation with anyone, not even your mother, who has, by the way, been informed of your terrible conduct. She is quite disappointed in you, and has already seen fit to withdraw you from all your extra-curricular activities, which includes your dancing."
I hid my grimace. I didn't like being reminded of the fact I'd never be able to dance again, and it stung even more to learn all the other after-school activities I'd taken part in had been ripped away from me so spitefully.
"All your books and entertainment have been removed from your room," Uncle Ben said. "I will not permit you to enjoy any such means of escape again. To this end, you will only be allowed to leave the house for school, and I shall drive you there and pick you up each day. Your teachers have all been informed of your behaviour, and they have agreed that from the moment you return to school, you will be confined to a solitary classroom, and you will not be permitted to join other students for any activities that go outside your sphere of study. All of your classes have been readjusted, and any 'fun' classes have been removed from your timetable."
Once more I had to hide my grimace. I had a bad feeling the worst was yet to come, and Uncle Ben's next words confirmed it. "You will not go on any excursions, trips, or other activities that involve you leaving the school grounds," he said. "And when you graduate, you will be confined to the packhouse for the rest of your days, serving as I require you to. As such, when you are not doing schoolwork, you will be doing other chores around the top floor of the house, and you will be supervised at all times, including at night when you go to sleep."
I shivered. There was more to come.
Uncle Ben then delivered the final blow. "Sarah has kindly offered to watch you," he said. "I feel this is a risky endeavour, but she has promised she will be merciful to you after the way you treated her. I do not feel you deserve her kindness, but since she is to be the Beta of the pack, I have given full responsibility of you to her. As such, when you return to the packhouse, you will swear directly to her, and she will then be in full charge of you - your actions, your words, and your thoughts will belong to her, and I have given her full leave to punish you as she sees fit."
Sarah smirked at me from behind Uncle Ben's back, and I had to seriously grit my teeth to keep from screaming at her. I knew my life would be a true misery under her not-so-gentle methods, and I knew right then I'd rather die than be around her any longer than I needed. Even losing all my privileges and being made a virtual prisoner in my own home would be better than dealing with Sarah day in and day out.
Uncle Ben, however, wasn't making it an option. "I presume you'll be released from hospital in a couple of weeks," he said. "Once they've confirmed your release day, I will come to pick you up." He stood. "You must work hard to regain your position in the pack," he said sternly. "I will have no more insubordination from you. To this end, you will make a public apology to the pack for your behaviour, and each pack member will either accept or reject your apology. The level of response will determine if you regain your freedom sooner or later. So think hard about what you are going to say, and make sure your words live up to your actions. Or you will be a slave for a very long time."
So saying, he left, but Sarah lingered long enough to fire one last parting shot. "Don't think you're going to get away with your problematic behaviour when you're back under my roof," she said snidely. "I'll be making you pay for it for a very long time."
I stared at the door as it closed behind her, and my heart felt like a lead weight in my chest as I accepted the grim fact that, as far as the rest of my life was concerned, it was over. I could see no relief in sight, and as the storm raged on outside, I wished for death to take me more fervently than I'd ever wished for it before. 141Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPsdXCl3R86
