Never Long Enough

 Her hands looked like they belonged to someone else. These were the hands of a stranger. They looked old, neglected, and worn. Her wrists carried purple cuts and bruises sharing tales of being restrained against her will. Straight jackets were only soft on your skin as long as you played the part, the part of someone who has lost her mind and had no will to live. The minute you fought against the lies and the truth threatened to unveil its awkward head, the gentle sanctuary of the mental institution became hostile and harsh.

She knew that was where she was, she was locked up in the nut ward as her father used to call it. That’s all she knew. She didn’t know how long she’d been here, what day it was, or who she was. Only her hands shared clues of stories she was thankful she’d forgotten.

She smelled a faint and familiar aroma and it made her smile. She knew it was a smell that she was fond of, although she didn’t know why. She took a deep breath, trying to fill herself completely with it, trying to soak up something pleasant in an otherwise dark and lonely room. The smell would be her companion, even if only for a little while.

The memory shook her hard and viciously taking her back to days long forgotten. He was peeling an orange in her apartment. He smiled at her as he offered her a piece of the sweet smelling fruit. Growing up she was never allowed fruit, but she couldn’t resist the man sitting in front of her, so she accepted the fruit feeling rebellious.

He had such great hair, she thought, and she knew she was falling for this man. This was the first night they had spent together, the first of many years to come. Her memories came flooding in as tears ran down her face. He was her husband, Mike. They had a daughter, Mia. She was beautiful and had her father’s thick and dark hair. She had the face of an angel and a laugh that she would never tire of. Mia had been a balanced child who made friends easily. She loved ballet and would dance to anything, even advertisements on TV while her parents watched lovingly, applauding her.

She would have lost that ability now, to be so free. If she ever managed to escape, she’d never be the same again. She’d never trust anyone ever again. She remembered the event, the event that changed their lives forever, the event that would land her here, and her loved ones locked up in the cage. She didn’t kill them as they said she had. She had been set up. They weren’t even dead, she was sure of it. She tried to get up off of the bed even though she knew it was pointless. She had been restrained again, or possibly still, she couldn’t be sure. 

She remembered where they were, and they might still be alive. “Help me!” she shouted sounding strange to herself, a stranger’s voice escaping from her mouth. She didn’t care what she sounded like, only that they heard her as she continued; “You have to help me help them, please!” She tried to move, but the bed wouldn’t budge.

He entered the room and her blood ran cold. She remembered his face, his rat-like features. He had come into their lives, invited and unwelcome, pure evil. He had done this. She knew that now, she remembered it now, but she was sure she wouldn’t remember it long enough to get the help she needed. It was never long enough, she knew as she cried. She remembered how he had attacked them at the beach house, a place that they had bought to bring them peace and relaxation. They had offered him money, but he wasn’t interested in material things. He loved suffering. He wanted to make them suffer, and he wanted to watch them. They couldn’t have imagined how much suffering he had in mind of all three of them.

 He approached her with confidence, swift and bold movements like a rock star walking out on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans. He leaned over her and she smelled the alcohol and cigarettes on his rancid breath. He removed the orange from her bedside table, and put it in his overcoat, the orange that he had placed there. He did this on purpose; he wanted her to remember, just so that he could make her forget. She didn’t realize that she was still screaming for help until her throat started burning as if it was bleeding from the inside, she felt like she was.

The nurse ran into the room looking at her in panic, and then visibly deflated in front of her either with relief or frustration, or possibly both. “Not this again,” the chubby nurse said with a grunt. She saw that the nurse had a bruised eye and she wondered if she had done that to her. The man looked at the nurse and nodded his head, adding, “Yes, these attacks are becoming more frequent, Nurse Barbara.” He looked at the patient, a small smile appearing across his face as the nurse pulled a syringe from her pocket as she was fighting against her restraints still screaming. He loved this. It made him feel alive. Later he would share this story with Mike and Mia and he’ll enjoy watching them weep.

He was her puppet master, in full control of her memories, her past, her. He was a sick fuck, that’s what made him so terrifying. He watched her with obvious delight as the nurse injected her. The yellow liquid burned as it entered her flesh. She was struggling against it, but then realized was too late yet again. They walked out of the room together, not looking back. She could hear them talking and laughing outside her door as they walked down the hallway.

She smelled a light aroma. She didn’t know why, but she liked it. She smiled and dosed off her eyes suddenly heavy. She had no idea why she was so tired.