ONE
The sun dipsbelow the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows that creep like ghostly fingers inside our cozy living room. Nan is nestled in her favorite armchair, her frail form a stark contrast to the vibrant woman she once was.
I’ve just finished preparing dinner, trying to keep some semblance of normalcy amid my mounting worry for her. My gaze wanders to her, and she gives me a soft smile, but the tightness around her eyes betrays her pain.
Maybe I should call her doctor again. The pain medications don’t seem to be working as well as they used to.
As I set the table, a sharp knock at the door makes me jump.
Nan’s eyes dart toward the entrance, etched with concern. “Who could that be, Sloany?”
With a sinking feeling in my chest, I cautiously approach the door and peer through the peephole. Four men stand on the doorstep—two are dressed in all white, and the other two are police officers with stern demeanors. Unease coils within me as I reluctantly open the door, sensing that something is very fucking wrong.
“Can I help you?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest to hide my trembling hands.
One of the men in white steps forward, his face blank with unsettling detachment. “We’re here for your own well-being, Miss Wilson. We would like you to come with us.”
My heart quickens its pace, and my eyes widen in dread. “What? What do you mean?”
One of the police officers steps up beside him. “We have a court order for your admission to a mental institution.”
What are they even talking about?
My eyes drift past them to the driveway, where a police car is parked. Next to it is an all-white vehicle that resembles a paramedic truck, but it’s emblazoned withGolden State Mental Health Institutein green letters.
Desperation surges through me, and I feel the world closing in. “No! No, that’s bullshit. Nan!” I whirl around to see my grandmother struggling to rise from her chair.
I just want to get over to her, but the police officer grabs my wrist with way too much force and pulls me back. “You can come with us voluntarily, or we’ll make you. But please, fight me. Give me a reason, crazy bitch.”
Crazy.
The word echoes in me, making a chill run down my spine. But not the usual one.
He pulls me with him a few steps, and tears well up in my eyes as I resist with all my might, fighting against the second officer who comes to help his partner while I scream for help. My panic fuels my strength, every muscle in my body strains, but they overpower me.
Out of nowhere, one of the men in white reveals a syringe.
No!
No, no, no.
“Stop, please!” I scream, tears starting to stream down my cheeks.
Despite my desperate pleas and struggle, the man in white swiftly plunges the needle into my arm.
“Mayor Thomson sends his regards,” whispers the first police officer in my ear, making me recoil from him.
Reality fades into a blurry haze as the drugs take effect. My last glimpse is of Nan, her eyes brimming with tears. Her voice quivers with a mix of anguish and determination. “Sloany, I’ll call our lawyers immediately. We’ll get you out, I promise.”
But darkness claims me, and I slip into unconsciousness.
Sitting at the bar,I take in the rough-and-tumble atmosphere. Everything seems shabby, and the noise is overwhelming. I’m already regretting the choice of bar, as the scent of cheap perfume in the air triggers the vivid memory. It’s the same overpowering spices mixed with a hint of chemical sharpness that the police officer wore the day I was admitted. That smell, both sweet and intrusive, had clung to my senses then, just like it’s doing now.
But sitting alone in my van isn’t an option. Not tonight.
I lean over the counter in search of the bartender, but the surface is sticky, and I quickly sit back on the stool, some of my long blonde hair still stuck to the surface. Grimacing, I pull the captured strands back, gathering my hair behind my shoulders to keep it away from anything else that might cling.
Ew.
