“If she gains even an ounce, increase the enema and emetic purge to twice a week. Although, I doubt that’ll be the case.” Suseas finishes scribbling as the orderlies nod in agreement.
The clipboard is handed to the orderly closest to the door, and he disappears. My entire body trembles from the cold air and wondering if he left so quickly to prepare my food.
“Now, onto more pressing matters. Your delusional disorder.” The psychotic woman tsk-tsks. “I’m a bit understaffed, but I want my best and most hardworking conformist on your case. Since your husband has a similar delusional disorder, we can do dual treatments to save time and resources. I’m thinking electroshock therapy, the isolation tank, and the bloodletting treatment should do nicely. But your conformist may adjust strategies based on your needs.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to fucking travel. If it’s adrenaline, I’m good to go. Adrenaline marches through my veins and chants a war song. I am not sticking around to survive the full presidential asylum experience. No. Hell no. Goodbye. Thank you. Happy holidays.
“In fact, additional treatments to correct his enablement of your eating habits could have significant benefits to your recovery and your marriage.” Suseas taps her chin in thought.
Divorce. She better mean divorce.
“Have you been pleasing your husband daily, dear?” she asks.
“I—I don’t recall.”
“Ah. It can be an easy trap to fall into…not performing your marital duties, but let me assure you, Miss Valdawell. Oral sex will do wonders for maintaining your physique.Andsemen has unforeseen nutritional value.”
God, you can take me right now.
She laughs. “I know, I know. What does this have to do with my treatment? Well, we recently started experimenting with a new marital exposure treatment called The Matrimony Method. Your husband pleases you sexually if you resist food. If not, you’ll be given a potent dose of wormwood concentrate. Those terrible stomach cramps will stop when you perform exceptional marital duties on your husband. It’s a full circle therapy that I have absolutely fallen in love with.”
I realize I’m staring at Suseas with bulging eyes and a gaping mouth. I shut them both to concentrate on traveling again.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I spit out.
Suseas does that condescending little head tilt again. “It’s not really up to you, is it?”
I slice into my own tongue with my two front teeth. I’ll be damned if I let my mouth run me into the ground again. I have to act this out just right. They value a submissive woman in this era. Quiet. Meek. Obedient. Polite.
All of the things that I am not.
But am I going to be smart or am I going to be stubborn?
“Whatever you think is best, Suseas. I trust your educated judgment.” I bow my head, noticing the shackles.
I couldn’t fight my way out of here, even if I wanted to.
“Delightful. Any other questions before your daily regimen begins, young lady?” Suseas asks, clasping her hands together.
I shake my head, then consider something I am dreading even bringing up. There is only one positive outcome to this. It’s a long shot.
“Who will my conformist be?” I ask.
Please, say Skylenna. Please, God.
“That would be me.”
The door opens, squeaking as I realize that voice is not my mother’s.
The woman in the doorway, arms crossed, much shorter than Suseas stares as me from her position of power. White pantyhose, protruding collarbones, a powdery face with a perfect smile. And I mean, a perfect smile. Her teeth look so white, so shiny, so straight—I could be convinced that she endured some kind of cosmetic procedure for them.
But that smile does not touch her eyes. Black as a starless sky. And nothing behind them. Dead, even. She hasn’t even blinked yet.
I’ve seen her photographs in the history books.
An oblong face shape. Narrow nose. Skinny eyebrows.
And that signature raven-black hair.
