“Severe depression, severe psychosis, aggressive tendencies related to dementia, and catatonia,” Dr. Van der Merwe explains.
“I have none of those.”
“I’m aware.”
My lips part. “Then why are you doing this?”
“Because Mr. Whitlock said so, and this is a relatively low-risk procedure.” He shrugs. “This could have all been avoided. You see, ECT is a treatment for patients who have not found adequate success with talking therapy and medication. It’s clear with your aggression, drug use, and compulsive tendencies, further treatment is required. Your grandfather and I agree that the risk of the treatment's side effects does not outweigh the risk of no treatment. Simply put, you threaten your safety and everyone else’s.”
He meticulously checks the stickers on my temples and forehead, then adds the attached cords. I try to track his movements as much as possible without moving my head, but he goes out of sight too quickly.
“You can’t do this,” I breathe, looking at the nurse, pleading for her to do something. But not once does she look my way. “You have to stop this.”
The nurse stations herself and her clipboard beside the blood pressure and heart rate monitor. Dr. Van der Merwe rolls backwardin his chair toward the machine she was playing around with earlier, and adjusts the dials according to the piece of paper beside him. “Consider this your first beneficial contribution to society. If this works on you, it’s further proof that there is no limit to medical advancement.”
My hands shake as I curl my fingers into a fist, thrashing around in a last-ditch effort. “No, no, no. I’ll be good, I swear. Please! I—I’ll stop. I won’t steal anymore. I won’t talk to Kohen anymore. I won’t do anything! Please—I promise.”
“It’s too late for any of that, Blaze.” He gives me an almost solemn look as his finger hovers over an orange button. “This should only hurt for a moment.”
Bright white pain surges through me, and my mouth opens with a silent scream. My muscles contract as electricity rips through my veins.
Then, everything ceases to exist.
I tuck the pen back behind my ear as I stick to the shadows, moving toward the other side of school. My backpack is only a fraction heavier than it was before my trip to the girls’ dorms. Stealing isn’t for me, yet I can’t count how many times I’ve had to do it because of Blaze.
She wasn’t at dinner, and Charlie claims the last time she saw Blaze was when she lost her shit at me. Am I really so bad that she’d rather be in solitary?
Word on the street is that solitary is Blaze’s second home. She's the reigning champ for most stays in the shortest amount of time. Can’t say she doesn’t have any skills.
An access card gets me into the wing containing Dr. Van der Merwe’s office; from there, it isn’t hard to find the solitary rooms. They only have a skeleton crew of staff at this time of night, and themed wing never sees a soul except for the unfortunate ones locked in solitary.
The rooms are easy enough to find. They’re aptly hidden behind a set of doors where no one would be able to hear them screaming. Their usual trick is to lock people in their bedrooms as punishment, but solitary is reserved for the extra-problematic students—the ones who get into fights, hit the teachers, or were caught with drugs on them.
The students are still sent to class, but from what I hear, the issue is with the stillness of the room—and the fact that their only form of entertainment is schoolwork and writing lines.
There are six doors on either side of the hallway, and one down at the very end. All the lights are off, so I have to peer into the small glass to figure out which slice of hell she has all to herself. Once I spot the klepto in the only occupied room in the building, I hover the card over the reader.
She looks so peaceful like this, curled up on the bed, oblivious to the fact that I’m fixated on everything that she is. My eyes follow the harsh curve of her hips, to her waist, then over the rise of her shoulders.
Sometimes this is my favorite version of her. When she’s asleep like this, she can’t look at me with so much hatred or tell me all the reasons why I will never be enough for her. I can just look at her without waiting for her to point fingers at me or tell me to fuck off.
The latch beeps as it unlocks, and I help myself into the room. Shutting the door behind me, I catalog the single bed pushed against the wall, the toilet and basin in the other corner, and the table and stool that are fastened to the floor. The only source of light comes from the moonlight on the other side of the frosted windows, and Itake the moment to appreciate the sight of her up close.
Her back is to me, and her entire body is concealed beneath the thin sheet, but I would recognize her anywhere. The fact she isn’t snoring like she’s trying to wake the dead is enough of a sign that mini-Satan is awake. I’m more shocked than I care to admit that she hasn’t started screaming at me to get out or continue with her demands from earlier today.
I drop the backpack full of food and water by the door. “A padded door? How fitting for you.”
“Leave me alone,” she croaks without turning to face me.
“So you do like the solitary aspect of confinement?” I bite my tongue to stop from saying something worse. Just once it would be nice to have her happy to see me—or at leastsoundit.
Something heavy settles in my gut. This isn’t her usual reaction. She’s more likely to throw things at me or attempt to rip my esophagus out. But to ask me to leave so… tiredly?
I shorten the distance and pull her onto her back by her shoulder, making her whimper in the process.
The sight that greets me is worse than any tone she’s used on me and all the colorful ways she’s told me to fuck off. What the fuck happened? Her eyes are sunken, and there’s a pinch between her brows like she’s staving off a headache. She wraps her arms around her middle with a curl of her lip.
“What’s wrong?” I place my palm against her forehead and then her neck, checking for a fever she doesn’t have. Her skin isn’t clammy. She isn’t tensing her jaw or gnawing it, has no shivers, no ticks, or nose twitching, and her breathing doesn’t sound harsh.
