PROLOGUE
Courtney
Present
My existence was reduced to a strict routine: Wake up. Pills. Bland breakfast. Play cards in the common room with Marcy. More pills. Choke down lunch. Silently cry until sunset. Refuse dinner. More pills. Lights out.
Repeat.
I spent the morning like every other in a staring contest between the barren white walls and ominous metal tray beside my twin bed. Muted dawn glinted off a neat row of syringes. Today would be another painful one.
The new resident admitted last night released a screech, hammering an ice pick through my eye socket. I pushed my sweaty, silvery blond hair off my neck and grimaced. No matter what time of day, Florida summer managed to permeate even the most air-conditioned buildings. Sometimes I wished for heat stroke to take me, but that was impossible. Nothing could end me. My soul had fractured fifteen years ago.
A shiver crawled down my spine, raising goosebumps despite the oppressive heat. My eyes burned the longer I looked at my pale hands fisting the sheet draped over my legs. I used to pretend that if I didn’t see the needles, they weren't real- that none of it was real and I’d wake up in my dorm in his arms. Although lately, my visions taunted me more than the promise of agony in those syringes. Drug induced dreams drowned me in memories while visions infused me with a dreaded feeling.
Hope.
Clipped footsteps echoed in the hall outside my cage- four walls and a tiny rectangle window that was nailed shut.
I straightened my spine and forced an inhale of antiseptic tainted air, holding it in my lungs until they cramped. A shadow blocked the light beneath the door followed by the polite rap of a knuckle. I released a controlled exhale; the woman I’d become years ago stirred awake from the recesses of my ageless body, itching for a fight.
“Good morning, Courtney.”
The man opening my door wore his pressed white coat with a smug smile as his gaze skimmed over my thin hospital shift, lingering on my lips before settling on my hands. He ignored the purple and yellow bruise blooming in the crook of my arm. He ignored the dried blood crusting my chewed nails. Above all, he ignored my bloodshot eyes reflecting violent hatred.
“I have something special to help with those fits.”
He chose to pretend they were psychotic episodes rather than admit what we both knew. Light taps on the window drew my attention away from the inevitable torment.
Another storm.
Sheets of rain battered the glass, twisting a knife in my heart. It always reminded me of what we did on a dark night long ago. Pepto Bismol pink scrubs blocked my view as Head Nurse Liz yanked the curtain closed and shot me a disgusted glare. Muttering under her breath, she marched by with the remote pointed at the decade old TV.
The opening credits of The Lion King started, Gary’s excited clapping drowning out Marcy’s complaints about wanting The Little Mermaid this week. I hugged my knees to my chest, my ass already numb from the thin foam cushions given to us to sit on like preschoolers. As the opening music floated out of the speakers, the edges of my vision grew hazy, my limbs stiffened, and my tongue fused to the roof of my mouth. A milky white fog thickened over my eyes, washing away the cartoon and sweeping me under.
Splotches of white and black and red mingled together in a blur while a shadow loomed in front of me. Could it be? Disbelief was a tangible entity, tying a noose around my neck as smears of paint bled together until the haze dissipated-
Shrieking greeted me as I blinked away the white film. Flickering lights from the TV danced on the ceiling, making me dizzy. Bile surged up my throat.
“Don’t touch her!” Marcy howled as hands clamped on my shoulders.
“Shut up,” snapped Nurse Liz.
It’d been years since I had a vision, and under the influence of heavy medication, nothing made sense.
Roughly, I was jerked a centimeter from Liz’s nose.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, breath reeking of stale popcorn and garlic.
Nausea, lingering fuzziness and a dull ache in the back of my head from the fall stirred together- it was a recipe for disaster. Vomit exploded from my mouth, spraying Liz's face. With a string of curses and a shove, I collapsed, all the while Gary compulsively clapped.
They locked me in my cell for twenty-four hours after that for observation. Years ago, they declared I was defective. But the resurgence of my curse meant that wasn't the case. My keeper didn’t want to acknowledge the truth- hell, I didn’t even believe it at first. As soon as their scrutiny lightened, I put it to the test and vomited up a dose of pills. Within an hour, I succumbed to another vision, but this time, the images sharpened to brutal clarity.
“Aren't you excited?” he crooned as he exchanged his tablet for a syringe. “You’re going to feel so much better.”
“Nothing you do helps me,” I hissed, voice hoarse from lack of use.
He clicked his tongue dismissively, lifting the syringe high and squinting in examination. A bead of fluid collected on the tip. With a satisfied hum, he turned to me, his fingers wrapping in a vice around my forearm. I sucked in a sharp breath as the metal pierced bruised flesh, finding a sore vein. The injection scorched like lighter fluid in my bloodstream, my teeth digging into my bottom lip until it bled.
