The stranger I knew

Camilla’s POV: “Tell us the truth Camilla,” The voice always returns every night Sometimes it’s mine. Sometimes it is my dad's. Sometimes it’s his. Kyle Andrews. “I am not an addict,” I whisper into the darkness. The words bounce off the grey walls and dissolve before they reach the ceiling. I want to scream, but it only comes out in a whisper. My thumbs tap frantically against my thighs. “I am not an addict, I am a ticking timebomb” I hear a woman laugh. Then a thousand other people all start laughing, they’re laughing…at me. Why are they laughing at me? I suddenly blink. Silence. My room is empty. If I lose control; One loose word One wrong tone One wrong look And they will keep me here for another extra thirty days prior to my release date It’s been 214 days, 16 hours and 42 minutes since I’ve been in this hellhole. Here, Silence has teeth. Sleep never really comes here, you just have to pretend. A girl screams. My eyes snap wide. I can hear heavy boots pounding on the metal floors. I hear voices, ”what happened?” Officer Trent. “She was eating her own skin,” said another officer whose voice I wasn’t familiar with. “Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Officer Trent. “Who? Rebecca?” “Nah, she ain’t that crazy” said the Officer. Loneliness makes you hungry to do bloody things. I am suddenly snapped out of my thoughts, thick fists bang against my metal door, I wonder how their hands haven’t sustained any bruises from the harsh knocking. “I am not an addict,” I chant for the last time before I begin my morning ritual. “ Perfect stillness,” I remind myself. I steady my breath, “1,2,3,” I chant I try to smooth down my hair with my hands I close my eyes and exhale “Show time” In this place, showing anger is seen as aggressiveness. Showing sadness is labeled as regression. I hate the creak of the metal door. I watch as several junkies leave their cell to join the line. I wonder if there are people like me, that were never addicts, that were brought here due to unfavorable circumstances. A shadow looms over my cell gate, I can tell it’s officer Trent. He doesn’t come inside my cell just yet, he watches me silently, waiting, hoping I will forget myself and slip up. He holds a clipboard in his hand and a pen in the other. Officer Trent clicks his pen twice when he wants to cause trouble. No click today, good. I hate the smug look he always gives me, his gaze always lingers. If we weren’t watched and guarded every second in this place, I know what he would have done to me. “Alright Thorne, lineup in two minutes,” he reminds me as he steps into the cell casually “Medication call, then group…understood?” “Understood,” I responded. I use my hands to push myself off the mattress, I straighten my hair once again. And repeat everything I did before. The door to my cell is already open and I see the others lining up. We all move like robots, people that have been hypnotized. Dull, hollow souls everywhere. I know everything about these people as if I were part of them. I think that’s what makes me want to go crazy . Mrs Klein is at the front, administering paper cups to each sufferer as they get to the front. “Open wide and swallow” she says in such a cold manner. No hint of emotion in her words. Years of saying the same words to a hundred women, every morning. I would sound like that too. When she reaches my turn, her eyes narrow, they always do. Mrs. Klein studies my eyes more than she does for the others, that dark, sunken look is not in my eyes, no matter how much I hate this place. I will never be one of them. I know she knows that. N Mrs Klein has a silver ring she always wears on her ring finger. Yet she has never mentioned a husband. Strange. I swallow and flicker my tongue up, down and to the side to show her that I have indeed ingested the Vitamins. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, bent it back and gleeted saliva across her wrinkled face. Maybe that will be enough proof that I’ve swallowed my vitamins I let out an exhale in hope, because I know I will finally see the light and be free from this coven. Soon. “Girl, where have you been?” asks Molly We finally reach the therapy parlour, a circle of metallic chairs patiently waiting for us to sit on them. I hate this part so much, I hate the questions. The screeching of chairs and the noises from junkies talking to themselves hurts my ears. Molly saved us a seat already, we walk towards it. Dr. Ezra steps into the room, fifteen minutes late as usual, rumour has it that he and one of the dispensing nurses are having an affair. I know it’s definitely not Mrs Klein, she’s too stiff and probably has nothing but her death, venomous stares to offer. “Good morning” says Dr. Ezra “Sorry for being late, I got caught up in a bit of traffic” Oh please I note that he came from the east wing. The entrance door is at the north wing. Molly and I exchange a knowing look. He’s been caught up in traffic for the past two weeks, maybe traffic wears red lipgloss. “Now, let’s discuss,” he began. There’s a knock on the door. One of the nurses from the east wing brings a pack of bottled water to share among us. Her and Dr. Ezra share a look. It doesn’t take up to a second, but I catch it. My mind blurs out everything he’s saying, until I hear my name. “Camilla…Camilla!” He repeats My eyes recovered from its haze and my vision cleared out, everyone was staring at me. I made a note to myself to stop zoning out in this place. “You’ve been oddly quiet since we began our morning session” his voice sounded so soft, a gentle, almost caring tone, it seemed to fool everyone but there was a hint of mock. No one seemed to catch that. “It hasn't been my turn to say anything, but I have been listening,” I replied in the calmest way possible. The group session was nothing like it was supposed to be. It was posed as therapy, where we all make ourselves comfortable and share our deepest darkest secrets, but it wasn’t that, I know it wasn’t. It was like sitting in the midst of a pack of wolves. No one cares about you here. “I don’t think so,” said Dr. Ezra, “doesn’t it seem like she is holding back from the group?” He gestured to everyone and most of them nodded blindly. A few lowered their heads to avoid the question. Anything to put someone else in the spotlight asides themselves. I feel the heat crawling up my neck. It’s a classic setup. He won’t see me c***k, I’m not trading anything for my freedom. If I become defensive he will “note” that I am not making much improvements, if I stay quiet he will say avoidance or emotional detachment. Bloody fool, he picked the wrong girl. “Okay Dr. Ezra, I will try to be more engaging and open up more next session.” I say as sweetly as possible. He smiles coyly. “Alright then.” he says, turning and fixing his gaze to the girl beside me, “Rebecca…why don’t we talk about your sudden outburst at dinner yesterday” And suddenly I let out a subtle breath I’ve been holding for so long, I’ve escaped this one. There’s silence as Rebecca talks passionately. They are all swallowing her performance. I fight the smile tugging at my lips. I wonder how long it would take for them to realize Rebecca’s tears are fake. Just like her whole identity. Just like her whole reason for being here.