chapter 4
1221 Words
I was sitting there, trapped in my own empty space, when I felt the heavy, stifling weight of his hand land on my shoulder. I forced my eyelids open slowly, dreading the sight. It wasn't Yahya I saw. It was the Doctor, in that identical crisp white coat with that same cold, analytical gaze that felt like it was vivisecting my thoughts.
He tried to coax me back with a sweet word, a manufactured smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Beautiful," he began, his voice dropping to a velvety, faux-affectionate tone. "I never imagined it would be this beautiful. It suits you perfectly. Your hair color... it’s simply stunning."
He delivered his line with theatrical cheer, but the words hit me like physical blows, the supposed "sweetness" tasting of something acidic and sharp. I didn't hear his voice anymore; I didn't see his fabricated smile. I wasn't "here."
Those calculated words were the "gate" that slammed open, dragging me under and drowning me in the vast, unforgiving sea of my broken memories. It was the same laughter, the same ornate phrasing—but it was in a "different" voice. Yahya’s voice. “This madness... it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” “I’m captured by you.”
I drowned again. I drowned in the memory of the white hallways, the doors that only locked from the outside, the suffocating scent of cheap antiseptic and bleach that seemed to have its own physical presence. I was seeing myself in my mind, a ghost standing before the ominous entrance of the psychiatric clinic, looking up at it with a primal terror—the exact terror I had desperately tried to outrun for two years.
The doctor was still talking, and Zainab the nurse was standing beside him, but I couldn’t hear anything except the echo of my own voice promising Yahya, "See you tomorrow". Did that "tomorrow" ever exist? Or was I truly, undeniably, broken>>>
"I was drawn back into my memories
"What is this suffocating, wretched boredom?" I muttered to myself, the heavy silence of the room beginning to grate on my nerves like sandpaper on glass. The air felt stagnant, trapped within walls that seemed to lean in closer with every passing minute. Left with nothing but the chaotic swirl of my own restless thoughts and the intoxicating memory of my recent moves, I reached for my phone. I needed a witness. I needed someone to hear the brilliance of my design.
I dialed Nancy’s number, my fingers dancing across the screen with a frantic kind of energy. I waited for a few agonizing seconds, the rhythmic ringing in my ear feeling like a countdown. Finally, her voice came through—thick with the heavy fog of sleep and a sharp edge of irritation that she didn't bother to hide.
"Hello? What is it, Celine? Why on earth are you waking me up at this hour? Just let me sleep," she groaned, her voice trailing off into a muffled protest.
I ignored her grogginess entirely, my own voice erupting with a manic cheerfulness that felt like it could shatter the very windows of this room. "I have news for you that’s worth millions, Nancy! Absolute millions!". I could almost hear her shifting in her bed, the sound of her rubbing her eyes reaching me through the speaker. Her next yawn sounded forced, a theatrical display of indifference. "Don't test my curiosity," she grumbled, her voice slightly clearer now but still heavy. "Just tell me. I’m actually exhausted, and this better be good".
I leaned back, a smirk spreading across my face—a smile of pure, unadulterated victory. "There’s very little left for Yahya now," I whispered, savoring the words as if they were fine wine. "The mouse has finally, inevitably, entered the trap".
I began to detail my triumph, describing the look in his eyes when I handed him that book—that small, calculated token of my supposed 'affection'. I told her how he had just sent me a message, his words dripping with a vulnerability he couldn't hide. He was touched. He was moved. And most importantly, he was hooked. He wanted to confess something 'important' to me after tomorrow's lectures.
"He’s definitely going to tell me he loves me!" I exclaimed, my confidence radiating through the phone like a physical heat. "Goodness, he’s so painfully slow, Nancy. It was exhausting enough just to lure him into the center of my web, but the payoff... the payoff is going to be spectacular".
Nancy seemed to sit up then, the rustle of her sheets signaling her sudden interest. Her tone shifted, shedding its sleepiness for something far more familiar: cunning. "My God, Celine. You really are something else, aren't you? I’ll admit it now—I actually doubted your ability to catch someone as disciplined as him. I thought he’d see right through you".
Her words stung, a sudden flame of anger licking at my pride. I didn't like being doubted, especially not by her. I snapped back, my voice low and sharp, "Because of those words—because you dared to doubt me—I’m going to agree to do exactly what I wasn't willing to do before. I'll take this game to the very end. Just wait for my call tomorrow; I’ll let you know exactly where I am with him when he finally breaks".
Nancy let out a long, slow sigh of dark satisfaction, a sound that sent a chill down my spine even in my state of euphoria. "Bravo, Celine! Now that is the planning I expect from you. Stay as bold as I’ve always known you to be. Don't let him slip away".
I hung up, the silence of the room returning, but this time it felt different. It felt charged, like the air before a lightning strike. I stood there, drowning in the intoxication of my own hollow victory, imagining the look on Yahya’s face when I finally revealed the truth. I was a queen in a world of my own making, a predator who had never lost a trail.
And then... it happened.
A massive, violent crash echoed through the air. It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical force that seemed to tear the atmosphere apart. It was a sound powerful enough to violently rip me away from the memories I had been clinging to so desperately.
My heart didn't just race—it stopped. Terrified and gasping for air as if I had been submerged in ice water, I spun around. My eyes were wide, burning with a shock that paralyzed my limbs. The phone, Nancy, the university—it all began to dissolve like salt in rain. I looked beside me, my gaze fixed upon a reality that was screaming to be noticed, only to find my gaze fixed upon....
The sterile, white tray that had slammed onto the floor. The cold, unfeeling tiles of the clinic. The doctor standing over me with that look of analytical pity.
I wasn't in my room. I wasn't on the phone. I was a prisoner of my own mind, and the walls were finally screaming back.
؟
- Writer
