His Perfect Patient

Oh s**t. oh s**t. oh s**t. My eyes snapped open, chest rising and falling too fast, like the air in this room wasn’t enough to keep me alive. The ceiling stared back at me cracked, stained, and unfamiliar. Everything here was unfamiliar. I pushed myself up slowly, my gaze dragging across the room. If it could even be called that. A rusted pipe jutted out from the wall, barely holding up the thin mattress beneath me. The metal frame creaked with every movement, threatening to collapse at any second. The walls… I swallowed. They were covered in markings. Lines. Numbers. Scratches dug so deep into the surface they looked almost desperate. My markings. My fingers trembled as I reached out, tracing over them. “…sixty-seven.” The number slipped out of my lips like a confession. Sixty-seven days. That’s how long I’ve been trapped here. Sixty-seven days since they took me. Since they told me I was sick. Since they locked me away like I was something to be hidden. “I’m not crazy…” I whispered, but the words felt weak. Unconvincing. Like even I didn’t fully believe them anymore. That was the worst part. Not the cold. Not the silence. Not even the isolation. It was the doubt. They said it so many times that it started to sink in, slowly, like poison in my veins. Unstable. Delusional. Dangerous. My grip on the wall tightened. What if they were right? No. I shut my eyes, shaking my head hard. No. I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t broken. I forced myself to stand, legs weak as I stumbled toward the tiny window at the far end of the room. It was barely big enough to let in light, but I leaned against it anyway, desperate for something anything that felt real. Outside, the sky stretched endlessly blue. And there A bird. It soared freely, cutting through the air like it belonged there. “I wish I was you…” My voice came out faint, almost nonexistent. “At least you’re free.” Silence answered me. The kind of silence that made your thoughts louder. Too loud. I turned away, dragging my feet back toward the mattress, lowering myself onto it with a quiet exhale. My mind raced, faster and faster, thoughts colliding into each other. There has to be a way out. There has to be. Clank. I froze. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and metallic. Slowly, my head turned toward the door. A small slot at the bottom slid open, and a tray was pushed in roughly, scraping against the floor. Food. My food for the day. I stared at it without moving. Same time. Every day. Same routine. Same silence. My eyes flicked up to the door, then back to the tray. Something felt… off. I didn’t know what. But something wasn’t right. I crawled closer, hesitating before pulling the tray toward me. Bread. Watery soup. Nothing new. But as I lifted the bowl slightly, something caught my eye. A mark. Small. Messy. Almost invisible. Carved into the metal beneath it. My breath hitched. Three words. You. Are. Not. Sick. My heart started pounding violently against my chest. No. No, no, no Before I could think, before I could even breathe A scream tore through the walls. Loud. Raw. Terrified. My entire body went still. It didn’t stop. It just kept going. And for the first time since I got here… I wasn’t the only one.