His Perfect Patient

CHAPTER 2 - The Lie

I didn’t sleep.

I couldn’t.

The scream from last night still echoed in my head, looping over and over like it had carved itself into my brain.

It wasn’t just fear.

It was recognition.

Whoever that was… they sounded sane.

Too sane.

I sat on the cold floor, knees pulled tightly to my chest, staring at the tray in front of me like it might suddenly explain everything.

“You are not sick.”

My fingers traced the words again, slower this time, like they might disappear if I moved too fast.

Who wrote it?

When?

And why me?

A shaky breath left my lips as something unfamiliar shifted in my chest.

Hope.

Small. Fragile. Dangerous.

Because if that message was true…

Then everything else was a lie.

My grip tightened slightly against the metal tray.

How many lies had they told me already?

How many had I believed?

My head snapped up as footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.

I froze instantly, every muscle in my body going still.

Listening.

Heavy. Slow. Controlled.

Not rushed like yesterday.

Whoever was out there… they weren’t in a hurry.

They knew exactly where they were going.

My heartbeat picked up, loud and uneven, filling the silence around me.

The footsteps stopped right outside my door.

Silence.

The kind that stretched too long.

The kind that made your thoughts louder.

My throat went dry.

Don’t move.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t make a sound.

Then—

A click.

Not the tray slot.

The door.

My breath caught sharply in my throat as the handle turned slightly… then stopped.

Like whoever was on the other side changed their mind.

Or was listening.

Waiting.

The silence pressed in harder.

My eyes flicked toward the corners of the room, my chest tightening.

What if they were watching?

Not through the door.

Not through the slot.

But somewhere else.

My gaze slowly lifted, scanning the walls. The ceiling. Every crack. Every shadow.

A camera.

Hidden.

Watching.

A shiver ran down my spine.

I suddenly felt exposed.

Like every breath I took… wasn’t mine anymore.

Then—

The footsteps resumed.

And just like that… they were gone.

I exhaled shakily, my entire body trembling now that the moment had passed.

What was that?

That had never happened before.

Never.

Something was changing.

I could feel it.

My gaze slowly drifted back to the wall.

Sixty-seven days.

But as I stared at the number, something felt… wrong.

Off.

I frowned, pushing myself up and moving closer, my bare feet cold against the floor.

My fingers hovered over the marks.

I started counting.

One by one.

Carefully.

Slowly.

Like if I rushed, I’d get it wrong.

My breath grew uneven with each line I traced.

“…sixty-three?”

I froze.

Then counted again.

And again.

And again.

Sixty-three.

Not sixty-seven.

Four days.

Four days were missing.

My heart started racing, panic clawing its way up my throat.

“No… no, that’s not—”

I stopped mid-sentence.

Something flickered.

A memory.

Blurred. Distant. Slipping through my fingers the moment I tried to hold onto it.

Hands.

Too many hands.

Holding me down.

Voices.

Muffled. Overlapping.

And then—

Clear.

Cold.

“Increase the dosage.”

My stomach dropped.

The room suddenly felt too small. Too tight. Like the walls were closing in, inch by inch.

My fingers curled into fists as my breathing turned shallow.

“They’re lying…” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“They’ve been lying to me.”

Not just about the days.

About everything.

My nails dug into my palms as something inside me snapped into place.

Clear.

Sharp.

Terrifying.

I wasn’t losing my mind.

They were taking it from me.

Slowly.

Piece by piece.

And if I didn’t get out soon—

There wouldn’t be anything left to save.