× Dixie ×
This isolation room is a nightmare. It reeks of new materials, that awful almost-sterile smell that makes my stomach turn and churn.
The walls around me are padded, like I’m some kind of dangerous lunatic who might hurt myself if given the chance. Even the doors are padded, so thick that I could scream my lungs out and no one would hear me.
I keep pacing back and forth, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles turn white. This place is a prison, very plain and simple. And I feel the anger boiling inside me, it's the only thing that can happen to me, given my state of helplessness.
How dare Trix? How dare any of them think they can just lock me up like this? Like I’m some kind of criminal instead of a human with rights.
But then, no, I'm not. I'm some random b*tch sucked in
