Unsettled Magic

Chapter 4 - Torture

        Even though the reminder of Uncle Xander’s behavior and subsequent death made me second guess my decision to bolt out the door, I had to actively work to suppress the opposing gut-feeling I was having.  I sat back in the chair as the nurse turned to puncture my skin with the needle.  The ooze of the medication slowly inched its way toward my arm, its slow progression heightened my anxiety. I knew what kind of side effects I was about the experience. 

        Just watching the medication push its way through the IV tube brought back bad memories.  I couldn’t help it; a small whimper escaped my lips.  Going through this experience always brought up a sense of post-traumatic stress disorder.  Every past treatment came flooding back and my panic was set on overload. 

        Sometimes, Rowan tells me she couldn’t remember any of it, like her mind erased the trauma to protect itself.  The only thing she can recall is the feeling of having just been through a harrowing ordeal.  I found myself jealous of her at times.  Then again, she also said that when she did remember, it made the sensations that much worse.  At least I knew what was about to happen. 

        The instant the medication for phase one hit my skin, a searing pain was matched with a creeping chill.  To feel something equivalent to brain freeze on other parts of your body is much worse that anyone could possibly imagine.  I could feel the medication spreading as it worked its way through my system, each nerve ending was individually searing in pain once the medication reached its target. 

        At first, the coldness and pain stayed localized.  Only spreading after every inch of my hand and arm had been covered in its grasp.  I was already squirming in my chair from the torture I was enduring.  Nurse Moody stayed in the room but there wasn’t much else she could do.  She was only allowed to restrain me if I got violent.  

        Approaching a person in this state was already dangerous. Until it was time, she kept herself pressed to the wall.  There wasn’t space anywhere else.  She would have to move quickly when it was time to administer the second dose.  There was only a small window of opportunity where she could apply it safely.  

        These rooms were supposed to be sound proofed, but I could easily hear screams of torment through the walls.  Pulling my free arm out of my shirt sleeve, I stuffed as much as I could in my mouth while I still had any remaining will to move.  The last time I forgot to do that, I bit my tongue.  Choking on my own blood was the last thing I needed during treatment.  I found myself arching my back in the chair, my body spasmed involuntarily in reaction to the expanding agony.

        The body-freeze spread across my torso with painstaking slowness.  I felt like a tiny frozen monster with razor sharp, icicle teeth was tearing away at my flesh.  When this was over, I would have to check if I were bleeding anywhere.  At the moment though, I wasn’t convinced this would ever be over. A sense of time was non-existent when your own body was annihilating you from the inside out.

        My heart started racing and the tiny frozen monster began gnawing at a rapid pace.  The speed in which my heart was beating had me concerned it would sever itself from the rest of my chest.  Surely, the stress of this situation would kill someone someday.  In fact, I was certain I would be the first case of death by exploding heart.  Each rapid beat of my heart spread the medication back through my veins again, making the pain push my boundaries.

        This was seriously no way to live.  Once the distress my heart was in seemed more manageable, I finally noticed my lungs constricting. I was having a hard time catching my breath and each ragged gasp I took in was like aspirating hot cooking oil.  The air was suffocating and thick and any exhale came out as aggressive panting. Even though I was gasping, I was still feeling the effects of suffocation. 

        The spread itself took two savage paths from there.  Its progression continued onto my other side, mimicking what I had just experienced. Simultaneously, it descended south past my stomach and through my core.  My stomach muscles were tensing hard enough to cut diamonds, further defining my athletic physique.  The spot between my legs throbbed painfully, not offering a hint of mercy. 

        The tears I somehow managed to hold back till now, burst forward and soaked my neck and shirt.  My suffering was relentless with no end in sight.  The onslaught of my torment continued as the medication swept through my legs and feet.  My body quickly began reacting as if it were one giant charley-horse.  Flailing from the pain had finally stopped, but now, I’d give anything to move again.  To be frozen as one giant muscle cramp seemed like a mockery of my pain up to now.

        I tried to look at my nurse, begging her with my eyes to offer me relief.  Either pain medicine or death would work, I wasn’t picky at this point.  I knew it would only get worse from here.  The feeling of dread crashed through me when I realized she was prepping the syringe for the second part of the treatment. 

        Soon the iciness my body had been subjected to morphed into a fire.  The once chilled tearing I felt began transforming to the sensation of being skinned and dismembered alive.  Though I haven’t experienced either phenomenon before, nobody could convince me otherwise that this is what it felt like.  Each muscle, each vein and tendon, even my bones screamed in agony.  All nerve endings in my body were being severed and reconnected to only one feeling: anguish. 

        The sleeve in my mouth did little to muffle the wailing that escaped my throat.  I wasn’t sure when my screaming had started but the coarseness in my throat felt like I had been vocal the entire time.  It could have been minutes; it could have been hours.  One thing I knew was that this treatment was an unforgiving one.  If it were a person, it would be mocking me. 

        The only insignificant comfort I was given was the promise of the pain moving on through my body.  At least if it was not stuck in one place, that meant I was closer to being done.  The pain of my limbs mimicking a dismemberment was nothing compared to the direction the medication took next. 

        Nurse Moody stepped forward while I was in my rigid state and used the same IV line to push the second dose.  I barely registered her presence or movement as she triggered the start of phase two before discreetly slipping out the door.   Screaming was not even an option anymore.  My lungs held hostage any air I could muster.  My mouth was locked open and my head was thrown back at an awkward angle.  This was the only indication of what my body was currently going through.    

        Phase two of my treatment came when the medication made its way to my head.  My body remained stiff as the brain seemed to disconnect itself from all function, petrified in the perpetual silent scream.  This was the part I hated the most.  It wasn’t the pain, the inability to control my body, or the indecency of the way the twisting in my chair made my clothes bunch up, exposing my skin to the nurse. 

        It was the complete numbness that came with realizing the thing that had a hold of your mind was wiping away part of yourself.  For most it was the personality.  For me, what it had taken away was much less clear.  The only thing I could pinpoint was that when it was done, I could sense a gaping hole within myself.

        I often didn’t remember most of phase two.  In some ways, this made phase two so much scarier. At least, with phase one I could anticipate what was happening.  I could never anticipate what I might lose in phase two.  The only thing I knew for certain, was that I was almost always crying when I came to.

        When I could focus, I understood the reasoning as well as the consequences of not putting myself through this torture.  The medication was scourging the rogue tendencies that built up over the course of the month from my body and the grip those tendencies took on my mind.  Even if I couldn’t identify those tendencies, I knew they were there.

        Right now, all I could think about is how each time I went through this process, the medication was my enemy, and I was losing a significant battle.  It was trying to chisel out a piece of what made me who I was. Reasoning and logic did not make sense when I was in the thick of my treatment.

        Hadn’t I lost enough already?  I never got to meet my wolf.  I will never get to meet my mate.  I’ll never get the heightened senses that my species was known for.  I will never know what being a werewolf is genuinely like.  And any future that I may have, I will always know that my friend and family are suffering the same fate or worse. 

        If the council makes me enter the MCP, I will end up with children and would have to hold them down and force them down in this stupid chair, watching as they suffer the same fate I do.  More tears managed to streak down my cheek at this thought.  I didn’t want to bring someone into this world, just to put them through what I have to go through every day.  

        The daily oppression was bad enough but to make a child suffer through something like this was simply inhumane.  The last thought I had before the haze started to cloud my mind was of my determination not to let that happen.  I would go rogue before I knowingly put someone else through this.  The pain tugged at my mind, causing me to lose focus as it dragged me into my subconscious.