Lunatic’s Mate

4. Aria

Pain doesn’t belong in dreams, which is how I knew I was awake. My eyes fluttered open, and there she was—the woman from before. She smiled at me, but there was something in that smile I didn’t like. It made me feel small. Unworthy.

That smile reminded me too much of my ex-husband. He used to smile like that when I screwed up—smiling as if I was the one dragging us both into hell. I’d scramble to make things right, hoping this time it would be enough. It never was. I taught myself to fake my own emotions just to avoid being hit.

“You’ve been asleep for quite a while,” the nurse said softly, helping me sit up. “Your car is waiting.”

I let her guide me out of the hospital through a back entrance. There, an ambulance idled quietly. The nurse gestured toward it, and I climbed onto the stretcher inside. The cold vinyl pressed against my back as I stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

The doors creaked open, and an older woman climbed in, followed by a massive man who moved with quiet precision. Before I could react, they began strapping me down. Panic swelled in my chest, my breath hitching as the restraints tightened. The woman laid a hand on my shoulder, her voice unnervingly calm.

“This is just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

I would never hurt myself. But my words felt trapped inside me, swallowed by the suffocating fear. All I could think about was that old movie about an institution, where they used the woman’s vulnerability to take advantage of her. Was that going to happen to me? Would they do things to my body without my consent?

“I understand your concern,” I forced the words out, my voice trembling. “But I wouldn’t hurt anyone, and I’d never hurt myself. This… this isn’t necessary.”

The woman’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but she didn’t say anything at first. I stayed quiet too, worried that anything more might provoke her. When she finally spoke, her voice was too casual, as if we were talking about the weather.

“I heard you have a son. Is he with someone you trust? Someone who can take care of him?”

My breath caught. Lucky. I hadn’t thought about him—not until now. The very mention of him made my chest tighten. Something tugged at the edges of my mind, something important, but I couldn’t remember what it was.

The monitor beeped faster, and the woman’s demeanor shifted. “Miss, you need to calm down,” she said, her voice sharper. “I just asked if your son is okay.”

Her words spiraled through me, triggering my panic. I pulled at the restraints, trying to get free. But it was no use—the straps bit into my skin, and I winced from the pain. To make matters worse, the sharp cramps of my menstrual cycle surged through me. Desperate, I shifted my leg, hoping it would ease the pain.

The woman noticed and tried to pin my leg down. The monitor beeped erratically, and I snapped at her.

“I’m in menstrual pain! Leave me alone! It hurts too much if I can’t move my leg!”

We struggled for control, a back-and-forth tug that made the cramps even worse. Just as I felt the pressure of a clot releasing, the tears came. I sobbed from the pain, but she didn’t seem to care. All she saw was a woman out of control.

Her hand drifted toward my lower body, and for one horrifying second, I thought she might try to violate me.

The big man, who had been adjusting equipment in the corner, stepped in, his voice stern and commanding. “Check her chart. Not her body. Woman or not, she didn’t give consent.” He glanced my way. “Miss, are you sure you’re telling the truth?”

Crying, I whispered, “Why would I lie?”

Before anyone could respond, the ambulance hit a bump, making the whole vehicle shake. The woman let out an annoyed sigh but finally relented.

“She’s not lying,” the woman said begrudgingly, reading my chart. “Her body is in cycle.” She sighed again, clearly irritated. “Don’t worry. The people we’re taking you to will take good care of you. You’ll be safe.”

Her tone was so devoid of warmth that the words felt like an insult. My heart sank. The monitor beeped faster, but I was too exhausted to fight anymore. The man noticed my distress and tried to offer some comfort.

“She means well,” he said gently. “It’s been a long day for us. I’m sure everything will work out fine, and you might even get to go home after the 72-hour hold.”

The mention of 72 hours made my stomach drop. A hold? I realized I had no idea where they were taking me, and they hadn’t bothered to tell me. But I knew my rights. If they were government employees, they had to tell me where I was going.

I focused on the man, ignoring the woman. “Where are you taking me?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but the woman cut in, her voice dripping with mockery. “Beckett Springs. A nice hospital for people who have trouble keeping it together. You might even like it—maybe it’ll give you a reason to keep going.”

Her words stung, but I swallowed my pride and whispered, “Thank you.” Then I turned my head, refusing to look at her.

The ambulance slowed to a stop, and they wheeled me out on the stretcher. As the bed rolled into the lavish waiting area, the heavy doors behind me closed with a loud click, the lock engaging with finality.

A nurse at the front desk took charge, unstrapping me from the bed. Another nurse—this one a man with a kind smile—helped me sit up.

“You’re not going to hurt me, right?” he asked gently.

I shook my head, too tired to speak. His kindness was a small relief, but it didn’t ease the gnawing anxiety in my chest. As the two from the ambulance walked away, I overheard the woman mutter, “Some nut cases shouldn’t be let loose.”

The man beside me shook his head. He mumbled something in response, but by then the doors had closed, and I couldn’t hear what he said.

The absence of my glasses suddenly hit me, and panic rose again. I fumbled, trying to see clearly, but everything was a blur.

“Your things are here, Miss,” the nurse said softly. “Follow me. We need to get you registered—it’s late.”

We entered a small room, and the nurse began asking me questions—about my past, how I ended up here. As I spoke, his expression changed, softening with each painful detail I shared. When I finished, he scratched his beard thoughtfully, his eyes heavy with sympathy.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he murmured. “I’m sorry you’re here. I can tell you’re a good person, and I hope you’ll get to go home soon. I just want you to know—we’re not your enemies. You’re in a behavioral health hospital here in West Chester, and we’ll take care of you while you’re here and after you leave.”

He glanced at me kindly. “Now, Miss Meggy, we just need to take your fingerprints and photo for your profile.”

The whole process made my stomach churn. I knew I needed to get out of here. I needed to see my son. But first, I had to find out where he was.

“Can I call my mother?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. “She has my son—or at least, I think she does. No one’s told me anything, and I can’t remember what happened. I’ll behave, I swear—I just need to know how my son is.”

He nodded gently. “Of course. Let’s finish up, and then you can make the call.”

The nurse from the front desk returned to escort me through the maze-like halls. My cramps were getting worse, and I struggled to keep up.

We reached a waiting room, and my skin crawled at the sight of a small group of men who looked like they hadn’t showered in weeks. Their eyes lingered on me, predatory and unsettling.

“This room’s full,” the nurse muttered, sounding irritated. “Come on, we’ll head to the back.”

As we continued walking, I asked quietly, “Can I get a pad to change? I’m in my cycle.”

She waved me off. “When we get to your room.”

She swiped her badge at a door, and it opened to chaos. Two people were struggling to restrain a woman, her voice echoing through the hall.

“I am Luna Aria! You do not touch me!” she screamed, throwing an elbow at a nurse.

The nurse stumbled back as another man moved in with a needle. I watched, horrified, as he jabbed the syringe into her arm, and her struggling slowly ceased.