“Where am I?” She shrieks as the hands around her arms tighten and her vision is patchy with spots of black and white. Abigail tries to move her arms but the hands keep her movement limited. Vision fading in and out she recognizes the grasp on her arms. She calms; just a little for him to loosen but not enough to let her go. “Damian, what happened?‘ The poor girl wails as she tugs at her arms, praying to be set free. “Let go of me!‘ She flails and kicks her legs up and down trying to break free from the grasp that has enchained her. “I don’t want this”

           The grip on the girl's wrist does not hinder as she goes back to flailing her arms around wildly to be released. She didn’t want this; she doesn’t know why she is entrapped like this. She did nothing to deserve this prison so why is she being held hostage by one of the few people that she loves that hasn’t left her. She didn’t want to hurt him, she didn’t want him gone. Yet she knew. She knew that she did something and she knows that something is wrong. 

           “What did I do?” Abigail asks, curious as to why she is trapped by her wrists. “I know I didn’t hurt anyone, I haven’t hurt anyone.” Damian’s face softens, proud that she knows why she is in here yet concern painted across his features as he grasps her arms tighter. “Damian? What did I do?” She asks again. Damian knows what she is doing. She’s always doing the same exact thing.

            He knows she doesn’t know what happened and he knows she isn’t always in control. He knows that she may be gaining an addition to her diagnosis. He knows that she isn’t the most sane person out there. Even those who aren’t sane can tell that she is worse than them. People who know her know that she isn’t in complete control. She never is, she never was, she never will be. She never was ‘sane’ to any extent.

              The doctors come in with a slip of paper and pills. Pills that no one ever takes because all they do is make people numb. The feeling of a loss of feelings tends to hurt more in the ward than ever before. In truth, the pills probably are the reason for all of the deaths. The pills probably don’t do anything to help but are still given with the news to every new diagnosis. Damian spares a look at the pills to know what comes next, acting as the parental figure to the poor girl. 

               She lost everything; everything she has is gone. Everything she ever had is gone. Her family, her friends and her only opportunity for a new life. All of that was taken away the moment they called the cops on the little girl sitting alone in the fire. She was chained; entrapped in the prison they sent her to as she wailed in the back of the prison car. The prison car that sent her to the ward. She hated everything. She hated the way that her life changed after getting trapped in the prison of the ward. She was gone internally. She wasn’t real anymore. The pills killed her. The pills killed everyone. 

               Coming back to her senses, Abigail blinks and sees Damian and quickly rushes to his side; closer than he had held her. “Damian, what’s going on?” She innocently asks. “I’m scared, there’s too many people; too much going on.” The overstimulation of all of the different changes hits her hard. The sounds, the bright lights, the bleach scent that lingers around. All leaving a ringing in her ears and white painting her vision. “It’s too bright; too loud.” She wails, terrified for her life. “I a-” her voice cuts off as she gasps and freezes. All of the stimulation has stressed her and she cannot bear to talk anymore. 

           All movement of the young girl ceases as she has a blank stare into space; not being there in the moment. She cannot feel, cannot hear, cannot see. She is zoned out but aware— overly aware. She is out of it but focused on it. 

            It was scary - she was scared and in her mind, all alone. She had lost Angelica and she’s losing herself; her sanity. “I trust you and you alone. You have friends. You have happiness. You won’t notice when I’m gone because you’re popular and what am I? You’ve said it; I’m a freak no? Words hurt you know. Your words included.”

          Damian looks at her confused. “I told that to my best friend. Before she died. Before I killed her. We had a fight and I never apologized. I don’t feel bad though. It was her fault.” She replies. He simply stares at her. They look around. She, they’re in the group therapy room. The nauseating rainbow floor and flickering lights give an attempt to be happy look. She didn’t like it. They leave the room, staring at the window into a garden like area. She wants to go outside. She wants to see the sun and feel with wind again. She wanted to be free, She never was free. She could never be free. She could never have the life she eternally dreamed of.

             Abigail’s room was just like all of the other rooms. Hardly personalized but easy to recognize whos room it is. The walls covered in the white pillow padding, the bed covered in the paper like sheets and blankets. Abigail was lucky she was given things before her stay. Her pink teddy bear and music box placed on a shelf and closet holding pink dresses which she isn’t allowed to wear. She wishes she was allowed to wear it. She’s just required to wear their ‘prison uniform’. It’s itchy and uncomfortable for a little girl not knowing the reason she’s being forced into an outfit like such.