It feels too warm, feels muggy in there. An unnatural sort of warm that melts into your body. But nonetheless, we all crowd together. 

"We can't let them mess with our brains again," Clara states. 

"You're absolutely right," Ishani remarks. "The last time then did that, we forgot everything. We forgot our history, who we were, what we wanted, what we needed. Never again."

"But what if we help each other remember again, just like we did before?" Brigely suggests. "Then we can undo the harm that they have done."

"That only worked last time because I had a dream about my brother," Maggie explains. "It won't work again if I don't have that dream. Which I probably won't."

"Well we have to do something to make it so that they can't destroy us again. We have to foil their plans." Nocta's voice carries notes of doubt.

"What if we pretend that we're all better?" Lavinia suggests. "What if we go tell the doctors that nothing's wrong and we can be spared from another procedure?"

"The doctors already think nothing is wrong," Avalon retorts, "They already think that we are healing perfectly fine. They want to do the procedure anyways." 

"We could ask them to please not do it maybe?" Ashlee's voice is doubtful."

"As if that would work," Aisha replies. 

"Guys," Bik calls to us.

"Yes?" 

"We were all willing to kill ourselves before. Let's just do it again."

We are silent for a long while, taking in her words, letting them sit inside us, digesting and interpreting them. Feeling the horrible promise that they hold. 

"That's a good idea," Brigely finally states into the silence. 

"But how are we going to do it?" Zeinab replies. 

"Well, I don't think they're restraining us this time," Clara responds. "We can just not take the pills to go to sleep and we can ram our heads into the needles."

"That's a great idea," I reply. And it is a great idea. Really great, but it's also a terrible idea. Really terrible. 

"Are we going to be able to sit through the pain?" Nocta asks, "The pain of the drilling before the needles are really hitting our brains?" We are silent again after this. She has a good point. Everything relies on us being brave enough, being strong enough. And I don't know if we are. 

"Well, we'll have to," Ashlee finally declares. 

We continue planning, one eye and one ear open for Lydia's approach, until she finally does come. 

"Get up girls. It's time for your appointments."

"Aww." We pretend to be disappointed. But we dry ourselves off and wear nice, new, freshly-cleaned clothes. And we walk to the large, well-furnished set of rooms the doctors see us in. 

I walk through the large intricately-carved ivory door and into the plush, softly-lit world of the doctor's office, that has a fake fire burning away beneath a large mantle. I sit on a soft sofa, trying to look unperturbed. And he sits on this sofa across from me, with a crowded crystal table in front of him. 

"Hello," I smile. I know that I'll be dead in a few hours. I know that all my friends will be. And the feeling chokes my throat and my mind. But I have to keep pushing myself forwards, pushing myself forwards. I have to go on. Right to the very end. 

"How are you feeling today?" He smiles, his voice smooth.

"I'm feeling great, actually," I lie through a shining grin. 

"And why are you feeling so great?"

"Well, it's so fun here. I have all my friends. I get to relax and I get to play. I get to go do stuff. I get to heal."

"And is this atmosphere more calm than the one you left?"

"I think ... I can't remember, actually. But it must be." I have to pretend to not remember. They expect me to not remember. 

"What do you remember?"

I pause for a long moment, pretending to be thinking. In that moment I look at the many furs and paintings and pretty little pieces decorating the room. The furs that lay spread on the grand, uneven tile floors. I listen to the song tinkling through the air. None of it calms me. It all just serves to put me more on edge than before. 

"I don't know," I finally say. "I just remember waking up in this lovely bed in the rehabilitation centre."

He types something down in the translucent keyboard that appears in the glass of his table, and to one side a floating strand of letters takes shape in the air, forming words, and then sentences. 

"Do you miss your past?" He asks me. 

"No, not at all." I keep my voice even, keep it jovial. As hard as that is. "It must have been one heck of a hard past in order to lead me here."

"Do you dislike it here?"

"No, of course not. But this is a place of healing, meaning I must have had something I needed to heal from."

"And do you feel like you are healing?" He pauses for a bit between the last two words. There is something hard and cold about his friendly words. Something menacing. But I don't let him know that I have noticed anything amiss.

"Yes, I do. I'm happier and happier each day. Each day seems brighter and and more exciting. Except for today of course."

"And what's wrong with today?"

"Oh nothing much. It's just that we're not doing anything. Just medical stuff." Today's the last day that I'll be alive. But I don't say that of course. Not to him. 

"And do you mind, the medical side of things?" There is something pushing in his words. 

"No, I don't. I recognize that it's necessary. It's just that it's not as fun."

"But it will help you have more fun in the future."

"I know. I know it will. But still. The future is the future. The present is today." I think about how I will have no future. And the thought screams through my blank mind. But still, the oblivion of nothingness is better than this crowded, hedonistic life. 

"And what about your friends? How do you relate to them?" 

"Oh we get along greatly. We do so many fun things."

"Do you feel like you relate to them because they're in the same position that you are in?" He keeps typing. 

"Maybe. But mostly it's that they're just teenaged girls, just like me. I have to make friends if I don't want to be alone." This whole place feels so oppressive and claustrophobic. 

"And do you not like being alone?"

"I'm fine with being alone, as long as I have something to do. But sometimes I guess you start to think, when you're alone."

"You start to think about what?"

"Oh, just, random stuff that doesn't even matter."

"And do you not enjoy thinking?"

"Anyone will tell you that it isn't that fun."

"How about your roommate? How well do you get along with her?"

"Maggie? She's awesome. We get along great."

"We're thinking of moving everyone into their own separate rooms. Then it will be less crowded. What do you think about that?"

"Oh, that'll be okay. I've always wanted a bit more space."

"That's fair. And how about Lydia? Do you trust her?"

"Of course I trust her. Why wouldn't I? She's like a parent to us."

"She is rather cheery, isn't she?"

"Yes, she's always so happy and that makes the rest of us happy too."

We keep talking, question after question after question. My mind is screaming blank. I don't even have time to process my emotions. Not before it all comes to an end. 

And I am left standing in the large hallway in front of the medical room. But at least I am not alone. I am more afraid than I have ever been in the entirety of my life. But at least I am not alone. All my friends are out here standing with me. 

Every girl instinctively draws closer. And then we all hug. We say no words, because words are too dangerous, right here and right now. But we feel each other's warmth. We feel each other's heartbeats. We feel each other's lives as we stand there together, all flowing into each other silently. 

We break the hug just as we hear footsteps in the hall. 

It's Lydia. 

"Hi girls." 

"Hi Lydia."

"Are you all ready?"

"Yes." And I have to be. I have to be ready right now. I push myself forwards. 

The doors to the medical room open, and there are no people inside. There are only rows and rows of soft-looking hospital beds and a variety of sophisticated, sharp-looking tools arranged all about. Beside each bed is a little tray held up by metal rods. In each tray is a glass of water and two pills. 

"You girls can go find whichever bed suits you," Lydia starts explaining, "and take both pills. The small pill is for the pain and the large one will knock you out. Be ready before the doctors come." 

"Alright Lydia."

We are left alone again within the room. 

"This is a jackpot! Zeinab exclaims. 

"It is," Cara agrees. "We can only take the pain pill and stay conscious through the whole thing."

"I love you guys," Valentina tells us. "Good bye."

We all say our goodbyes to each other and our I-love-yous. Most of us start crying. We dry our tears and gulp down our pills, hiding the other ones in our clothes. 

I feel overwhelmed and numb both at the same time. The world feels all-too-real and not real at all, both at the same time. I don't know how I am going to make myself do this. But I know that I am going to make myself do this. I have to. I have to. 

Because even if I don't die, the only people who have ever understood me in my life will be dead. And I can't live with that. Even if I don't die, all the world around me will be a cage. And I can't live with that, either. 

I hear steps echoing through the room. I keep my eyes closed. Not letting any expression show on my calmed, blank face. There is talking all around me. Cool, clear, methodical voices that send shivers through my spine. I hear some tapping and clicking noises and then the whirring drill is there, cutting through my skull. 

It feels so weird. It doesn't hurt. Not at all. But it feels so deeply wrong. And it feels so deeply wrong to be dying without pain. Death should include pain. Death should be terrible and magnificent and altogether completely overwhelming. And mentally, mentally it is all that. But not physically. 

I don't know how much time has passed. Maybe a second. Maybe a minute. Maybe an hour. But eventually the drill does get all the way through my skull. I can tell because the spinning motion stops. And now, instead of feeling hot, it feels slightly cool. 

Now is my moment. 

Fear crashes into me like a huge, lightning-fast truck. I am overwhelmed by the sheer terror, the sheer terror, the sheer terror that envelops all my thoughts. It's as if my body is screaming at me not to die. 

But I cannot listen to my body. Not now. Not here. Not like this. I know I have to push myself on. So I scream internally. I scream louder, braver, more powerful than all of the fear. And through the screams echoing through my mind I jerk my head to the side, almost not thinking. 

I don't feel pain, even still. Part of me wishes I could feel pain, part of me doesn't. It just all feels so hot and so cold both at the same time, as I am quickly fading away, fading away. Fading away into the nothingness and the everythingness from which I was born.

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