[RF] Six Weeks in the Psychiatrist Hospital
She stirs and feels the haze and heaviness lifting. Abby is awake now, but you wouldn’t know it.
She purposely keeps her breathing deep and steady, her eyes closed. She can tell that the room is bright, stark. She listens, trying to see if she is alone, trying to sense if anyone else is in the room.
Her mind begins to clear and she gently moves each arm. There they are—thick, heavy, archaic leather cuffs, clipped to matching restraints looped tightly around the bed rails.
They're clipped with heavy chrome double-ended spring clips. No locks; if you can’t touch the clips, you cannot unbuckle them.
They learned early not to let her put her hands close to each other.
Those two will never forget that lesson.
The institutional sheets are clean, but rough against her skin.
She opens her eyes. The same room. Bright overhead lights. Everything is white—bright, fresh snow white. Almost blinding for freshly opened eyes.
There in the corner, near the ceiling: the ever-present camera. The red light blinks slowly mocking her. Letting her know that even when she is alone in the room, she is never truly alone.
She shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable. But she knows—the moment the camera registers her wakefulness, she won’t be alone for long.
Padded, heavy steps coming down the hall. The jingle of keys. The lock opening.
Two men come in. Those two men. They must have rotated onto the day shift.
Cheery, overly enthusiastic voices—a performance for the camera only.
Abby knows the darkness of these two men. Honestly, most men throughout her 34 years.
"Good morning, sunshine! Ready to get up and greet the day? You have counseling this morning after breakfast!"
She can perform as well. "Morning. I’m ready. I look forward to the sessions with the doctor."
They flank her bed, each reaching for a cuff. Each man watching her face for signs.
But today is a good day. Her face is feminine, eyes relaxed, body language calm.
But these two always hesitate and check with each other first. Then the cuffs come off.
Each takes a step back, just in case they misread her.
One walks and stands with his back to the door. The other stands in the far corner.
They allow her to do her morning routine. In the bathroom: relieve herself, clean up, brush her hair and teeth.
She’s allowed these few minutes of privacy. Which is not always the case when these two are working together. But it’s the day shift, and they know the rules are different than the night shift.
They escort her down the hall. She sizes them up again.
Neither is particularly physically imposing.
One may be six feet, the other slightly less. Both a little heavy for their frame, not from the gym, but from years of being inactive.
They don’t quite tower over Abby at 5’3 and 138 pounds. But they know not to let their guard down.
They leave her in the common room to go have breakfast and begin another torturously boring day.
They watch her walk away, eyes hungry with the knowledge that night shift comes soon enough.
Abby is playing cards in the day room with a couple of other patients.
Two orderlies come to get her for this morning's counseling session. She likes these two women.
One, a 40-ish woman with darker hair, cut to the shoulders. The other, a blonde woman with long hair, always kept in a ponytail at work.
Both are no-nonsense but are polite and kind unless you are being difficult.
They walk Abby to the office wing, unlocking and relocking doors as they pass, keeping up a light banter as they walk.
They always try to include Abby if she is in a sharing mood. Today she is, sharing personal details about her family and her life outside these walls.
They walk her into Dr. Wall's office. A sparse but warmer room than the residential bedrooms. Dr. Wall stands as they enter the office, greets them, and thanks them for bringing Abby down.
Dr. Wall is a smaller woman, maybe five feet tall with a trim, boyish body. Close hair combed to the side with closely cropped sides. Piercing silver-blue eyes.
Dr. Wall greets Abby and offers her a seat. She always seems genuinely pleased to see Abby.
In the brief time it took Abby to walk in and Dr. Wall to dismiss the orderlies, she could tell that Abby was happy, as happy as a patient can be here.
She noted her relaxed, feminine face, relaxed jawline with almost a smile on her face. Her body language and general disposition were calm.
Abby selects the loveseat facing the desk, takes off her sandals and sits.
She tucks her feet together under her and adjusts her skirt. Patients are allowed to bring their own clothes, with a few rules. No hoodies, drawstrings, shoelaces. And modest clothes only.
Dr. Wall takes all this in as she looks at Abby’s file on her computer. “I see you are settling in pretty well. You’ve been here six weeks already. And it looks like you are eating well and taking your meds without any issues. How are you feeling today?”
“Does it tell you how many times I pee every day?” Abby’s awkward attempt at a joke.
“No, but I can find out if you are interested,” Dr. Wall quips back.
It allows them both to relax a little more.
“I can tell you are in a good mood today. Are you up to digging into some of the more serious issues we’ve touched on in our sessions?”
“Sure, why not? I really want to learn how to be a better person. Control my anger and slow down my drinking.
There is just so much pressure when I’m at home or work. By the time I get home, I’m ready for a beer.”
“In our previous sessions, you seem to always be candid and honest. And that helps both you and me. I want to give you the tools to be that better person you want to be. But there is always one subject that you pretty quickly shut me down about.”
“I feel like I always answer your questions, and don’t hold back.”
“What about when we try to talk about Michael?”
Despite Abby trying to be cool, Dr. Wall can see the almost instant change.
Abby’s body tenses up. She straightens her back, trying to look larger. Her face tightens up and stays there.
“There isn’t anything to tell. He’s a friend I’ve had since I was eight. He is always positive with me. He comforts me when I’m at my lowest and physically protects me as best as he can.
He’s protected me from more situations than I can remember and is always there to calm me down. I don’t know why you are so adamant about bringing him down.”
“You’ve known him since you were eight, right? And that was in Houston. Then you moved to Louisiana and he was there? And then he followed you to East Texas, Caldwell, and now he’s here?”
“You make it sound like it’s bad having a true friend. He’s never done anything inappropriate to me. Quite the opposite.”
“You know that part of our treatment is talking to people you associate with? And none of them have ever even heard you mention a Michael.”
Abby is suspicious and visibly upset. Silent tears streak down her face.
“I need you to realize that there is no Michael. He’s just someone you’ve made up.”
“That’s not true! I can list dozens of times he has helped me when I was in real physical danger!”
“Can you give me any solid details of the times he’s helped you?”
The first flicker of doubt crosses Abby’s face. She is crying a steady stream of tears. But she won’t sob. She’ll never show that much weakness.
“You know I drink, right? I was blackout drunk and don’t remember the exact details!”
“Were you drunk when you were nine? Ten? Twelve?”
Abby’s face is a mixture of confusion and doubt. Suddenly, she sits up. The tears have stopped. She swings her feet to the floor and spreads them shoulder-width apart.
Leaning down and resting her elbows on her knees, face to the floor. Dr. Wall thinks she is trying to compose herself. To come to terms with the truth. She waits.
Abby gives a deep sigh and slowly lifts her head to face the doctor.
Dr. Wall is visibly shocked and frightened at the transformation.
She sits up straight, back against her chair, and her hand instinctively reaches for the panic button under the desktop.
Abby’s whole demeanor has changed from just 45 seconds ago. She takes a deep breath, high in her chest, causing her shoulders to broaden and her presence to loom over the room.
The calm blue eyes are dark and hooded. Her jaw is clenched tight, pulling the corners of her mouth into a scowl.
Looking Dr. Wall straight in the eyes.
In a deeper voice, almost accusingly, Michael asks, “Are you even trying to help Abby? Or is it just your own curiosity driving this crap about me?”
“Of course I’m trying to help you…”
“NOT ME!! Abby! Are you trying to help Abby?”
Michael spits it out like a challenge. Not a shout, but more of a steady, loud statement that frightens Dr. Wall more than a yell would. She panics and pushes the button.
Two male orderlies come in, but Dr. Wall stops them at the door with a palm up.
Michael glances back and scoffs. “They aren’t going to be any help.”
“If you are trying to help, where were you when she was eight years old and living in the Fifth Ward of Houston?
When her aunt sent her into a drug house with thirty dollars to buy meth, knowing full well that she needed sixty dollars. Knowing—KNOWING—what those men would do to a pretty little white girl with blonde hair. I was there!
I stepped in and took the punishment so Abby would not have to. That wasn’t the first or last time.
Every man, except her grandfather, has abused her or broken her.
And almost every woman has done the same.”
He glares at her, steady and unwavering.
“Help her with everything else. But leave me alone.”