{AVERY}
I don't know what's worse - the fact that the dressing gown provided by the nurse doesn't cover my entire body, or that the doctor who looks about sixty-five is humming Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as he reviews my medical file.
"My, my. You've been through a lot," Dr. Markel exclaims with a warm smile.
What the fuck. This man is far too bubbly for a staf member in this place.
"Yep," I answer, unsure what else to say.
He walks around to me, lifting my arm carefully. "And they did a skin graft for the burns, is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"And you also suffered a broken leg a few months ago, as well as a broken nose."
"Also correct."
He nods. "Interesting. And can I see the scar on your back?"
I turn around, the gown not covering my black underwear. He pokes my skin with his latex glove as I resist the urge to move away. The scar tissue is still tender, even though the injury was months ago now.
"And this was due to a beer bottle being smashed into your back which required surgery to remove the glass?"
"You continue to be correct," I snap, feeling like Johnny Depp on the stand, a highlight I followed to distract me from my everyday life before it burned down in flames.
Dr. Markel pulls off his gloves, tossing them into the trash can. "How is your chronic pain level on a daily basis?"
"It hurts most of the time."
"I see. Do you take any medication regularly?"
I shake my head, already sensing where this is going.
"Well, the chronic pain may or may not get better with time. It's also possible that it's exacerbated by your mental health. I'm going to make suggestions to Dr. Smith to look at placing you on some antidepressants or anxiety medications. In addition, I'll prescribe you a low dose of slow-release analgesia. It will help build up in your system to provide long-term relief while we
deal with the other issues. Are you on any birth control?"
I blink at him, my face sneering in disgust. "Why would I be on birth control?"
Dr. Markel looks at me confused. "You're a woman. Perhaps it's something you were interested in for protective or preventive purposes? Some women also take it to assist with their menstrual cycles."
I laugh sarcastically. "Dr. Markel, I assume you, like the other members of staff here, have read my file. Do you really think I had time to pursue romantic connections, let alone had insurance to cover the cost of birth control?"
"There are other avenues, but I see your point. Does your menstrual cycle give you any grief?"
"Besides the fact I bleed from my cunt? Not really. I cramp like every other unlucky girl."
Dr. Markel tenses up slightly, his forced smile dropping slightly. "And from your other injuries? Did they change your cycle in any way?"
I look away, not interested in reliving that experience by conversation or other means. Dr. Markel ignores my silence, looking at my medical notes. "You may not need them for preventive measures, but should you wish to look at options for menstrual management, it's covered under your stay here."
"Are we finished yet?"
I hate that this place wants to know every little dark secret about us. Some things need – no, deserve – to be left alone.
"Almost. How was your sleep last night? Most people struggle on their first night here."
I shrug. "The bed is uncomfortable and the person across the hall from me kept screaming in random intervals. But it was fine otherwise."
He nods. "We can prescribe melatonin if you have any issues sleeping. Let me know if you have any medical concerns at our next appointment." With almost perfect timing, there's a knock on the door behind me and I peer over my shoulder, spotting my escort. I don't wait for either of them to direct me, standing up and walking out of the room.
The guard quickly catches up to me as I head off down the corridor, his long legs matching my pace without effort. When we reach my room, I step inside, turning to look at him. The fact they make their guards look like SWAT members is hilarious — black full attire, chest plates and head gear. I don't think there's anything we could use as a weapon to strike their
heads, if we were insane enough to ignore the guns and tasers they carry.
"Someone will be back to collect you in two hours for class," he mutters, closing the door before I can respond.
I stare at the metal door for a few seconds before sitting down on the bed. My fingers stroke the bandage on my arm, curiosity almost getting the better of me. I hate looking at the burns, a constant reminder of the fire. It was my biggest regret and
most surprising triumph.
Laying back, I gaze at the ceiling, counting the tiny specks until the hours pass.
***
"You must be Avery," the teacher says when I walk into the classroom.
It's set up similar to a high school room, lines of individual tables and chairs running in rows. Almost every seat is already occupied as curious, hovering eyes focus on me. There's only about a dozen students, the numbers low, probably for the benefit
of the teacher.
"Yeah," I answer in a quiet voice, feeling uneasy as I'm watched by a room full of strangers.
The teacher, a woman in her mid-30s, points to a vacant desk near the front. "I'm Charmaine. You can sit there."
I make my way to the table, sliding into my seat. I can still feel eyes burning into the back of my head, but I ignore them.
"Since we have a new addition today, we are going to re-do our regular general knowledge test. It will give me an idea where you are all sitting in terms of your academic level. Avery, for your information, the classes here are specially designed to help you get your high school diploma since students who come to Lilydale generally haven't completed their basic education."
I hear curses and groans behind me, my new peers annoyed that my presence is forcing them to undergo a test. I sigh, resting my elbow on the desk and popping my chin in the palm of my hand.
Charmaine walks down the rows of students, handing out a bundle of paper. "You know the usual drill. You have two hours to complete the test. It will cover your knowledge in all general areas. If you finish early, please close the test and remain seated."
I twitch as I feel someone close by staring at me intently. I turn my head to the right, staring at the guy parallel to me. He shows no signs of discomfort at me having caught him watching.
My eyebrows furrow with uneasiness, my eyes meeting his dark gray orbs. Something catches my gaze and they drift lower, noticing a red scar on his neck — like someone slashed open his throat.
I quickly look back up, his lips breaking into a wide smile. His dark brown hair looks freshly cut and styled, making me suspicious. Surely we have access to things like haircuts and basic services, but the fact it looks like he has wax or gel in his hair confuses me, as does the black nail polish on his fingers.
"Hi," he says quietly, winking at me.
I recoil in my seat slightly, suddenly feeling intimidated. It takes a lot to make me feel like that, especially after what I've been through. But there's something about him that's unsettling.
"Leave her alone, Grey," Charmaine says, walking between us. She whacks him in the back of the head with his test before putting it in front of him. He barely reacts, his eyes still locked on me.
"You're no fun," he tells her.
Charmaine shakes her head, passing me my test. "Just try to focus on your test, Avery. He's friendly-ish."
The reassurance does not hit the intended mark, and Grey lets out a low laugh, finally moving his attention to something else.
I grip my pen in my hand, wondering if it would work as a weapon. I once stabbed my father with a spoon. I managed to draw blood from the force, but it didn't do anything to stop him from punching me. Nothing ever did when he was drinking like that.
"No talking, no cheating. Time starts now."
I shake away the thoughts, opening the paper and looking at the first section – math. I cringe, taking my time as I start working through the questions. I've never been good with numbers. I was always distracted at home and in class, so it never had time to click.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Grey flying through the answers, not even breaking a sweat. I quickly glance to the other side for reassurance, relieved to find most people are going slow, so it's not just me.
I manage to make it to the end of the math questions, sighing quietly in frustration when it moves to English. I start reading the questions when a scrunched up ball of paper hits my test. Following the projectile direction, I spot Grey staring at me again.
"What are you doing?" he asks with a grin.
I squeeze my pen tighter without realizing, watching as his eyes move down, locking sight with it. I don't answer him, too scared it will alert attention and I'll get in trouble.
"Ahh," he says, nodding. "You want to stab me."
"What?" I hiss quietly, taken aback. "I'm not going to stab you."
Grey leans back into his chair, relaxing. "But you thought about it. I like that."
Charmaine stalks down the aisle between us, slamming her hand on Grey's test. "Back to work, Grey. Leave her alone. I'll move you if you don't stop."
It feels like I'm back in kindergarten, the teacher threatening to separate the two kids who won't stop talking. Except, we're not kids and we're not talking. This fucking lunatic is practically provoking me to stab him with a pen.
He pouts at her, making a hand gesture as he pretends to zip his lips closed. When she turns her back away from us, he winks at me, wiggling his eyebrows.
I ignore him, turning my attention to the scratched up desk. My fingers trace the carvings in the wood — some markings by pens, others by fingernails. I squint at it closer, wondering if the faint red stains are from the color of the wood, or from blood.
Knowing this place, it's probably the latter.
Somehow, I manage to finish the test. Like I was warned, it was generalized, covering everything from math and English, to history and geography questions. There was even a small section about legal studies — specifically criminal law proceedings.
I'm not sure if that's something we would have learned in high school, or if these assholes just have a sick sense of humor. Maybe, it's their way of ensuring if we suck at math, we can score high on knowledge about being a criminal.
After all, isn't that what we all are?
You can dress up a trash can in a ballgown, but at the end of the day, it's still a fucking trash can. Call it a rehabilitation center or whatever they want, but it's still just an asylum for the mentally unstable.
"Your escorts are here to accompany you to the hall. I'll have your grades tomorrow," Charmaine tells us, opening the door to reveal several armed guards.
The sound of chairs scraping on the ground echo around the room as everyone jumps up from their seats. I stay frozen for a few seconds, unsure of the procedure until I spot Grey beckon me with his index finger.
I'm even more inclined to stay seated, but Charmaine collects my test, motioning me to leave.
"Off you go, Avery," she murmurs, moving past to collect the tests behind me.
"Oh, okay," I mutter, standing up. I head over to the guards, staring at Grey uneasily as he lingers waiting.
Grey grabs my arm suddenly, making me yelp. The sudden movement doesn't go unnoticed as two guards surrounding us whip out their tasers.
"I'm just escorting her, gentlemen. Sheesh," Grey groans.
"I'm fine," I snap quietly, pulling my arm away from him. "Don't touch me."
He feigns looking hurt, his stormy eyes dancing with controlled emotion. "I'm hurt, little killer."
"Don't call me that," I growl, my voice louder this time.
Grey raises an amused eyebrow at me, but before he can respond, one of the guards shoves me, motioning for me to walk.
I stumble briefly, my feet quickly following the last of the other lingering students. I power walk, desperate to catch up and get away from this psychopath following me.
Up ahead, someone turns a corner and I follow suit, relieved to realize I now know where I am. The familiar corridor leading to the hall smells oddly of new paint today and without thinking, I run my fingers along the wall as I walk.
Checking my fingertips, I confirm my suspicions as white paint smears over my skin. I rub my fingers together to disperse some of the paint, looking up as I step inside the hall.
Unlike the last time I was in here, it's absolutely packed with people wearing matching light gray outfits. I guess they went the cheap route when deciding what to make us wear. Judging by the number of heads in here, I'd wager a bet that it's the entire student population of the facility.
I glance around nervously, letting out a sigh of relief when I spot Vivian lurking to the side of the hall with a few other people. Sensing someone behind me, I look over my shoulder, finding Grey standing close by.
Taking off quickly, I weave through people until I reach Vivian. She looks bored, checking her fingernails. Sensing me, she looks up, giving me a blank stare of acknowledgement.
"Surviving?" she asks.
"Barely," I mutter, glancing behind me nervously.
Vivian lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Well, this should be good then."