✔ DRUNK words, SOBER thoughts ✖ hemmings au

47: Second Chances

LUKE.

There was still a part of me that wished I were dead - that my plan to take myself out of the equation had succeeded with flying colors. I didn't want to be here anymore; not when I was the root of so many problems. I was the equivalent of a deadly tumor, a gunshot to the head, a fatal epidemic that swept the entire world - swept my entire world.

Waking up in a white room, vision blurred and hearing faltered, I thought I was in some afterlife, or even in limbo between the two worlds. But as my eyesight adjusted to the fluorescent lights and the sounds around me synced up, I realized that I was in fact not dead; that I was unfortunately still alive. I was such a failure in life that even in death I was still very much a failure.

"Luke, can you talk to me about your nightmares?

"No,"

I had been at the Cobb Rehab Center for almost ten days now, and I absolutely despised it from day one. It was a giant clusterfuck of fake smiles and false hope. All the employees here had it in their heads that we could be cured; that a little medication and a little time to talk about our feelings would somehow cure us of a mental disease. The thing is, part of getting better is having the mindset to want to get better. And me, I didn't really feel like it anymore.

My day always started the same: waking up in sheets that aren't mine, in a room with light blue walls, and a door that doesn't lock. A caregiver would barge into the silent space with a cheery grin on their face, ask me how I am before walking me to the cafeteria for breakfast. That wasn't the worst part - the worst part was what happened after breakfast: one on one therapy with Dr. Ned Zurick.

"This is your seventh nightmare in a row," Dr. Zurick mentioned, looking down at the tan folder in his lap. He was an old man with dark-rimmed circle glasses and an affinity for paisley-printed socks.

"Good job doctor," I rolled my eyes, slumping further into the cushioned chair, "university taught you how to read a patient's file. But you've been misinformed."

"Oh have I?" Dr. Zurick mused, "please do elaborate. How have I been, misinformed."

"I haven't been having nightmares," I told him bluntly, "those are fûcking rainbow dreams compared to the shithole this place is."

I heard Dr. Zurick exhale before readjusting himself on the chair. He crossed his left leg over his right, causing his dark brown slacks to rise and revealing today's paisley socks: black with green pattern. The doctor looked down at the folder before him, flipping to a specific page.

"'The patient wakes up in cold sweat, screaming at the top of his lungs. He thrashes in bed before he is able to be pacified by on-duty nurses. Patient repeatedly yells the name Ari'," Dr. Zurick lifts his eyes from my file to look at me, but when he does, he's met with anger. "Luke, who is Ari?"

"Nobody," I grumbled, crossing my arms.

"Ari seems like someone important if she keeps popping up in your nightmares," Dr. Zurick assumed, gazing at me with curiosity; eyeing me like some kind of lab rat experiment.

"I'm not talking about her!" I snapped, jolting out of the chair.

My eyes looked up at the clock on the wall, watching the large hand move half an inch. 11 o'clock struck, easing my mind slightly. I looked down and smirked at the doctor with great satisfaction.

"Session is over, doctor," snark dripped from my tone as I backed away from the aging man. I turned on my heel, sauntering straight for the heavy, wooden door that barricaded me from freedom - though beyond these office walls was still prison. As my fingers grazed the copper-colored doorknob, did Dr. Zurick's mouth open once again, ultimately having the last word.