Page 26 of Fight or Flight

THERE ARE NO WORDS to explain the feeling of disappointment I experienced after waking up to the sound of my beating heart registered on the annoying monitor. There’s no way to describe the anger at being stripped of the only way out.

Yet, people act like I should be grateful. Like I should apologize. That’s laughable. They should apologize to me, actually. Was it not my choice to be free? Was I asking to be brought back after, at long last, getting peace?

No. I’ve been ripped from the black stillness—the wonderful void of nothingness.

Six minutes, they said. My heart stopped for six fucking minutes before they brought me back. A miracle, one doctor even dared to say.

So, now, here I lay. Immobilized, with both my arms and legs strapped to the bed, after being brought from the ICU to the psych ward. Staring at the white ceiling with an annoying chipped part in the shape of Africa. It drives me nuts.

The medical staff comes and goes. Probing at me, asking questions that I can’t respond to truthfully if I ever want to be free of here, before drugging me with some heavy shit.

I know my father visited me a few times, but I don’t acknowledge him. He doesn’t have a place in my life. He’s been exiled for calling the ambulance after he found me. In my book, it’s unforgivable.

I heard him crying each time at my bed and even felt him grabbing at my hand, but I didn’t care. The part of me that cared died in that bathtub. And I’ll do everything I can to never be that girl again.

Never again.

CHAPTER X

AIDAN - THREE YEARS later

“Linden, you’re up!” I hear the harsh voice of one of the guards before he stands in front of my cell, looking at me with cold indifference. “Grab your personal stuff, and step out.”

The zing of restless energy fills me up to the brim, and my hands start shaking when I go through my stuff like I haven’t already prepared everything for my departure. I look around wildly, to see if I didn’t leave anything of value here, which is laughable because apart from my art, I don’t have objects worth saving. I don’t bother grabbing the essentials and hygiene products, thinking they’re shit prison quality anyway, and I would purchase better stuff when I’m out.

Putting the neat stack of drawings separated into two overstaffed folders under my armpit, I turn toward the guard when he makes a sound of impatience.

“Don’t have all day, Linden,” he rumbles, and I nod quickly before stepping out in front of him.

I’m glad it’s this guy who will be walking me out. He may not be the most pleasant person to be around, but at least you can tell he’s a good guy in general. Some of the guards here... Well, let’s just say that there really is a thin line between being the ones that are in the cell versus those that are just outside those bars.

They thrive on the little power that they are given here and love to humiliate fuckers like me who just want to get by each day. And don’t even let me start on the illegal shit they are pulling here on the daily.

So, yeah, the only difference between those who are doing time here and some of those guards is that the imprisoned guys got caught. That’s it.

The man standing in front of me now gives me a quick once over and then motions with his head to follow him.