"Hello?" Rosalee called, continuing to bang at the door with increasing aggression. She pulled her phone out again.
Ro-lee: There's no one here.
Unknown: Is there a passcode lock?
There was in fact a passcode lock, most apartments seemed to have them here.
Ro-lee: Yeah? What of it?
Unknown: I have the code, you can just go put the phone inside.
Ro-lee: You have the code? Is this your apartment? I thought I was doing a good deed or some shit
Unknown: Even if it was mine (which it isn't) you'd be doing a good deed for me. But it is my friend's. So, if that makes you feel better, would you go return it inside?
Ro-lee: Why not just put it in her mailbox?
Unknown: Please? Just do this?
She hesitated. Something felt very wrong here, but it wasn't like she had anywhere else to be. Still, the pushiness… nothing good ever came from enabling entitlement.
Ro-lee: Whatever. It's your fault if I get in trouble though
Unknown: I promise nothing will happen to you.
Ro-lee: Damn right you do.
Unknown: :)
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With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from the apartment, towards the gate, pocketing the phone. As she reached for the handle on the gate, icy hands grabbed her wrist and yanked her back hard.
"Well this is unfortu-" The distorted voice started.
She didn't wait to see who her assailant was. She whipped around and brought her fist down on their wrist, carrying through to the ground. From there she swiped their feet out from under them.
He was some skinny, punk-looking kid, complete with bleached routs, off-green contact lenses, heavy eye-liner, leather jacket, tribal eye tattoo, spiked bracelets, and a black mask covering the bottom half of his face. He slid a blade out from his pocket.
She tackled him, holding him down with her thighs and began to pound into face with one hand while trying to hold down his hand with the knife. She only got a few hits in before he threw her off. At least now he had the bloody nose to add to his punk ascetic.
In hindsight, she should have run when she first saw the blade. But better late than never. She scrambled to her feet and ran back to the gate, choosing to jump over it, rather than actually open it. As she pushed herself up, a searing pain pulsed from her side, to the rest of her body. She fell, just inside the gate. The punk was on her in an instant, chloroform soaked cloth in hand.
Rosalee slowly came to and blinked slowly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Her whole body, heavy and sluggish. Slowly, she pushed her face off of the cold, flat stone. Faint outlines of stained windows in various stages of decay and wholeness adorned the upper walls of the cathedral. Colorful depictions of saints and biblical stories, dimly illuminated by moonlight.
Sitting, straight-backed on the toppled podium was a blonde woman, draped in white robes with blue accents.
Two pairs of hands pulled Rosalee up by her underarms and half carried, half dragged her a yard away from the woman in white.
As her vision faded in and out of focus, she thought she recognized her. But no, it couldn't be…
"Rika?!" Her face was half obscured by a black mask and her posture was so… strange, stiff. Every movement felt forced and calculated, but those eyes, the way they seemed to stared straight into your being… only Rika could do that.
…
(10 years ago)
As it turns out, being a closeted bisexual girl in a Catholic high school, getting an average of 2 hours of sleep for a month, and taking five AP classes made for a bad combination. Evident by the fact that the last thing Rosalee could remember was slamming her head into her chem text book while sobbing.
Next thing she knew, she was strapped to a hospital bed and her throat felt like her esophagus had been ripped out of it. She pulled against her restraints but was met by a sharp pain from where the course fabric touched her arms. Leaning forward as much as she could, she saw that my arms were covered in red, angry scratches, her nails caked in blood.
"You should relax." A soft voice cooed. Sitting cross-legged on the other bed in the room, was a petite girl, around 15 with blonde hair pooling around her waist and piercing, green eyes that never wavered or even seem to blink.
"Where am I?" Each word, painful.
"We're in the psych ward at St. Mary's." Her piercing expression softened a bit, "You don't know why you're here are you?"
"Wait," She blinked at her, her thoughts still muddled, "H-how did you, why…" she started pulling at the straps again.
"You need to calm down. They'll take your straps off once they think you won't hurt yourself" Rosalee hesitated, but, what the girl was saying made sense. She relaxed slightly.
"That's good, I want you better. Ok?" She smiled warmly.
Rosalee looked around, the entire room was white, and blank, except for a single crucifix on the center of the wall opposite of our beds. The only light came from a single, four paneled window, that was bolted shut. Goddammit.
"…By the way, I'm… Rika." She paused to mouth out her alias. "Yeah, I like that name."
The door opened and a male nurse with a bald head entered but stayed in front of the door.
"Hello, Rosalee. Are you going to be good this we can unstrap you?" He looked tired, dark circles underlining dull brown eyes.
She started to reply yes, but the pain in her throat caused her to simply nod her head.
"I know I already told you, but just as a reminder, you need to cooperate with us if you want to leave. That means going to all of your scheduled sessions and taking the meds we give you." Being a little rougher than necessary unstrapping her, he added, "That also means not biting the nurses."
"Oops?" she apologized.
Rika let out a short laugh.