okee, ch 3 up! i switched POVs for thisun, to get some insight into mikey's sanity(or insanity?)
enjoy, and plz review or make suggestions for ch 4!!
The lights around him flickered to life, and Michael knew exactly what came next.
"Good morning, Mr. Scofield. Med time."
It was the same every day, and every time it reminded him of the Psyche Ward in Fox River. Only this time he didn't refuse the pills. He accepted them willingly. Just as he accepted his "diagnosis".
He was crazy, they said. "Clinically insane", was the term they'd used to explain it to him.
He could understand why they would think him unfit for the outside world. In the moment that he saw his brother's blood stain the ground beneath his feet, everything Michael had worked for was thrown away.
His brother was gone.
And it was his fault. Oftentimes he wondered if Lincoln would have been better off in the chair. Instead of saving his life, proving his innocence and gaining his freedom, all that he had accomplished was to raise his brother's hopes, and then have them shot down…literally.
It was a moment he would never forget, and one he could never forgive himself for.
Perhaps that was why he stopped speaking. Even now he couldn't understand his reasons. He just suddenly found it easier to keep silent rather than respond to the simplest of questions.
"How are you today?"
"Are you hungry?"
"Are you feeling alright?"
Such mindless banter was beyond him now.
After Lincoln's death, all he had wanted was peace and quiet.
He just wanted to be left alone. He had gotten his wish, and now he was regretting it.
Because yesterday someone he thought had forgotten him walked back into his life.
Sara.
Even after so long, she remembered him. And what was more important: she knew he wasn't crazy.
Not in the untreatable sense anyhow.
Sara had come to him, and shown him the truth. He truly wanted peace, but not this way.
He wanted to live again, laugh again, and…he wanted to love again.
Guilt struck him as he swallowed his anti-depressants.
In the midst of losing his brother, he had allowed his feelings for Sara fade from his mind. He took his love and need and passion and stored them away in the darkest corner of his heart, hoping to shield himself from the pain of knowing he would never have the chance to tell her of these emotions.
But now…he had his chance.
Now, all he needed was time.
"Your friend called just a few minutes ago…"
Michael's head shot up from his cup as he made direct eye-contact with Donna, something hardly dared or wanted to do.
"She said she'd be coming by to see you again this afternoon. Are you going to try being a bit more calm with her this time, Michael?"
The tone in her voice aggravated him. He liked the old woman, but sometimes he wanted to break his code of silence and tell her to stop talking to him like he was five.
And every time he restrained his voice box. Every time he merely nodded his response.
It wasn't worth saying, because she, like everyone else, thought he was mentally unstable.
Everyone, that is, except Sara.
She was his salvation from this place. If he could get her to visit at least a few times a week, he could "make the social progress" necessary to have the doctors looking twice at his diagnosis. Perhaps during this time with her, he could eventually swallow his pain and be honest, about everything. But that would come later.
Today he would try speaking, but only a few words at most.
No rush, for either of them.
This would be hard enough as it was. Although he wasn't a psycho, he wasn't dumb enough to think he didn't have problems.
Michael knew he was messed up.
But it was something he could heal himself, with the right assistance. With HER assistance.
Donna's light voice broke through his thought-barrier again.
"I brought you another book, it's some kind of supernatural something-or-other. I thought maybe you'd like some diversity in your reading.
Miss. Tancredi said she'd be visiting around two o'clock. I'll see you for lunch, okay?"
And with that, she was waving goodbye as she always did, acting as if she wouldn't be back for days, when it was really only hours before lunchtime. The door clamped shut behind her, and Michael sat alone.
The silence he had lived so contently with for this long now deafened his ears and threatened a migraine.
He longed to hear Sara's voice again. This was going to be a long and mind-splitting day.
And all he had was a paperback copy of "Women of the Otherworld" to pass the hours away.
For the first time in the months he'd been in "the nuthouse", Michael truly felt like he was going to go nuts.