Thank you to BK2U for editing this for me.
Thank you to everyone who took the time to read through this, to follow the story, and to leave a review with your thoughts. I know this is totally out there compared to most Eric / OC stories, but hang in there. I promise it gets interesting. This story has a slow burn feel to it, and it'll pick up in the next few chapters. I liked the idea of him being completely out of his element all while discovering a few things about himself. That's when the real fun begins ;)
Enjoy!
Not long after the doctor signs off on my orders, something is stabbed into my neck.
I'm not even sure how anyone was able to get ahold of me. It must have been one of the guards, still hovering by the door, or one of the men in white lab coats, making careful observations while the doctor talked. Either way, something was jammed into me and my vision blurred almost instantly. I found myself stumbling out of the chair, hot embarrassment rushing through me as I nearly fell into the same office assistant who had undone the ties on my arms. I tried to fight against it, but all I could feel were rough hands grabbing at me, dragging me until I found myself face down on a hard mattress.
"Six parts to one."
I can hear voices talking, clinically discussing what I can only assume is a dosage, as the world swirls around me. My eyes eventually close on their own, the drugged feeling washing over me as I lie here, now unable to move. I'm sure they're gloating. I may have refused to swallow down their pills, but they'd gotten them into my system anyway. I try desperately to think of what it was and how to fight it off. My mind runs through everything Jeanine has been working on, every slippery serum that I'd personally seen, every sedative she'd ever thought of.
But this is different.
I feel drugged and dreamy, my harshly tight muscles relaxing and the anger dissipating with every passing second. My body struggles to fight a battle it won't win until it ultimately gives in, sleep overtaking me in a triumphant swoop.
It is only when I open my eyes hours later that I realize it was mostly peace serum.
"These six rooms on the left are for male patients only. The rooms across the hallway are for female patients. There is no fraternizing, no socializing after lights out, and no funny business — at least not while the guards are watching."
The man walking with me is far too friendly. His name is embroidered on his shirt in royal blue script, and I want to tell Kenan to fuck off along with his jovial conversation, but my brain won't let me. Kenan can tell, too. He winks at me, occasionally guiding me away from the wall I'm about to walk into. He would never be any issue to me in Dauntless. He's heavyset, with a cheerful grin on his face and amusement behind his eyes. I can only assume it's because I'm stumbling after him, barefoot and drugged and unable to yell at him.
He keeps enthusiastically gesturing to things I probably need to know about; a nurses' station, the hallway to the dining room, an outdated phone system in case I want to call a doctor and speak to someone immediately due to some sort of emotional breakdown, a stairwell I'm not actually allowed to go into until I earn such a privilege, and a slew of rooms where the guards reside to watch over our every move.
Were my mind not dulled by the terrible serum, I would bark at Kenan to stop his fucking tour and be quiet. But the serum has a terrible way of lingering, especially when one has been overdosed with it. I can still feel its effects: my movements are slow and lazy, my brain feels like it's wrapped in cotton, and I can't muster the strength to do more than walk along with a sloppy look on my face.
Under normal circumstances, I would easily crush him. Pop his head at just the right angle so it severs his spinal cord. I'd be gone before he felt it, halfway out of this shithole and its unflattering lighting.
Instead, I find myself lagging behind him, stepping over disgustingly old carpet with bare feet.
"You won't have a roommate. After three days, they deemed you not enough of a threat to continue solitary confinement, but you still won't have anyone in your room with you. Safety precaution. But heads up, you violate any of the rules and they won't hesitate to sedate you and throw you back in there."
I frown at his words; I can't remember solitary confinement, but I also can't remember anything in between being injected and waking up to a find a staff member over me, sliding something out of my neck again. It wasn't enough to produce the same results as before, but it was purposeful. They wanted me awake enough to follow them, yet drugged enough to be docile to their orders.
"Tomorrow you'll get your schedule. You'll attend group therapy a few days a week, one-on-one therapy two times a week, and a self-care counseling session with one of the activity counselors to help plan your recovery. You're required to participate in almost all of the daily activities unless the doctor excuses you. With any luck, you'll make enough progress to earn some of the more basic privileges rather quickly." He turns to squint at me, his face reflecting nothing but compassion as he points to a door with a number six on it. "This is you. Complete everything you need to do today and they'll bring you some slippers."
For the second time in five minutes, I find myself wanting to tell him to fuck off, and again come to the infuriating realization that I can't voice the words. I can feel the rage building, slowly burning at the thought of earning a pair of shoes to wear around this sorry excuse for a housing unit. But the peace serum forces me to stay quiet, my jaws clenched together.
The annoyance only increases when I step into the room.
The solitude won't be bothersome, but the room is an insult to anyone with eyes. Everything about it is grossly underwhelming and lifeless. Back in Dauntless, my apartment wasn't some overly-designed showroom, but my furniture was far more luxurious than other members'. It was still functional. It was all dark, purchased from markets and trades, always from someone who'd done the grunt work of scavenging it.
This room reminds me of some shit that an Abnegation might find appealing. The walls are a slate grey color and the windows are large, but they're covered with rows of thick bars to prevent anyone from getting out — were they actually dumb enough to think they could jump to their freedom. There is a decent-sized bed set between a pair of ancient, rickety-looking nightstands, and a single dresser for all of the things I don't have to put in it. The floor is carpeted with an old, industrial-type carpet, probably so someone can't bash their own head against the cement floor.
"It ain't pretty, but it'll do. You'll get used to it," Kenan says as he claps me on the shoulder. "I know it's not all dangerous and mysterious like you're probably used to. But trust me, after listening to Dr. Branger for a few hours, you'll be grateful to have somewhere to escape to."
With that, he smacks my shoulder hard enough to knock me forward a step, and he points to the bed.
"Rest up. Dinner's at five. I'd tell you not to be late, but it ain't optional. If you don't show up there, someone will come get you and drag you down there."
He leaves the room before I can tell him that I'm not hungry and I have no plans of attending. I stare at the closed door, and notice there's no lock on it. I'm tempted to open it up and see if it locks from the outside, but I'm too tired. I shuffle towards the bed, and as if my body has a mind of its own, I collapse onto it and close my eyes again.
"He's dreamy, but he'll kill you. Take your insides out and feed them to the warlocks that live in the air vents. It's how he gets paid."
The girl is looking right at me, her beady eyes never leaving mine, not even to blink, as she talks on and on. Occasionally, she'll pause to take a bite of the dinner in front of her, but it's not often.
"You've already seen them, haven't you? Running around here when no one is looking. I know they did that to you, didn't they? Gave you that haircut before running back to their lair. Shaved the sides right the fuck off."
It only took a few more minutes for her to tell me her name was Bella, along with a paranoid warning to stay away from the corners of the rooms, especially the ones in the infirmary. She'd certainly solidified the fact that this was an actual mental institution and not just a part of Harrison's stupid plan to keep Jeanine out of the spotlight. Before I can try to figure out if Bella was factionless or not, a girl sits down beside her, sweeping her light brown hair out of her eyes.
"Ignore her," the new girl tells me loudly, staring at the plate before me. Someone had been kind enough to slam it down even though I'd skipped the line, not willing to actually ingest anything they'd serve us. I know they are observing me, and I'm sure they aren't happy, but fuck them. It looks disgusting and inedible, and this girl in front of me reaffirms my decision that I'd have to be insane to want to eat it.
"I'm Aidy," she announces as she eyes my plate again. "Give me your meatloaf if you aren't eating it. They don't take kindly to wasted food around here."
My initial response is to throw it at her face, but instead I sneer at her before slowly sliding it across the table.
"Suit yourself," I shrug, watching her add my dinner to hers with great joy.
So far, this whole thing has been a nightmare. Right before five, another male orderly had thrown my door open to loudly inform me it was time to eat. I wasn't fully awake; I still felt drugged and slow, but it seemed to be wearing off. In that split second, I'd come up with the idea to still act like I was drugged. I knew they wanted me under their control, and they'd be less likely to force a serum into me if I still behaved like I had it in my system.
It worked.
He'd eyed me carefully, reaching for his pocket out of habit. But I moved slowly, keeping my eyes anywhere but on him, and when he was satisfied I wasn't going to attack him, he'd motioned for me to step through the doorway.
I followed after him, witnessing the way he let me walk ahead for just a few steps, then immediately came behind me in case I made the sudden decision to take a detour and make a break for it. I was insulted that he thought I was that stupid. Even I knew I was a top priority right now. I'd been admitted only days ago, and I would have to be utterly delusional to think they'd let me out of their sights.
Together he and I walked down the hallway, this man hot on my bare heels, until we arrived at the cafeteria. It was crowded, reminding me of when Dauntless receives its new initiates, filled with the same pointless chatter. But that's where the similarities end. This one has rows of tables, each one covered in a cheap, plastic tablecloth, and bench seats that leave little room for personal space. The walls are covered in an ancient striped wallpaper, with a few spots scratched and peeling as though someone had clawed at them. Unlike in Dauntless, there's plenty of supervision. A few orderlies patrol through the room, their stares bored and indifferent as the patients robotically eat their dinners.
It gave me the hives the minute I realized I would be trapped in here until dinner was over.
"Bella thinks there's a man that lives in the supply closet that feeds the warlocks that live in the air vents," Aidy explains, neatly slicing up the meatloaf. She's enthused at her extra dinner, and she winks at me when the orderly passes our table, not noticing what's going on.
"He'll come after you if you cross him," Bella warns, turning slightly as a man sits down beside her. He shoves her to the side, making more room for himself and settling in as though this is a family dinner and she's a pesky kid. "Bobby has seen him. He was almost murdered by him. Murdered."
"No one can murder me," Bobby retorts, making a face. He's cherubic-looking with a halo of curly brown hair, and he rolls his eyes at her announcement. "Murder-proof-Bobby is what they call me."
"No one calls you that," Aidy points out, taking another bite of her food. "Except for you. And weren't you almost murdered by your own family? Isn't that why you're here? Because you boohooed that they tried to cut your head off?"
"I get no respect around here," Bobby announces. He eyes me for a second, then grins knowingly. "But you, you're a real murderer, aren't you? For real. We know who you are."
I lean back and stare at him, the slightest bit taken back; he's not afraid of me, and he says the word murderer casually, as though being a murderer is a common occurrence around here. No different than if he had said I was schizophrenic or bipolar.
"How would you know who I am?" I snarl, and I lean back towards the table. My gut feeling is to spring out of here, but I've already surveyed the room and there's no way out. There are orderlies waiting at every exit now, including two with their eyes trained on me. I've seen them whisper a few times, cocking their heads towards each other as they stare at me while I glare straight at them.
"We all know," Aidy announces. "They made an announcement that Murder-Spree-McGee was coming. Warned us to stay clear from you until you'd assimilated."
My eyes narrow in disgust.
"I'm not here to assimilate," I hiss at her, but my words are lost in Bella's shrieking.
"Can you see him? He's right there! Hold onto your hair!"
"Shut up, Bella. There's nothing there," Bobby tells her, eyeing her warily. "Actually, that's Dr. Branger, and she looks pissed." I glance where he's looking, noticing a woman quickly hurrying through the room. She looks like she's trying to avoid all eye contact, and I can only imagine the sort of shit she gets caught in the middle of while trying to simply grab her dinner.
"Why are you all just sitting there? Where is my husband?" Bella looks frantic now, looking around wildly. "I think he went in there. We need to go, now."
She points to a door near one of the exits, but I see nothing except a door marked Janitorial Supplies.
"Your husband?" I must be losing my mind to even bother asking her such a question. It's clear she's not in a right mental state, but I stare at her, wondering if maybe she came here with someone.
"She thinks her husband lives in there. No one can break it to her that he's actually a broom in the closet and that's why he only comes out at night. Because the janitor brings him out to mop the floors," Aidy continues on in delight, her eyes sparkling at the girl's insanity. "Are you single? Maybe you and Bella could…"
"Eric, are you not hungry?"
I look up, a snarl still on my lips when I discover Dr. Branger staring down at me. She glances down at the empty space in front of me, and she presses her lips together. "You know, we can't award you any future privileges if you aren't willing to at least try and follow along here. Do you have a special diet we neglected to notice?"
I hold her stare, not backing down in the slightest. She is tall and thin, with wildly curly hair. She purses her lips together in displeasure, and I wonder how long she's worked here. Obviously not long enough, because she still looks hopeful.
"Yeah, my diet consists of eating things that actually look edible. Not this shit."
Dr. Branger frowns again. She looks exceptionally disappointed, and she's in for a cruel surprise if she thinks I'm going to happily go along with her program.
"There's nothing wrong with this food. It's been carefully planned out to meet all nutritional guidelines set by…"
"I'm not hungry," I snarl and she straightens up at my tone. She must not get a lot of resistance from patients, because she looks a little bit taken back. "I don't want your food,"
I make sure my words sound rude, but they aren't entirely untrue. The overdosing of serum has left me feeling slightly unsettled and taken away my appetite. I have no desire to eat mystery meat, and I certainly won't eat it now that it's been ask of me.
Dr. Branger and I stare at each other in some sort of silent standoff, neither of us willing to look away, until Bella slams her plate right into the side of Bobby's face.
"They're here, they're here!"
Her voice is now a scream, one that seems to bounce off every wall and fill every spare inch of space in the room. Bobby shoves her away from him, muttering angrily as he wipes mashed potatoes and meatloaf off his face; when he tosses the napkin back at her, she responds violently.
"He's here! Help me! Get the fuck out of my way!"
She screams again, this time thrashing violently. Dr. Granger's eyes flash towards her, and I'm all but forgotten in the midst of Bella's breakdown.
"Don't worry, Murder Man. This happens occasionally," Aidy tells me, still eating the meatloaf and paying no attention to her screaming companion. "They'll calm her down soon enough."
No one seems to be worried until Bella stabs Bobby in the hand with what appears to be a plastic spork. My lips curl up in disgust at the cutlery, and I'm more glad than ever that I skipped the mockery that is this meal.
But her actions prompt a reaction, though probably not the one she was looking for.
"Code Three!" Dr. Branger calls out, reaching in the pocket of her jacket and fumbling for a moment. She heads around the table, and I watch her pull a syringe out, her eyes fixed on Bella's thrashing form. "I need two men! Now!"
Bella must know what's coming. I cock my head to the side and watch as Bella tries to shrink away from her, but there's really nowhere to go unless she's planning on sitting on the grimy floors. Dr. Granger puts the end between her teeth, and she reaches for Bella's arm. "Anyone?"
"No!" Bella yells out again, and she accidentally smacks Bobby in the face. Everyone continues on as normal, even as Bella keeps shrieking, and Bobby looks over to me and rolls his eyes.
"Women," he mutters. "Am I right?"
The two orderlies must have seen enough. The appear suddenly, standing on each side of Bella with a bored expression on their faces. They each grasp one of her arms, holding her in place as Dr. Branger pulls the cap off the syringe with her teeth. She then stabs it into Bella's arm, the needle sliding into her skin with ease, and a second later, Bella's eyes glaze over.
"He's…he's here…" she slurs, her words and breathing now greatly quieting down. I narrow my eyes as the orderlies pull her to her feet, then sort of slide her back off the bench. She isn't quite dead weight, but she certainly isn't helping them at all.
"Room C?" one asks, and Dr. Branger nods.
"I'll meet you there," she tells them. She throws me one final look, her green eyes lingering on me for a second longer than necessary, before turning to leave.
"You'd be smart to eat something, Eric."
She calls the words out over her shoulder, heading off to wherever Room C is. She throws me one more intense stare, as if she's waiting for me to eat.
"Here you can have some of mine," Bobby offers, sliding his plate over towards me, not noticing the sneer on my face.
I ignore them all, instead watching as Dr. Branger calls someone on a phone, her head down as she walks out of the cafeteria.
"Spit."
Kenan watches me brush my teeth.
I feel hot and irritable, a testy combination induced by my lack of dinner, the lingering drugs in my system, and his pressing stare. He had told me that I hadn't earned a single privilege other than being allowed to stay out of solitary confinement. This day was a waste of time; I was no closer to getting out of here and no closer to getting them off my back. Even now, he watches me as though I might try to kill him with the plastic toothbrush, and he has every right to be suspicious. I could always shove it down his throat, but something warns me that trying anything right now still isn't smart.
So I play by my own version of their rules; I spit out my toothpaste, catching a glimpse of my cold stare in the mirror.
Were it not for the piercings above my eyebrow and the scowl on my face, I might not recognize myself. My skin is pale and grey, my eyes lifeless and dull, and my hair is sort of limp and greasy, the longer pieces dangerously close to falling into my eyes.
My heart rate increases; I'm not used to seeing myself like this. After my initiation, I'd made myself into the man I'd wanted to be. I was never seen out of control, never stepping foot around the compound without making sure my hair was back and in place, my uniform was freshly pressed, and my shoulders were pulled taut. Initiates and members alike feared me, and my presentation of myself was ninety-nine percent of that reasoning.
A feeling of darky, twisty panic starts to form in my stomach, slowly sliding up until it reaches my ribs.
If they were to see me now, hunched over a bathroom sink while a man made sure I was ready for bed, it would be my undoing.
I wordlessly hand Kenan my toothbrush before walking back to my room, barefoot.