Thanks to BK2U for editing this chapter! I hope you made it out of town safely!
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The clock ticks away endlessly.
I mentally keep track of each individual click, counting all the way to six before she speaks again.
"Did you like it? Your breakfast? They said you ate something the other day. I think that's a good start."
I close my eyes tightly, pretending that when I open them again, the woman next to me will be gone and I'll have been teleported back to Dauntless. But I know it won't happen. I can smell the stench of stale technology, I can feel the forced dry air being pumped into the room, and there's no mistaking the sound of her typing away, a definitive clacking sound that comes from only the oldest of keyboards combined with her occasional sharp inhale when I stop responding.
"It tasted like shit."
The clacking stops, and there it is, a loudly exasperated inhalation.
"Like actual shit or it just wasn't up to your standards?
I stay silent, finally opening my eyes to the glare of fluorescent lighting above me. "You think I've eaten actual shit?"
"No, I do not believe you would have. Can you tell me what you normally eat for breakfast in Dauntless? Was it something specific? Was it a routine? Did you eat the same thing every day?"
Dr. Branger hasn't really stopped talking since I walked in. She's only allowed for short pauses in which I'm to feed her small bits of information about my life so she can deduct what made me the man I am today. I want to tell her that eating a bagel and maybe a side of eggs didn't really spur me on to do anything other than start my job every day.
"No, it varied." I lean up the slightest bit, crossing my hands behind my head, and shut my eyes again as I settle back against the arm rest. "But mostly toast. We had a lot of toast."
The clacking begins again.
"Was the toast made in Amity? Or does Dauntless bake their own bread?"
"How the fuck should I know? I don't work in the kitchens," I snap, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter. I was starting to grow antsy at her questioning, which was expected since I'd been here for almost half an hour. When I walked in, it was forcefully suggested I lie down on the couch, and it was there that the torture began.
I'd been trying to oblige her, not because I had faith that Max would work out a deal and I should listen to him, but because it would be easier to get what I wanted if they weren't ready to stab me in the neck every time I turned around. So I lie there, answering question after question, with the shortest and sharpest replies I could. I didn't answer everything, though. I'd skipped over questions about my family, ignored her prying inquiries wanting to know if I was missing anyone in Dauntless, and instead stuck to the basic shit.
Like breakfast.
"There's a rumor that the Amity are becoming overwhelmed with the growing population. That they're falling behind on food production. I was thinking maybe Dauntless had come up with a way to be sustainable on their own." Dr. Branger stops typing, and I hear open her desk drawer. "Any thoughts that on that?"
"Oh tons," I sneer, wondering why she thinks I'd give a fuck about Amity and what they do. "And if they're falling behind then perhaps they should work harder."
"Harder," she parrots, and this time the drawer shuts with a bang. "I think they're working as hard as they can. But what if they run out of produce? Or live stock? Or have a bad season crop wise?"
"Not my concern," I answer coolly, and this time, I cross my feet at my ankles.
"It isn't? What do you plan on eating if they can't keep up with the demands?"" Dr. Branger asks, just as icily. I forgot that I'm supposed to know what goes on in every single faction at any given moment of the day, including the food production.
"No, it isn't. My concern was the safety of the city. Not what everyone has for breakfast. I can fend for myself."
"I'm sure you could." she asks, and I can just see her fingers poised over the keyboard. "Do you have any idea how they could better their farming systems?"
I swear this woman never stops thinking of questions to irritate me, because there's no possible was this can relate to anything I'm in here for.
"You want me to go work in the Amity fields and find out?" I ask her, sounding highly amused. "You'd have to let me out of here if you want me to go make sure they've got enough carrots."
There is one more exasperated sigh and I can tell she's done. Either that or she doesn't appreciate my thoughtful idea. I hear a few more hard clacks before I hear her chair squeak.
"Alright, I think we've made adequate progress today. I'll have you stop by the nurses' station for your medication, and then you can head on down to the rec room. You'll have a free hour before lunch, then mandatory group therapy this afternoon. You'll be expected to introduce yourself and say a few words about why you're here and maybe a few things you hope to overcome."
My eyes fly open as I will most certainly not be introducing myself.
"I'm sure you'll do just fine. And if you don't, then it's back to red you go but without sedation. After a few hours of staring at the wall, most people are usually ready to open up."
It's the last thing she says before I'm politely shown the door.
"Fuck her. I'm not introducing myself."
I snarl the words to myself as I swallow down a handful of pills. I'm too furious to pay attention to what color they are, and too irritated to do anything other than bark at the nurse at the dispenser. She looks the same as all the others, except she narrows her eyes at me as she marks something off on her chart.
"How are you feeling today? Any new symptoms?" She asks, and I swear she gives me a dirty look as I slam the paper cup down back on the counter. It crumples easily, much like she would were I in the mindset to show her just how I was feeling today.
"No, but then again I haven't had a single symptom since I've been here because I don't need to be here." I snap back at her, and I stomp off before she can say another word.
Fuck them all.
Fuck anyone who thinks I need to tell a bunch of idiots just what I'd like to work on. There was no amount of threatening that would get me to dare utter a single word about self-improvement, be it physical or mental. I'd gladly take staring at the wall for a few hours than listening to Dr. Erin drone on and on.
Besides, the only thing I'd like to work on was getting out of this dump, sooner than later.
I rub at the back of my neck as I head down the hallway, ignoring the glazed over stares from a few patients I don't know. I keep my eyes straight ahead until I reach the heavy doors with a stark sign posted above them. It reads REC ROOM in bleak, peeling letters.
I throw the doors open with more force than necessary only to find a startlingly quiet room.
After one second, I storm through the calm like I'm about to yank someone up by their neck and drag them in for questioning. In Dauntless, this would have sent men and women scattering. Here, the only person that looks up is Violet, and even then, it's only for a split second. She returns to her book immediately, seeming to disappear into the back of the couch.
I ball my hands into fists, realizing I'm waiting for someone to approach me so I can rip them apart. I'd normally have someone to take this anger out on, some bumbling initiate that happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, a solider that wasn't listening, or even one of my ow men, pissing me off over something trivial.
But there is no one in here brave enough to start anything.
They all stay quiet as I march by, stopping in front of the large windows and pausing to glance out. From up here, I can catch sight of nothing but trees and greenery, and I quickly try to map out the layout of the institution. This room must face the back of the property, because I don't see any roads or paths of any kind. I try think of the geographical location of Amity, but I can't remember where it's furthest border is.
I give up, growing frustrated when I can't remember anything other than rickety fence surrounding their farm, and I turn back around to find somewhere to sit.
Oddly enough the room is already full, and it looks as though everyone is reading. It's weird to see patients acting so quiet, but upon further inspection, most are muttering nonsense to each other. Violet appears to be the only one who may actually be able to read. Across from her, Bobby has a book open in front of him, squinting at the pages and furrowing his brow. More often than not he's glancing over at Aidy who's sound asleep on the chair next to his, her feet propped up on the lap of man reading a coloring book.
And then there's Pete, glaring at me from the desk in the furthest side of the room, all while he methodically tears the pages out of a book, one by one.
Defeated and annoyed by the lack of anything going on in here, I grab the first book off the shelf I can find, and I reluctantly sit down next to Violet.
She turns her head to look up at me again, dark eyes beneath her hair watching me curiously, but she doesn't move. The couch isn't large by any means, and it forces us too closely together for my comfort as I take up most of the space. But it's sit by her, or the woman mumbling about eating cats for dinner, so I choose Violet.
"Where were you this morning?"
Violet asks me, ever cautious and ever quiet, but she isn't looking at me. Her head is now bent down over her book, and I can barely make out the title on the top page.
I debate answering her for a moment. It's not really any of her business where I was. I don't report to her, nor do I give a fuck if she noticed I was gone. But on one hand, she might have some advice on how to handle Dr. Branger. So far, Violet had been honest with me, telling me that the pills were safe to take. She might even offer up some insight to how to get through the next few days without attempting to murder someone.
"Did they try to sedate you after your visitor left?"
She speaks again, and she's so god damned quiet that I almost want to shove her off the couch and see if she makes a sound louder than a whisper. I refrain, noticing Pete's intense stare still on me.
"I had to see Dr. Branger for some bullshit therapy session."
I make sure my own words are just as low as hers, spoken neatly between the two of us. Pete is still watching me, a murderous glare on his face as he rips another page, and I resist the urge to tell him that he isn't scary, he simply looks insane.
"They're all bullshit," she whispers, and she turns to look up at me as I open up the book to a random page.
For two never ending seconds, we stare at each other in silence.
"They get easier. Tell them enough that they'll think you're trying and they'll be satisfied. Ask them a question next time. All the doctors here like that."
Violet keeps her eyes on me, and I feel the urge to look away. Not many look me in the eyes, nor are able to talk to me without fear of what I'll do next. But she doesn't seem afraid, in fact, she looks more curious than anything.
"What kind of…"
"Violet, you shouldn't talk to him. It's not appropriate," Bella's sing songey voice interrupts us, and I have to taper down the urge to throw my book at her. "He's already been in isolation twice. You know what that means."
She stands before us with her hands on her hips and her nose in the air, and I swear to God, she looks a little too high and mighty for someone in a mental institution.
"It means there's a ninety percent chance he's going to end up back there. Because you know he can't go ten minutes without wanting to hurt someone. We've seen in it twice now."
Her words do exactly what she's hoping they'll do. I feel myself growing furious. It starts like it always does, somewhere deep in my stomach, rising up until I feel hot and antsy, the urge to punch her nearly unstoppable. I wouldn't mind seeing her in pain, and I certainly wouldn't have an issue making her apologize by any means necessary.
"Go away, Bella" Violet whispers, and I'm shocked Bella can even hear her.
"You're stupid to let him sit by you. We made a bet that he'll strangle you next. I saw him looking at you during Dr. Erin's session. He's planning on killing you next." Bella hisses the words, but she takes a step back, looking around furiously. I can tell she's nervous, suddenly twitchy as she backs up into an end table.
"Nah, I won't strangle her. You, sure. But Violet, not this time."
I make sure to look right at her as I speak, leaning back against the old couch, crossing my leg over my knee before I turn my stare at the book in my lap. I catch a glimpse of the furious look on Bella's rapidly reddening face, and I smirk when she flails in front of me.
"I'm…I'm…you you're rude! I'm telling them! I'm telling them that you threatened me!" Her words rise in pitch, so much that even Bobby looks over with a look of annoyance.
"Bella, shut up and sit down. Some of us," he pauses, looking right at me, "are trying to read here. Go have your meltdown elsewhere."
To his credit, Bella does.
She leaves the room with a huff, probably off to tell them what I said. I shut my eyes in frustration. If they believe her, there's a good chance I'll be drugged again, or threatened then drugged, or maybe drugged then forced to answer a few million more questions.
"Don't worry, the nurses don't listen to her anymore."
Violet's words force my eyes open, and I turn to look down at her.
"She's always running to tell them something. They won't come in here unless they get multiple complaints. This is their only time to take a smoke break before lunch, and there really isn't anything they'll cut that short for." She sounds pretty sure, and this time, her words are spoken at a bit of a higher level, so I give in and believe her.
"Great."
She doesn't say anything else.
I don't either.
For the next half hour I stare at the words on the page, letting them blur and unblur before me until someone calls us to lunch.
Perhaps living through these petty days will get us ready for the dangerous ones.
"Can you tell us all your name, please?"
Dr. Erin stands beside me, smartly keeping a safe distance so I can't kill her, and cheerfully pushes me forward. Her touch makes want to recoil. Her hands are cold, and it drives home the realization that I'm standing before a crowd of crazies, in what would be considered pajamas, barefoot.
"You'll have to speak up so they can hear you."
The doctor takes a step closer, brushing her hair behind her ears. We'd been in this room for two whole minutes before she'd motioned for me to rise up and join her. I normally would have ignored her request, slunk lower in the chair and dozed off while someone named Margo talked about her fear of snails, but today I couldn't.
There were not three, but four orderlies, all in white, all with equally pleased stares on the face at the challenge that awaited them. Were I not to stand up and give them something, these men would be the ones to drag me off to solitary confinement. I'd meant to ask Violet if she'd been in it and how terrible it truly was, but Bobby had cut in between us on our walk to lunch, expressing his deep concern that I hadn't chosen to sit by him during our reading time. Not in the mood for such a riveting debate, I'd shaken my head and quickened my pace, easily losing him in the cafeteria. I ate by myself, angrily chewing what was supposed to be soup, while Aidy winked at me from a table over.
I was close to losing it.
Even more so right now.
I open my mouth, ready to tell Dr. Erin off, but nothing comes out.
"Just your name. We'll start with that. I've introduced you before, but it's your turn to open up to your fellow patients."
I try not to focus on any of them. Their faces all seem the same anyway; most of the women have long, unkempt hair. Always falling in their face, always air dried because anything else might give them the means to hurt someone. The men all looked alike, cropped hair except for Bobby's, and blank uninterested stares.
I was starting to realize that while I was swallowing down pills that did nothing, some patients took medication that left them zombie like. I didn't know any of them, but they all shared a dulled rage, one that told me that were they not heavily medicated, they wouldn't be cheerfully explaining their hopes and dreams.
Someone coughs, growing impatient with my failure to tell them my name, and I scan the room in annoyance. I want to bark at them that I don't want to be up here anymore than they want to be waiting, but I can't.
"We know it starts with an E."
My eyes land on Violet.
She's seated a few rows back, and I can barely make out her face except for at a certain angle. She's watching me from behind Aidy, and I swear when our stares meet, she nods her head slightly.
I can't be certain that it happened for a real, and I suddenly feel a bit off. Maybe I'm the one that's going crazy, but I don't have time to decipher it now. I focus solely on her, dark eyes, messy hair, and skin that looks like it hasn't seen the sun in years. She nods again, biting her lip and shifting forward in her seat.
She reminds me of someone right before they would step off the ledge of the roof and plummet into Dauntless. They were often nowhere near as brave as they portrayed, but they were ambitious enough to try.
She nods again, and this time, the man beside her nods as well. Then the man beside him, then woman next to him, then Bobby, until everyone in the room has given me the silent, sneaky, and unnecessary go ahead to introduce myself.
I swallow once, clasping my hands behind my back and pulling my shoulders up.
I wait to speak until I have their full attention, my voice loud and clear.
"I'm Eric."
I'm one of your leaders.