Day Eight
Friend or Foe
Moments passed, and I was eager to meet my new comrade. I wanted to find out every detail there was to know about her; I wanted to know why she was put in here. Though, I did wonder why it was me they suggested she stay with. I can't help but find it just that bit curious that me of all people. Surely they must know that my escape plans have a greater chance at succeeding now. But I can't help but also find it curious that the day I was moved away from the padded cells; was the day she was too. Was it just a coincidence? I don't know, but it seems less than likely. I was still waiting to meet her; they told me she would come to visit my cell. But where was she?
It was like I was talking aloud because, at that moment, a face peered around the corner and said hello to me. I introduced myself and we got talking. She was really sweet. I told her why I was in the clinic, yet her reason seemed to be the same as mine. How is that possible? How could someone be going through the exact same problems at the exact same time? I didn't understand it, and I grew more and more curious as she continued telling me about her life; there was nothing to be sad about. She had it good. Grace had a big house, great family, and an ok boyfriend. But she was complaining. Like me, I guess she didn't realise it yet that there are good things in life that make up for the bad.
She was told to go back to her cell after a while or so, but before she left, she grabbed my hand and pulled it towards hers. She put something in it; I wasn't sure at the time, but it was sharp. "It will help". I didn't understand; I watched her flick her golden hair as she was swept out of my cell. I turned to the wall and walked to my bed; falling onto it, I felt a sharp pain as if something were tearing my hand apart. A piece of glass; Grace had given me glass, and now I was cut. I couldn't describe my feelings as I watched the red substance fall down my up held arm. It was warm, and it reminded me of the days at home. I watched it and wanted more. I shook my head; wiping away at the fresh cut with my other hand. I felt as though I was being cleansed again by the pain, but this time with filth entering it. It was not purposely done; it was not me who was responsible for it. Yet I was not satisfied as I would usually be, I felt disgraced at myself; at Grace. She knew something, or at least something was wrong with her that she wasn't about to tell any one. I needed to know what it was, I needed to know why; I needed answers. I found myself screaming at the door again, but this time I knew why. I hid the glass before any one came; I had made it just in time. I showed them my hand and I was immediately torn from my cell and rushed to the hospital sector immediately. I didn't see why it was so urgent; it was just a small cut. There were whispers between the doctors; I knew what they were saying; even if I couldn't hear them clearly. It turned out to be a very deep cut. Why I was surprised I don't know, but it did made me more wary towards Grace. She knew; there was definitely something she was not telling me, or not telling me directly.
I was sent back to my cell after I was stitched up. When I got back there were a few guards going through it; I guess they were looking for the glass. But they wouldn't find it. I had placed it very carefully into a crack in the brick work which is concealed by my bed, they would never look there. But yet as they continued looking, I found myself growing more anxious with every moment they moved more things. I couldn't stop it, and apparently there was no hiding it either.
It wasn't until nightfall that the search had finished. I was right; they would never look there. I was finally able to sit freely in my room, once again; by myself. I collapsed on my bed after yet another fast day. My body felt as it were left in motion; it had not yet caught up. I stared at the ceiling, feeling it spin slowly, tipping my body every way; I was falling, falling into a dark hole where I would never return. My nightmares were coming back to haunt me again; the flashes of today's events found their way into my mind, I saw the blood running down my arm and the cut being opened over and over again. There was no escaping it; I would have to face the bottom of the ditch soon. I would have to face my fears and defeat my end; it was either give in or fight. I had been fighting too long, and now I was weak; my body was being drained of all life and energy, I was falling.