Next morning, Lana woke up in a good mood. To her surprise, the nightmares didn't come to visit her that night. And the blanket that Dr. Thredson provided her kept her warm and safe from the cold in her cell. It was the very first night that she could sleep placidly.

It was seven in the morning. All the patients left their rooms and headed to have breakfast. The problematic patients walked guided by the nurses. And the more "stable" ones walked in a straight line toward the dining room. Lana noticed the strange protocol that the residents followed; it was very similar to a prison, except that it was not a prison but an asylum, and the prisoners were lunatics, sick people.

Inside the dining room, each one dedicated themselves to devouring or playing with their food. Lana looked suspiciously at her breakfast. What was on her plate pretended to be oatmeal, though she knew it could be anything but food. She tried to eat it. But every spoonful tasted like she was swallowing vomit. It was so disgusting that when she was halfway through her plate, a gag rose in her throat, and she felt forced to push the tray away from her. It was impossible to digest such "food" Lana wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her cardigan, extremly disgusted. The place was so poorly managed that they didn't even have napkins for the patients.

"Miss Winters" a calmed voice called her. She recognized it and turned around inmediately.

Oliver was standing there with a cigarette between his fingers. This time he was dressing more formal with a typical office suit. His face looked calm and joyful. He was the most human thing Lana could see in that hell of an asylum. He walked over to the table and sat across from Lana in silence. His eyes wandered to the half-eaten bowl of oatmeal. He raised an eyebrow and looked back at her.

"You're not hungry?"

"Believe me, Doctor. I'm starving. But that thing is impossible to digest"

Oliver got worried when Lana told him that. He wasn't all that aware of the quality of Briarcliff's food. Of course, no one was going to mention it to him either. It was none of his business. But Lana's physical condition was worrisome. She was very skinny; her face was so thin that it marked her cheekbones even more, and her arms and legs looked like noodles. She looked fragile, like a porcelan doll.

"I shall have a word about this with Sister Jude."

Lana chuckled wryly at that comment. The day that Oliver manages to be heard by Sister Jude will be the same day that she manages to escape from Briarcliff: never.

"I don't want to be pessimistic, but that will never happen."

"I don't lose anything by trying it," Oliver assured her, although he was also slightly offended by the negative comment from the journalist.

Lana remained silent, not wanting to start an argument with Oliver. If she expected to escape from here, she would have to start cooperating with Oliver, and a little argument over a silly bowl of oatmel was not a good start. Furthermore, the man seemed utterly self-assured, intrepid, and truthful. It reminded her of herself before being locked up in the asylum. If they were in another situation and place, Lana would be very fascinated to hear the thoughts and opinions of the psychiatrist. Perhaps even he could participate as a witness in her Briarcliff story if she ever manages to escape from there.

Oliver silently observed Lana, analyzing every detail of her face. She was a beautiful woman now that he looked at her closely; full lips, smooth rosy skin, and a pair of hazel eyes that completely captivated Oliver. He hadn't met her in the halls the night before. No, he had first seen her when he arrived at Briarcliff. Of course, Lana didn't see him, but he did see her. And he was so fascinated by her image that he followed her during the first few weeks on the job. He often found himself thinking about her, even when he was working, and the night they collided was no exception.

The silence remained for a few more seconds until Lana decided to break it: "When can we start the therapy?" she asked a tad anxious.

Oliver woke up from his own trance and sighed heavily. "I talked to Sister Jude. We can start today."

"Good. Although I have to admit that im slightly nervous" she said while placing both of her hands on the table.

Oliver smiled and patted Lana's hand gently. "You don't have to. Everything will be fine. As long as you finish your meal." he said that last thing with a bit of a serious tone.

"But it's disgusting" said Lana in total disagreement.

Oliver sighed and put out his cigarette. "I know, but I need you to win strength. You're going to need it a lot."

Lana's right leg began to shake involuntarily. What kind of therapy did Oliver have planned for her? The intrigue awoke a fear in her. Her heart began to beat too fast, and a warmth invaded her entire body.

Oliver noticed her nervousness and placed his hand on Lana's shoulder. "Calm down, Lana. I'll make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Lana wanted to believe him, but she couldn't trust anyone anymore, least of all a doctor. Her mistrust of them began when Dr. Arden performed electroshock therapy on her. Weeks had passed since that event, but even at night, she could feel the sensation of the electrical discharges passing through her body and completely immobilizing her. Oliver gently rubbed Lana's shoulder, trying to make her feel safer, but all it did was make her feel more nervous than she already was.

"I'm going to discuss some things with Sister Jude, and then I'll pick you up in the common room, alright?" Lana nodded, and he took his hand off her shoulder. Before leaving, Oliver gave her one last look and said with the most pleading face he could muster: "And please, finish eating."

She looked at him almost without blinking and nodded again listlessly. Oliver gave her a small smile and headed to the exit.

Lana sighed deeply, focusing her gaze back on the bowl of oatmeal. Oliver was right. She had to eat to gain energy. She could never be able to get out of this place if her body was in an anemic condition. Motivated by the idea of escaping, Lana finished her breakfast without moping.

(...)

"Are you ready?" Oliver asked, looking slightly excited at Lana.

They were in Oliver's office. Lana was sitting in a chair, in front of a huge projection screen.

When Oliver picked her up from the common room, he brought with him a small projector which Lana wondered what it would do for him, although she didn't want to dwell on it too much.

Oliver brought a drop counter to Lana. She looked at the bag that was hanging with slight concern. It seemed to contain a yellow liquid.

"What is that?" she asked

"Apomorphine" he replied as he brought what appeared to be a needle closer to Lana's body.

Lana instantly knew the doctor's intention and quickly removed her arm before he managed to grab it.

"I don't want to be drugged."

"I'm not going to drug you. I need it to make you throw up."

Lana's eyes widened as plates, and she instantly paled.

"Vomit?" her voice trembled at her own question.

Oliver nodded. "It's part of the process. I'll present you a series of images that you find satisfactory. As we go along, I'm going to give you small doses of apomorphine, which will cause you to vomit. And that vomit, you will associate it with the images and reject them. It is a study approved at prestigious universities such as Harvard."

A chill ran down her spine. Lana wasn't entirely sure how her body would react to that drug. Now that she thought about it, she would rather eat the disgusting vomit-tasting oatmeal than sit around throwing up in a bucket.

The image of Wendy flashed through her mind. What would she say if she saw her in that situation? She would probably be disappointed and embarrassed. But she also thought that what she was about to do was for her, for her beloved Wendy, and her sweet freedom.

Thinking of Wendy completely motivated Lana. She breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm her nerves. She looked Oliver in the eye and said, "I'm ready, Doc."