Lost (Weekend freewrite)

It wasn’t easy to sleep in that place and not because of all the noise, the screams, the sobs, the farts. It was the loneliness that echoed in her mind, loud bangs of crushing loneliness each time her poor body was about to fall into slumber. The loneliness she’d felt the night Steven left, curled on the floor, crying in the dark, was nothing she realized when they locked her up. True loneliness was there in that crowded room, with fifteen other women all lost in their ravaged minds, so close, yet each of them trapped in her own twisted universe, where things made sense only to them and no one else.

Only Sally and the fat older woman who slept by the window somehow managed to reach out through the bubbles that held them prisoners, but it was only to punch and kick each other, spitting and foaming at the mouth like crazy, which they undoubtedly were. Rose couldn’t understand what was it they saw in each other that sent them in such a murderous rage, but the two of them fought almost every night, a spectacle few of the women could resist. Jenna, the retarded, clapped on, excited like a child at the circus, watching the bumbling clowns trip each other. The young girl with the arms poked with needle marks always sided with the fat woman and for some reason kept her well supplied with pillows to throw at Sally, as if the whole scene was nothing but a friendly fight in the girls dorm on a school trip.
Rose was the only one who tried to stop them, although she was weaker than either of them. Being the only sane person in that room she had to at least try to keep them from accidentally killing each other until Barry, the night orderly, showed up. He didn’t have to do anything, his voice was enough to curb the disturbance instantly. Even if they didn’t know who they were they knew who Barry was and what he could do to them. They scrambled to their beds and ducked under the covers, hoping he won’t take it out on them, with his needles and the restraints. They all hated being tied up, even the blonde woman with a limp who rarely got out of bed anyway. It was one of the few freedoms they had left and they couldn’t lose it.
Long after midnight, when most had finally gone to sleep, Rose was still awake, wondering how long she’ll be locked up in here. It all depended on Dr. Ross, but he was away at some conference she’d been told. Since the doctor had not come up with a verdict, the nurses deigned to listen to her, even though they didn’t stop what they were doing and only barked their replies.

Everything was in the file in front of the man, but still he made her go through all the story again, like a cop who asks the same question in a dozen different ways, hoping to trick the accused trembling in front of him. Rose knew very well what she was being accused of and had realized from the first interview that arguing it was nobody’s business what she had done to herself that night was not the answer that was expected of her. Or perhaps it was, but it was the answer that would see her committed for good.
‘It was just that too many bad things happened at the same time. First my job, then Steve, it felt like my life was over.’
‘So you decided to end it for real, didn’t you?’
Suicidal tendencies was bad, she knew, but how was she to explain the cuts on her arms?
‘I didn’t mean it, I swear, but I had too many drinks and…’
‘And pills, too, isn’t it?’
Rose nodded slowly, hoping the doctor won’t go there… But he did, because it was on file, her long history of going from one shrink to another, popping pills in search of a fleeting buzz. He knew everything and she started to cry, silently, biting her tongue to stop herself from screaming. The job didn’t matter, just another stupid bid to reinvent herself, which could never work. And Steven? Maybe, yeah… she’d fought so hard to fall in love with him because she needed an anchor to keep her from floating away, but he never understood her, not really. His world was so neat and sunny, he was happy with his yoga and his books, he couldn’t understand why her world was bleak and her life felt pointless.
‘Is that what you feel, that your life is pointless?’
‘Do you find meaning in your life?’ she asked. Trick question, wrong answer. He was the doctor helping all those patients and there was no point in telling him all the women in that ward were broken beyond repair and God only knew what horrors lived inside their heads.
‘I know what you’re thinking. My life is meaningless since I cannot help my patients and it’s true. I can only tell you what is broken, it’s up to you to fix it. I can only give you pills, it's up to you to find your meaning. If you don’t, one day you’ll be back. For good’.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge - the single prompt 'after midnight'! Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.

Thanks for reading!

Image is my own.