I gripped my blanket around me as I trudged down the halls of the facility, the scratching sound of my slippers along the linoleum filling the hallway. The nurses bustled together in the center of the hall unless they were coming in and out of the surrounding rooms.
“You look like shit, baby girl,” Elli said next to me, and I rolled my eyes before shooting her a glare. She was walking backward next to me with her hands behind her head, her eyes on me, and a Cheshire grin on her face.
“Jeez, I wonder why.” My words were dripping in sarcasm and bitterness. I yawned, stopping in place because I had to close my eyes and didn’t want to lose my balance while I walked. My eyes watered up when I opened them again, and I continued to just stand in the middle of the hallway, staring down toward the area of the facility that held the therapists’ offices.
Elli took a step backward away from me, then stared at me, her back toward the hall in front of us.
“What’s up, Priya?” she asked. I stared at her, taking in her image and gripping my blanket around me before speaking.
“What if Avery convinces me you aren’t real? What if… you and Dimitri are wrong? What if I’m not that strong, or at least not as strong as you think I am?” I said, watching her move to my side again, now facing forward. She smiled and bumped her shoulder against mine, causing me to stumble over slightly. I gave her a flabbergasted look, but she just wrapped one arm around the back of my blanketed shoulders.
“Baby girl, that won’t happen. But I hear you. Let’s say it does. Well, Dimitri and I will never stop trying. We’ll get you out of here at some point,” she said, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
I looked at her hand on my shoulder, then at her.
“You know, I’ve always known we’ve been in love with each other, but I never thought you would go so far as to publicly display your affection for me like this,” I said, raising my left shoulder and making her laugh hysterically before she let go and we continued walking to Avery’s office.
“So how did you sleep, Priya?” Avery asked from her desk chair across from me. I flexed my hands on top of the blanket draped across my legs.
“Not very well, considering I was sedated,” I said with a shrug, earning me a chuckle from Elli. She sat perched on the arm of my couch. It was the same tan one from when I first met Avery—from when she first convinced me Dimitri wasn’t real.
Avery nodded her head and gave a politely sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry about that. Hopefully, things will be better now that you’re here in the facility.” She smiled again. “You had a decent time here last time, right?” she asked.
I shrugged. “It was fine. Wasn’t here too long. Speaking of which, how long will I be here for this time?” I asked, crossing my legs and leaning back. I shook my right foot anxiously, making the blanket ripple on top of it.
“That all depends on you. As of now, you have two more days for your hold.”
Only two more days in the Russians’ lair, and then I can go home and plot my way out.
I looked to my left, to Elli, but she wasn’t there anymore. I felt my mood and motivation instantly drop to an ultimate low.
“Are you looking for something?” Avery asked, and I looked forward at her with a shake of my head, unable to tell her I was looking for Elli.
“Is it Dimitri?” she asked softly, and I continued to shake my head. I couldn’t help but wonder if I messed anything up or if I might have exposed my plan by giving her a clue that I was looking for Elli. I could deny it all I wanted, but these Russians were smart.
She looked at me with that small smile again and I tensed up. That sympathetic smile seemed so genuine, it almost made me want to tell her about Elli. Avery was very good at her job, and we had built an amazing rapport over the past year that made me want to trust her. Life would be so much easier if I could just trust her again, but that would mean giving up in the fight for what was true and right. I couldn’t give up on the two people who mattered most to me. They hadn’t given up the entire time I didn’t believe in them or believe they were alive. How could I do anything less for them?
“Priya, can you tell me what Dimitri looks like?” Avery crossed her legs and gave me a Mona Lisa smile, her features relaxed but still attentive as she patiently waited for me to respond.
“Why?” I asked, genuinely curious. Was this a ploy? Didn’t she know what Dimitri looked like? I was positive she knew what he looked like, so why was she asking me? Maybe Dimitri had changed his looks since they last saw him. Would telling her cause anything bad to happen to him?
“I have a theory I’d like to test, but I need to know what Dimitri looks like first. Can you remember what he was wearing or what he looked like the first day you met?”
I smiled wistfully, the memory of that day in the coffee shop appearing in my mind as if it had happened that morning. But my mind caught on the words she used. She said she needed to know what Dimitri looks like. Maybe she had never seen him.
I could always describe someone else and see what she said, just to test her, but at that moment, I couldn’t think of anyone or anything beyond the image of Dimitri. All I could do was change some of his physical features.
“He has long black hair, blue eyes, and a sharp nose. He has big ears I always tease him about and bushy eyebrows.”
“Can you tell me what he was wearing that day you met?” she asked.
I paused as I conjured up the image of Dimitri again, noting what he was wearing.
“A navy t-shirt and black pants. Not jeans, but not slacks. They were just nice pants,” I said and Avery nodded.
“Good. He seems very stylish. Can you tell me what he was wearing on any other occasion?”
I looked at her curiously, wondering why she was asking what he was wearing so much, but I tried to think back to the many other occasions we had seen each other, our many dates and the times he had visited me.
“On our first anniversary, he wore a navy t-shirt, black ankle-length pants, and white sneakers,” I said.
“And on your wedding day?”
“Navy t-shirt, black pants, and sneakers.”
“What about this past week when you saw him?”
“Navy t-shirt, black pants, and—I don’t get your point. So he wore the same outfit all the time. Steve Jobs did the same thing. His closet only had jeans and black turtlenecks,” I said, agitated.
“This is true; some people prefer to wear the same outfit over and over again for simplicity. But let me ask another question. Have you ever seen him with a new haircut? You said he has long hair. Has he always had long hair? Never gotten longer, or shorter?”
I immediately began to shake my head but stopped. Dimitri had never told me he was getting a haircut before, never came home with a different haircut, either. In the years that I had known him, I never questioned it. And now that Avery had drawn attention to it, the fact that he’d worn sneakers and a t-shirt to our wedding sounded odd too.
But our wedding was a secret court wedding. No one could know about it. So why should he have dressed up? It’s not like I got to wear mom’s wedding lehenga, like I wanted.
“I’ve… never noticed. I just don’t notice those things, and he doesn’t care about his looks,” I said with a shrug.
Avery tilted her head slightly.
“Someone so simple and who has a routine look doesn’t care if his hair grows too long or gets too short?” she said, and I tensed up. Something was not sitting right in my brain. My mind fell into chaos as I tried to come up with a reason behind this strange phenomenon.
Maybe he just maintains his hair perfectly and goes like clockwork.
“Also, did you ever notice if his shoes got dirty? Or did he have multiple pairs of the same shoes for years?” Avery asked. I opened my mouth, about to give a response, but I had none to give. I had no explanation for what she was asking about.
Dimitri, can you please show up now? I need help. I don’t know what to say.
But nothing and no one came. I was left alone in Avery’s office with just her and my chaotic thoughts.
“Priya, I know this isn’t something you want to hear, but hallucinations don’t change. They don’t age over time, and they don’t usually change their appearances.”
Silence fell between us as I tried to process what she was saying.
“I think that’s enough for today’s session, don’t you? You should rest a bit before your group session,” Avery said. I nodded as I stared at the ground, unable to respond, my mind scattered and dissociated. Avery stood up, and I followed her lead mindlessly, my eyes remaining on the ground as I left through the door and slowly trudged toward my room.
“That was intense, huh?” Elli asked from next to me when I was halfway to my room. I paused in the middle of the hallway, looking up. It was almost empty, with just a few nurses sitting at the round office in the center of the facility ahead. I looked at Elli, at her hazel eyes peering into mine. My eyes traveled down from her wavy hair, which was up in a ponytail draped over her shoulder partially, to her black tank top, denim cutoff shorts, and black sneakers.
I stared at her shoes and tried to think of the last few times I had seen her.
The night she woke me up, she had her hair in a ponytail and was wearing a black tank top and denim cutoff shorts.
The day I woke up in the hospital, it was a ponytail, black tank top, and denim cutoff shorts.
Today, she wore the same thing.
I looked at the shorts, noting the same fraying at the edges, then the tank top with its smooth texture and thin straps at the shoulders. Her wavy ponytail fell just past her shoulders. But before the past few times, before she supposedly died, Elli had always worn different outfits. She used to wear shorts quite a bit, but she also wore jeans. She would wear sweatshirts, dresses, and different shoes or sandals.
She would never wear the same outfit twice. She loved fashion and mixing up her style.
My head throbbed. I felt more and more like giving up. This was too much to think about. I hadn’t been prepped enough on how to withstand this version of torture from the Russians. And it was definitely torture. It was some sort of mental and emotional torture as they tried to make me discard everything that I believed to be true. I hated what they were doing. I hated the way they were doing it, and I hated that it might even be starting to work.
I was ashamed of the fact that I was even thinking of giving up. So ashamed that I couldn’t even look at Elli, in fear that she would see my inner turmoil. So I looked at the ground ahead of me, held my blanket tighter, feeling the Sherpa fleece against my neck, chin, and part of my cheek, and began walking toward my room again.
I sat in the chair, my eyes aimed at the ground, my fingers moving in a successive ripple like I was playing the piano, over and over again, on top of my blanketed legs. It was almost summer and was probably warm, maybe even hot, outside, but the facility had always been a cold place, the air conditioning blasting at all times.
“Hello, everyone! It’s time for check-ins and introductions.”
Dr. Jackson was the one leading the group sessions, and her voice was as chipper as I expected. Her tone was probably supposed to incite motivation, maybe encourage warmth, but it only irked me.
“It’ll be good for you,” everyone had told me.
“You’ll learn to be mindful, grounded, and gain support. You might even make some friends!” the mom simulation said.
I’d said, “I don’t need that. I don’t need new friends or support either.” What I need is to wake up.
“I can start today.” A boy who looked to be around my age, give or take two years, piped up. He had dark brown hair and was wearing a plain gray hoodie and blue jeans.
“Thank you, Jonathan,” Dr. Jackson said.
Jonathan smiled back and paused before starting. “Can I ask the new girl a question?”
“I don’t see why not,” Dr. Jackson said with a nod, but I tensed up, not wanting to take part or be asked any questions. Jonathan looked at me and smiled.
“Hi, my name is Jonathan and I’m bipolar. What are you in for?”
I stared at him, shocked and unsure of how to respond.
“Jonathan!” Dr. Jackson scolded as the room filled with half-stifled chuckles. I just stared at the kid, my face softening, a bemused smile tugging at my lips. “We don’t ask about diagnoses in this group, remember?”
“Well, yeah, but I mean, she’s gonna end up talking about it later, right? So why not just rip the Band-Aid off now?”
“That’s not the point of a mindfulness group, Jonathan. You know better,” Dr. Jackson scolded.
I grinned weakly at the squabble and decided I was probably going to like Jonathan. But I wasn’t sure how to respond to the question. I couldn’t tell them about the Russians—they’d just throw me back into the restraints. Maybe the strategy was to play into the current narrative. Maybe I had to use their own methods against them, gain their trust, work the system, and get out that way.
Be patient, angel.
“It’s all right,” I said, looking at Jonathan. I turned my attention to Dr. Jackson. “May I answer?” Dr. Jackson sighed before nodding.
I turned back to Jonathan and smiled.
“Hi, I’m Priya, and I was diagnosed with schizophrenia.”
“Hi, Priya,” the other attendees said in unison, and I chuckled. It sounded the same as how Alcoholics Anonymous or other support groups sounded on TV.
“All right. Cool,” Jonathan said. “Back to check-in, I’d say I’m at a solid five point five.”
More chuckles. I was beginning to think Jonathan was the clown of the group.
“And why is that, Jonathan?”
“I can’t paint, but I don’t wanna die—so solid middle ground. Only slightly higher because I felt like sketching. I couldn’t. But I felt like it.” He said this with a shrug, putting his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt before looking at me and grinning.
“Are you a painter?” I asked, then looked at Dr. Jackson. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”
“Of course!”
I nodded and looked back at Jonathan.
“Only when inspiration strikes. If not, I’m just a normal human,” he said with a smile, a small dimple appearing on the right side of his mouth.
If I had met Jonathan outside of a psychiatric hospital, I may have found him attractive. His features were familiar, similar to Aaron’s, and that thought brought a little pain to the surface.
He’s not real, Priya. He’s a part of the simulation.
My gaze fell from Jonathan to the floor, and I sat back in my chair, bringing my legs up to sit cross-legged. I looked down at my lap and tried to reel my emotions back in.
Remember the plan. Be patient. Stay strong.
“Would you like to go next, Priya?” Dr. Jackson asked.
I looked up at her, then around the room. Any one of these simulated individuals could be a Russian spy. Maybe all of them were, so I had to put on my best performance.
I took a deep breath before nodding. “I’d say I’m at a… five. I say that because I don’t know what’s real, I’m tired all the time, and I just… don’t know what or who to believe. I have no reality checks anymore, and quite frankly, I’m just tired of this world.” My lips moved slowly and sluggishly, causing me to mumble and distort my words, but to my surprise, the words were genuine nonetheless and gave away more of my thoughts than I had intended. I wasn’t sure who to be more afraid of, the Russians if they found out I was just playing along, or Dimitri and Elli if they found out a part of me wasn’t just acting.
“What sort of reality checks did you used to have?” a soft male voice asked. It wasn’t Jonathan for sure, and I looked up at the other boy in the group, who looked younger than me. He was wearing a pair of black sweats and a dark blue crewneck sweater with gray house slippers on his feet. Based on his gaunt face, he seemed extremely skinny.
“My best friend, Elli. She died recently,” I said.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, silence falling on the group. I didn’t mean to, but I definitely brought the mood down with my response.
“Thank you for sharing, Priya,” Dr. Jackson broke the silence. I gave a small nod.
“I can go next.”
I looked at the frail boy who had given me his condolences.
“My name is Bryan,” he said meekly. “I have anorexia, and I’ve had an especially hard week. I’d say I’m at a three.” He yawned. I noticed the dark circles under his eyes then and realized he must not have been sleeping.
“This week, my dad came to visit.” Bryan turned to me. “My dad and I have a bad relationship. He’s basically the biggest stressor in my life.” I nodded.
“So anyway,” he continued, “my dad came, and he was trying to understand. I know he was, but he just… kept getting mad at me. When I told him how disgusting food makes me feel, how I hate the textures and I hate the smells, he just… got mad. At first, he was blaming himself, and then he was blaming me; and he left after telling me to ‘fix myself.’” Bryan made air quotes with his fingers.
“How did that impact you?” Dr. Jackson asked.
“Honestly, it was terrifying. It made everything worse than it already is. I’m at a point now where I just feel like never looking at food, or smelling it, let alone eating it. I don’t want to eat ever again. I do want to die. I just can’t bring myself to do it,” he said, looking down.
I wondered what his story was. I knew anorexia was about being a certain weight, wanting to be in control, all of that, but everyone had a different reason for their struggle, a different trigger that threw them into the throes of a disorder. I wondered what made this young kid begin to manifest such terrible self-harm symptoms.
Stop caring and being curious about a simulation.
“You’re beautiful, Bryan. Even if you don’t feel loved by your father, you are loved by many people, and also by God,” the girl next to him said. She was wearing a pair of light blue jeans, furry boots, and a pink sweater.
“Thanks, Charlotte. That means a lot to me,” Bryan said quietly, looking at the floor before turning his head up and smiling at the girl, who I guessed must be Charlotte.
“I can go next,” she said. “I’m Charlotte, and I guess if we’re still saying our diagnosis, I also have bipolar disorder. I’d say I’m at a six, honestly. I’m on the mend since being discharged. I went to church this past Sunday, and that was really nice. I felt something close to mania while I was worshipping, which was nice, you know? Since I miss being manic, but I don’t miss being depressed. I guess I just miss being happy and confident and… in love with the world and myself. So church helped me feel that again, but only for a moment. Then it was back to my mundane life. But yeah, no suicidal thoughts, and no hypomanic thoughts. Just thoughts. So I guess I’m doing well.” Charlotte shrugged.
“How does it feel to not be manic anymore?” Dr. Jackson asked her.
Charlotte paused for a moment before replying.
“Honestly, it feels like the best part of me has been stripped away. I feel like my friends won’t want to be around me anymore because I’m not fun or adventurous anymore. I’m just… bland.”
I frowned, staring down at my lap. I could relate to her feelings. I remembered when I fell into my deep confusion immediately after witnessing Dimitri die. I also felt like the best part of me—of my life—was gone. But I’d had Elli to cheer me up and be there for me. I had family to lean on and support me.
But that was all an illusion from the Russians. This whole world is an illusion.
I looked around the room as Dr. Jackson began the lesson, or whatever it was, for the day. My stubbornness won out and kept me from paying attention to her.
The faces around me looked so real, and their stories seemed so complex. But I couldn’t shake the truth that they were just simulations.
I have to wake up.
The common area had a large table in the far back corner that was usually used for art therapy. There was a TV a few feet away surrounded by a semicircle of chairs and a small couch used during entertainment time. The movies or shows we watched were usually kept at a low volume with subtitles so as not to disturb people participating in other activities.
I sat on the couch with one leg curled under me and the other propped up and bent with my knee toward the ceiling. I tried to concentrate on the older women in the show on the TV, The Golden Girls, but my mind was elsewhere.
“Damn, can’t we just change the channel and put on The Nanny?”
I looked to my right out of the corner of my eye and saw Elli lounging back against the couch. Both her legs were folded under her as she leaned back, one arm propped up on the edge of the couch with her hand supporting her head.
I looked around the room, noticing there weren’t many people in the area, and I had about twenty minutes until art therapy.
I turned my head to Elli to take in her image fully, and my eyes fell on her shoes, which were still on her feet and were on the couch.
But she’s not actually here. She’s a projection from the real world; so that’s fine, but why the same outfit?
“Elli, why do you wear the same clothes every time I see you?” My voice was soft and absentminded, the words coming out on autopilot as I zoned out.
Elli hummed before responding. “Because it’s still the same day in the real world. Dreams move way faster than the real world, Priya.”
I finally looked up at her, my brown eyes meeting her hazel ones, and I searched them for the truth because, for the first time, I didn’t believe her.
“Who you talking to, P?” I yelped as the familiar voice caused me to jump out of my skin. Within a blink, Elli was gone, and I was forced to look up at Jonathan. “Damn, you’re really jumpy. My bad.” He gave his boyish grin and put his hands up, and once again, I was reminded of Aaron. I had to literally shake my head to get the image of the first day I met Aaron out of my head before I focused back on Jonathan.
“What do you want?” I asked, not intending to be mean, but not intending to be as glum as I sounded.
“I came in early for art class. Just saw you talking to yourself and wanted to see what’s up. You okay?” Jonathan asked, sliding down from the arm of the couch to the seat cushion. He looked at me like he was analyzing me, and my eyebrows drew together as I stared at him, annoyed.
“I wasn’t…” I stopped myself and sighed. No one could know I was still seeing Elli and Dimitri. “I’m fine. Just trying to… figure stuff out,” I said and leaned to my left, resting my head against my fist.
“Do you need help?” he asked, way too eager for a normal person, and I looked at him with a face that I hoped said, “No, you freak.” But Jonathan only laughed.
“Hey, If I’ve learned one thing about being crazy, it’s you shouldn’t be crazy alone. Ya’ gotta have people to let the crazy out with or you’ll explode.”
His words caught me off guard and my head whipped up to him.
Elli. He sounded just like Elli.
“That’s what she said to me,” I whispered, more to myself, but Jonathan heard me.
“Who?”
I looked up at him and took in his soft brown eyes, his slightly tilted head, and the way he had been so boisterous these past few times I’d seen him. There really was nothing threatening about him, so if he was working for the Russians, he was a great spy.
But then again, if he wasn’t, then I could trust him, right?
I turned my head away from him and looked down at the ground, contemplating my options.
I was tired. I was mentally, physically, and emotionally just exhausted, and what’s worse is that I could feel myself losing grip on my sanity. I was beginning to feel truly crazy, and maybe I needed to let it out. Maybe I needed to voice it and talk it through with someone. Maybe Jonathan was that person, but I couldn’t risk being locked up again. I had one more day in this facility and then I’d be out. Then I’d be able to get back to Dimitri and Elli.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jonathan asked again, but before I could confirm, there was a ring of a bell that signaled art therapy was starting soon.
“Yup. Totally okay,” I said as I rose from the couch and walked over to the large table, taking a seat and letting out a breath.
Such a liar.
That night, I was allowed to sleep without restraints. My nurse, Nurse DeMarcio, came in while I was staring blankly out my window. She had long blond hair that she wore up in a messy bun. She was extremely sweet and spoke very softly, but not in the way everyone else did, like they thought I might break. Nurse DeMarcio spoke as if we were just in a library. She was pleasant and didn’t make me feel lesser or weaker than I was.
“Hi, Priya. How are we feeling today?” she asked as she set down the two cups on the little table at the foot of my bed, then filled the water cup from a pitcher.
During my art class, I had produced stick figure pictures that looked worse than a toddler’s, and Jonathan made sure to comment on it. After though, I had free time, and I watched television, finally enjoying some reruns of The Golden Girls. It helped me feel more at ease than the last time I was here. Before, I didn’t get the chance to immerse myself in the activities and agendas because I was out so soon, but this time it felt more… comforting.
But I shouldn’t have felt comfort. I should have felt outrage, I should have felt guilt at the comfort, and I should have felt ready to leave, not like I was taking a vacation.
What is wrong with me? Have I forgotten that I am supposed to be acting?
“I’m okay,” I said. She nodded before coming to my side and handing me the water cup and the pills.
I looked down into the pill cup for a few seconds, contemplating whether I should take the three tablets. I was supposed to be fighting, not blending in, no matter what the plan was. This was supposed to be an act, not a vacation. I was still fighting in this war with the Russians.
Be patient, angel.
Dimitri’s words echoed in my head, and I sighed, not wanting to take the pills because of my growing fear that I would lose the will to fight. But I trusted Dimitri. I trusted him with my life.
So I tossed back the water, then the pills, and handed Nurse DeMarcio my cups.
“Good night, Priya,” she said as she walked out of the room.
I lay my head down on my pillow, adjusting my body to a comfortable position, then turned to continue looking out the window of my room, the silence surrounding me.
No voices. No radio signals. No interceptions.
No Dimitri. No Elli.
Where is everyone?
Never before had silence been harder to fall asleep in.