When I woke again I couldn’t move.
I opened my mouth to yell, but the scream died in my throat. Crying out wouldn’t help. To be released, I had to be quiet.
Good.
Sane.
I heard footsteps in the hall, then the sound of low, concerned voices. Let me out, let me out! It took all my self-control not to beg, but I kept my eyes and mouth shut tight. Kept my body utterly still, except for the peaceful rise and fall of my stomach, even as my mind crackled with frenzied thoughts. I’d had a breakdown. I was at Belman Psychiatric Hospital. I was strapped to the bed.
Again.
The voices moved on down the hall, and then I opened my eyes.
I was slowly trying to work one of my wrists out of its restraint when I heard a bright, familiar voice call out. “Oh, Hannah, you’re awake!”
Nurse Amy came bustling into the room. “You’re good now, aren’t you, hon?” she asked. She patted my immobile arm. “You know we hate doing this to you, but you weren’t being cooperative, not in the least.” She clucked her tongue at me and smiled. Nurse Amy wore too much eyeliner and too much perfume, but she was young and pretty, with broad, soft shoulders and tiny perfect teeth.
“I’m good,” I lied.
How could I be good? I was in a freaking mental hospital!
But Amy’s definition of good was different than mine. She didn’t mean was I happy, healthy, and 100 percent right in the head. She meant was I going to try to punch someone anytime soon. She meant was I going to try to run.
I wasn’t.
“You can let me out,” I said. “I’ll behave this time, I swear.”
After Amy undid my restraints, I sat up and rubbed my wrists, which were an ugly red. My head felt fuzzy, and my tongue was heavy and thick, like it had grown bigger overnight somehow.
“Better now?” she asked, smiling kindly at me.
“Yes,” I said around my fat tongue. “But honestly, that isn’t saying much.”