“I’m tired,” I say, and then I roll onto my side to face the wall. I just don’t care anymore about whether I live or die.
No one cares. You’re a waste of a human being. Useless. An idiot.
Normally, I’d fend off her attacks, but I just don’t have the energy.
You’d be better off dead. Your whole family would be better off. Just get it over with.
Shut up.
Ian pats my shoulder. “Okay, sis. We’ll let you rest.”
* * *
Darkness.
Bone-chilling cold.
Uncontrollable shaking.
And terror. So much terror.
I can’t think straight. I can barely hear over the sound of the voice screaming in my head. Or maybe that’s me screaming. I can’t tell.
I want to disappear. Vanish. To not exist any longer, because this misery is worse than death.
I hear a loud clang, and the metal platform beneath me shudders.
“How the fuck do we shut her up?” a man says, his voice gruff and hateful.
“I don’t know. Have we got any more sedatives?” another says.
“I’ll get some. We’ve gotta do something. She’s spooking the other girls. And someone might hear her.”
“Here, use this,” a third man says. “This’ll shut her up.”
Rough hands pry open my jaws, and a hard rubber ball is shoved into my mouth and strapped tightly in place.
I can’t do more than whimper now.
I gasp for air and nearly suffocate until I relax enough that I can breathe through my nose.
“Man, it’s too bad she’s off-limits,” the first man says. “I’d love to have me a piece of that.”
I feel a hard hand grip my naked breast, squeezing painfully. Another hand slides between my legs.
I scream over and over.
“Layla!”
My eyes flash open as panic swamps me. I shoot up into a sitting position, but before I can scramble off the bed, firm hands hold me steady.
“It’s okay, sis,” my brother says. “You were having a nightmare.”
The door to my hospital room swings open, and light from the hallway floods the room. A tall, dark figure stands in the opening, tense, poised as if ready to go to battle. He’s backlit, so I can’t make out his facial features. I just get an impression of a lean, muscular build.
“Is she okay?” he asks, his deep voice laced with concern.
“She had a bad dream,” Tyler says as he hovers behind my brother. “She’s okay.”
The tension in the man’s posture eases a bit. He studies me a moment before he steps back out into the hallway and lets the door slowly close.
Jason. My new bodyguard.
He’ll betray you, too. Just like Sean did.
Shut up.
You know it’s true. They all do eventually.
I’m ignoring you.
You’re an idiot if you think this one will be any different.
I spend a lot of wasted time arguing with the voice in my head. She’s mean. Hateful. And she never lets up. It’s like she knows every deep-seated fear I have and rubs my face in them.
Ian presses his palm to my forehead. I’m sweating and shaking, light-headed.
An alarm sounds on his phone, and he grabs it and looks at the screen. “Shit.”
“I’ll get something,” Tyler says. He opens the top drawer of the cabinet beside my bed, pulls out a little carton of apple juice, opens it, and hands it to me.
A moment later, Ian’s phone rings, and he answers it immediately. His gaze goes to me as he says, “Hi, Mom. Yeah, she’s fine. Don’t worry. We were awake when the alarm went off. She’s drinking some apple juice.”
Whenever my glucose monitor alarm goes off, both Ian and my mom are notified. My poor mom was probably awakened from sleep by her phone screeching at her, which means my dad was awakened too. “Tell her I’m sorry. I should have been paying better attention.” I’m supposed to be checking my sugar levels regularly.
I hate worrying my parents. They both have high-pressure jobs, and I don’t want to add to their stress.
After reassuring our mom that I’m okay, Ian ends the call. “Do you want anything else?” he asks me.
“No, I’m okay.” I hand him the empty juice box, and he tosses it into the trashcan. “The juice should hold me over until breakfast.”
“You promise you’ll eat something then?”
I nod. “I promise.”
After a short while, Ian checks the glucose monitor once more. “Your sugar level is starting to go up.”
I notice he’s wearing a pair of flannel PJ bottoms and a T-shirt. Tyler’s wearing the same. I glance over at the sofa bed. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
Ian leans close to kiss the top of my head. “It’s no problem. Try to go back to sleep.”
Ian and Tyler return to their makeshift bed. I roll over to face the wall and close my eyes, pretending to sleep.
You’re such a burden to your family.
I know.
* * *
That evening, my parents come to the hospital as soon as they get off work, still dressed in their professional attire. They both look exhausted, and I know I’m the cause. I hate being a burden to them. I wish they’d forget about me and go do their own thing, but I know that’s not an option. They’d never give up on me.
You don’t deserve them.
Shut up.
Since my parents are here for a couple of hours this evening, Ian and Tyler leave to have dinner. It’s become the routine—my parents take the evening shifts, babysitting me after they get off work so that Ian and Tyler can have a break. They’re afraid to leave me alone because they’re afraid I’ll hurt myself. I’m in a psych ward at the moment. There’s nothing sharp in my room. No belts or ties either. Nothing I could hurt myself with. At least I’m allowed to wear my own clothes—a pair of light gray flannel PJ bottoms and a white tank top.
You should hurt yourself. You’re a complete waste of everyone’s time.
Stop it.
You’re dragging them all down with you. Is that what you want? You selfish idiot.
Shut up!
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Mom asks as she sits down in the chair beside the bed. She’s dressed in a sapphire blue business suit and jacket with a tailored white blouse. Her blonde hair is shoulder-length, and she’s wearing a familiar gold heart-shaped locket on a chain around her neck. In the locket are pictures of me and Ian when we were young. She’s a great mom, and I hate the fact that she worries about me.
“I’m feeling better.” It’s not really true, but she’ll feel better if I say that.
“How have your levels been today?”
“Fine.” That’s true for the most part. I did eat three decent meals today, even though I had zero appetite. And I ate a few snacks when my blood sugar levels dropped.
Mom already knows what my levels have been all day. She has the Dexcom app on her phone, and it shows her the history of my glucose readings around the clock.
“When does your pump need to be changed?” she asks.
“Not until tomorrow.” I wear an Omnipod insulin pump. It usually lasts two to three days before I have to replace it.
“Make sure you’re eating well and checking your glucose level regularly.” She glances at my dinner tray, which is sitting on the bedside table.