I would've never envisioned this happening again, being trapped inside those steel walls, sitting on that cold chair, fidgeting my hands on top of that rigid table.
He comes in. He isn´t happy.
"Do you know why you're here this time?"- He approaches me and leans to face my side profile. I'm looking at my sweaty hands.
As his warm breath grazes my neck, I can only timidly deny it with my head. He then proceeds to sit down and throw a little, yellow Walkman attached to a pair of black earbuds; it slides to the middle of the silver table. I glance fleetingly at him for a second, his charcoal-colored eyes have an undeniable glint of fury. My heart dropped, I wasn't getting out of this very easily. I remembered the first time they took me to this room... I'd managed to get rid of taking the weekly dream test, and I'd broken several rules in doing so.
"I'm sure you are well aware it is strictly forbidden to use devices other than those that are granted to you. In addition, I do not allow you to consume any multimedia material including music, cinema, or literary works that are not available to you. That said, where did you get this from?"- The vein in the right upper part of his forehead was pumping and ready to explode at any given moment. I had to choose my words very carefully.
"The Walkman was given to me by Ms. Addams for history class. I have only used it to listen to audio in 19th-century formats like these for a research project. Nothing belongs outside, I swear."- I try my very best to maintain a firm and convincing tone. I'm keeping my eyes down, looking at my knuckles, bruised from other mistakes.
I can feel his eyes fixated on me for a few seconds. If I look up, he'll know I'm lying, but if I don't, he'll suspect that I am lying. Before I can continue deciding how to act, he gets up and slowly walks to the back of my seat. I don't dare to look back. His movements are painfully slow. He places his hands on my shoulders, applying some force as he glides them up to the back of my neck.
I can't take it anymore. It's like an electric shock coming out of my body without my control. Fury is the one that's in control. He turns my head fast enough to catch my fiery eyes. He quickly takes his hands away from me, hissing under his breath.
"I really expected you to be honest for once, it could have saved you a big part of the punishment."- He sits back down, and I now look at him, not caring anymore. His face is impassive, acting as if he wanted this to happen all along, he's relishing the moment.
-"You'll get the heavy quill...in isolation."
This is the worst kind of punishment, my heart sinks right down to my stomach. The heavy quill is a chunky pen that makes writing the simplest of words the hardest of tasks, slowly torturing every bony segment of your fingers while making your palm feel like it's on fire. You can't take it off or drop it until the time programmed comes to an end. I'm guessing it will be more time than the last punishment was. I look down defeated and he stands up with a blank expression on his face.
"I'm very sorry Roman, it won´t happen again."- I venture to say, he looks at me and answers briefly, before leaving the cold room.
"Prepare your belongings for isolation, you have a lot of time to reflect on things."
. . .
I open my eyes in the same luminous bedroom I woke up in almost a day ago; same bed, same wooden furniture, and the same bay windows. One thing was different, it was the fact that I had just dreamed about a very vivid experience I thought I had forgotten. Had chosen to forget, at least. Memories about what would have been the continuation of that nightmare started flooding me with harsh emotions.
No, I couldn´t break down now, not here, not yet.
About 12 hours ago, I was in Victor's office. When he told me it wasn't the first time we met I had so many questions but I couldn't bring myself to admit or formulate any of these. It was this simple, I had lived my whole life without access to anything or anyone outside the institution. Atlas' affirmation was merely impossible, I had never seen or even heard of him before.
Unfortunately, any further clarification could not take place as Robert interrupted us and asked Victor to attend to an urgent matter, so the interview had to be postponed until he was free again. Olivia came soon after to bring me back to my bedroom, she explained it was provisional, and when I was completely recovered, I would be assigned a normal dorm.
I had fallen asleep as soon as I had laid in bed, and numerous dreams and nightmares had taken place that night. I suppose it's because this was the most restful sleep opportunity I had gotten in months, so my brain took great advantage of it. I get up from the bed and go to the dresser, choosing to dismiss this mental spiral, for now anyway.
I haven't had a chance yet to investigate the content of those drawers so I pick this as my first distraction of the day. I open the first one, which is filled with fluffy towels. The second one contains white hospital gowns, shirts, and pants, the two latter are identical to what I was wearing at the moment. In the third one, I find some toiletries such as a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a bag with what I suppose are little bottles of shampoo and gel. I decide to transfer it to my bedside table. I'll ask Olivia where's a bathroom I can use.
The fourth and last drawer hides a pretty surprising object. It's a small black notebook, with the cover a little worn out by time and use. I pick it up slowly and check to see if there's anything else inside the drawer: nothing.
I sit down on my bed and look at it more carefully, brushing my fingers intently over the front cover, wondering whether I should open it or not. This seems very odd, everything in the room was prepared for a patient in recovery, and a personal item like this shouldn't have been left out. The personnel working here would've cleared this out way before my admission. Also, who was the owner? It's very difficult to forget a journal and not try to get it back soon after.
Curiosity takes the best of me and my hands flip over the hardcover to reveal the first page. I can't believe my eyes. Scribbled in stylized handwriting that looks so familiar are words I never thought I'd see:
"The Beginning of my Doom."
By Roman Fay