Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
The first night I was in here, I had been nailed to the bed with the force of my own addiction. I had been unable to get up for any reason, feeling the world spin and my body convulse. I had been in and out of consciousness, feeling only pain, seeing only colors. They had turned the light down low, which was a blessing. Only the nurse’s gentle voice had penetrated the fog, calming me down.
I had felt like I was out at sea during a storm, and her voice had been a life raft, allowing me to drift on the surface instead of sinking to the bottom. That was the first time I had seen her, but it wasn’t the last. After a sleepless night, tossing and turning but unable to rise, I had weathered enough of the storm to stand. I explored the tiny cubicle, relieved myself in the toilet, washed my hands, and washed out my mouth with water.
They had given me scrubs when I arrived, a set of pale green pajama bottoms and a top. I thought I remembered trying to claw my way out of them at some point during my stay. They were itchy in the way that all new clothing was itchy. As if the starch from the factory was still embedded in the threads. I could have sworn that I had set myself free, removing at least the shirt before succumbing to unconsciousness.
Either it was a dream, or they had dressed me again. I wouldn’t put it past them. It seemed like half of what they did here was just monitor you and try to keep you decent while you went through the inevitable tremors. I was desperately curious to know how other people were dealing with this. Presumably I wasn’t their only patient, though I had yet to see another human being besides the nurse and the orderlies.
On the second day, I pressed my nose against the safety glass on the door, trying to see out of my chamber. I tried the knob, and it was locked. I cursed. Why would they lock the door when someone had come here of his own free will? What did they think I was going to do? Then my musings about taking on the orderlies came back to me, and I grinned. That was exactly what they were trying to prevent—some intoxicated patient from attacking the staff.
I wandered back to the chair and sat down. It felt good to touch a surface other than the bed. When this ordeal was over, I was never going to sleep again. Delirious hours spent unable to rise had turned me off sleep in general. But then I felt the heaviness of the world on my shoulders and tumbled from the chair to the mattress. Maybe a little more sleep wouldn’t hurt.
In my dreams, I saw the nurse. She was beautiful, short, and curvy with a mane of red hair that refused to be tamed even by the bun she kept it in. It inevitably broke loose and curled around her face, dipping into her eyes so that she had to brush it away.
She wore scrubs like me, but hers were softer, more expensive, and less industrial. They looked as if they were genuinely comfortable, not crisp and new like the ones they had put me in. Underneath the neutral fabric, I could see the swell of plump breasts and the curve of shapely hips. Despite the fact that she was my nurse and clearly out of my league, I couldn’t help speculating.
What would it be like to run my hand up one of those graceful thighs? To see the growing arousal in her eyes as I drew closer to her center? I tried to kill the fantasies as they came to me. She was kind, and she didn’t deserve my lewd thoughts. Still, in my dreams, where inhibitions couldn’t stop me, I picked her up from that wretched metal chair and carried her to my bed. I slid my hands across her chest, lifting her uniform to peek beneath. The view I was rewarded with sparked my lust, sending vibrations from my heart down to my loins.
More than once, I woke with a hard-on. I was pretty sure I was under video surveillance, so I didn’t dare try to calm it. Not that I was sure they hadn’t seen it before. I was sure they had seen all kinds of things that normal people didn’t do in public. But I wasn’t going to enjoy myself if I thought any of the orderlies were watching; I wasn’t that kind of sick.
There was no window in the locked room, so I had no ability to tell time. They had taken my phone and with it, all connection to the outside world. There was no clock mounted on the wall, and the only indication of the passage of time was the variety of food they gave me. When it was oatmeal or fruit, I knew it was breakfast. Sandwiches meant lunch, and meatloaf or turkey with colorless gravy meant dinner.