Strains

Sneak Peek

Hello, I am working diligently on the sequel for Strains. Please read below to get a sneak peek at the first chapter of book 2: Ties

I can tell I'm not trusted just by looking at my shoes. Plain white slip-on sneakers with no laces, just a step below being placed in a padded room.

I haven't been there in months.

The nurse taking my blood pressure is new. Young and clumsy with the pressure cuff. Probably the same age as I am.

"You're new," I say, trying to keep my voice low.

"Yeah," she says, in a tone more cheery than this place deserves. It's a tone reserved for the jerks I play cards with, the ones that think collecting cards in Uno is the goal of the game.

"What have you been doing for the last two years?" I ask her. It's the same question I ask everyone. A trademark that irritates those who will write her paychecks.

"School, mostly," she says as she fiddles with some buttons. Makes sense. I would've already graduated with my English degree by now and probably working if I hadn't gotten into that accident. Now I get to play pretend journalist here, in the mental institution that has become my new home.

"Alright, I got your vitals," she says. "You know what to do next, right?"

Of course, I do. I've done it so many times before. It's part of a daily routine. Wake up, get my vitals taken, take medication, and then more vitals. After those chores, I will finally get time to myself.

She hands me a dixie cup that contains two white and yellow pills. Yesterday's were blue and the day before that they were solid white. I swallow them dry, since today I am not offered any water, juice, or smuggled any alcohol (but I'm not supposed to tell anyone about that). I don't like this part, but once it's done, I can go and be with everyone else.

I'm shut inside a room for my counseling session. I wonder how late the doctor will be this time. And which one it'll be. They aren't always the same, but the questions are.

The room I'm in is completely white and bare of nothing but two windows that take up the length of the largest walls. I sit on a chair in the center and wait for my instructions. It's been two years of this, so I know that if I get up and wander around the room, it'll take longer for the doctor to show up. So I sit, perfectly still for who knows how long.

One of the windows lights up so I can see through it. The doctor is there, wearing a long coat over periwinkle scrubs. His salt-and-pepper beard is one I recognize. I like this doctor, I don't mind when he asks me questions.

"How are you feeling today?" he asks.

"I am okay."

It's true. It's always true and yet I'm still here. I don't know why they ask me that when they don't believe me.

"Have you had any troubling thoughts today?"

"No, sir."

He's scribbling in his notepad.

"Have you had any thoughts at all?"

I nod.

"I just wonder what I am doing here. Why I am here."

"You were in a car accident that took the lives of your parents. You yourself were in intensive care for weeks. It's not uncommon to need some psychological support in those circumstances."

I nod again. It's not like I can contradict him. I don't know how to grieve properly. Before the accident, I had never lost anything before.

"Moving on," the doctor begins, "Let's go over your history again."