The corridor stretched on and on, black and gray of various shades mingled with the shadows, creating an atmosphere that was more drab and depressing than avant garde. She was the only bit of color, save the tiny glowing red exit sign in the far distance.
There was no real exit, though.
The sign was just for show. She had already tried.
The carpet dulled the sound of her steps into soft, muffled thuds as she walked down the hallway to room #32521.
She stopped, her hand poised to knock on the cool wood.
What if I don’t do it this time?
But she already knew the answer.
Sirens sound, men in plastic suits appear. Nowhere to run. Pain. Then there is nothing but the blazing, searing whiteness. You cannot escape the blinding whiteness.
The door clicked unlocked, an unseen entity granting her entry.
She stepped inside and allowed the door to close behind her. She could hear the lock sealing her inside.
After stepping out of the high heels, she placed them in the closet of the antechamber. There was a gray gown hanging on the customary hanger inside. She unzipped her bright green dress and let it fall to the floor. She did not wear underwear. Ever. Not here.
The bathroom was to her right. A quick shower under warm water. The harsh cleanser was in a boutique bottle on the counter but the pretty packaging did nothing to hide the antiseptic odor.
A white towel waited for her on the warmer.
Scars crisscrossed her abdomen. She had lost count of how many cuts had been made. She quickly covered them up with the gown, grateful for the steamed up mirror so she did not have to see the horror reflected back at her.
She pushed through the plastic curtains into the bedroom. The whole room was white and very cold. There were heavy white drapes along the far wall but she knew there were no windows on the other side.
She longed for sunlight again.
How long had it been?
Damp hair hung loose about her shoulders making the cold air seem even colder. It gave her goosebumps and her nipples grew hard beneath the thin fabric of her gown as she made her way to the bed.
She placed the sticky pads across her chest as she had been taught, the cold gel adhesive made her shiver, involuntarily. Lying down on the metal bed, she placed the black mask over her face and breathed deeply. It smelled of stale rubber.
Another deep breath.
The light overhead grew brighter until the walls blended and ran together and there was nothing else left but that blinding, searing whiteness.
Cold metallic hands that she could not see pulled off her gown and pinned her down as she breathed even more deeply of the gaseous cocktail. The beeping of the monitor sped up, matching her panic. She did not want to be concious. The pain would happen whether she was awake or not.
She wanted sleep, not pain.
What she really wanted was to sleep forever…