Chapter Twenty-One

Raven

In a haze, my body feels weightless as I’m hoisted from the cold, hard table. My head flops forward and the scratchy fabric of a patient gown is pulled over me. The rough hands of two female nurses tug and yank, uncaring to my limp form.

“Please…” The word barely escapes my cracked lips, a whisper so faint I barely hear it myself.

But they ignore me. No response, no hesitation. Their hands just continue to shove and pull on me like I’m a lifeless doll.

The sharp sting of their callous treatment stirs something deep inside me and a spark of rage ignites beneath the fog clouding my mind. It grows quickly, feeding on the humiliation and the helplessness coursing through me.

I thrash suddenly, the burst of energy catching them off guard. My head snaps back, and a high-pitch scream tears from my throat. My body bucks against their hands as I swipe wildly, striking one of them across the face.

But I’m soon crushed as more hands descend on me, pinning me down with overwhelming force. Five, maybe six of them; I can’t tell through the haze, their figures blending into a flurry of white and shadows. I scream again, my throat burning as I writhe, kicking, twisting, desperate to break free.

“Hold her down!” one of them barks.

My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline surging as I fight like a cornered animal. But they’re too strong, too many. My limbs are forced together, pressed painfully against my chest. The sound of something being secured around me reaches my ears before I feel it—the constriction, the suffocating embrace of thick fabric tightening around my arms and torso.

“No!” I scream, my voice cracking as I thrash harder, the fight instinctively clawing its way back to the surface.

My movements are jerky, desperate, but they finish strapping me into the straightjacket. The final buckle clicks, sealing me inside this prison of cloth and straps.

I’m yanked upright, but my legs give out beneath me, completely useless. My knees scrape against the cold floor as I’m hoisted off the table by my arms. Pain shoots through my shoulders, but the nurses grunt with effort, dragging my limp form across the tiled floor.

My head hangs forward, red hair falling into my face. They don’t speak as they haul me away, the sound of my bare feet scraping against the floor behind me.

…

The sound of the heavy lock sliding into place behind me echoes through me and I manage to lift my head, using every ounce of strength I have left, my vision swimming as I try to piece together my surroundings. The glowing brightness of the room burns into my irises, and I squeeze my eyes shut against it.

When I’m thrown forward, I crash onto a soft, spongey surface. The impact knocks the air out of my lungs, and a groan slips from my lips. The padded floor beneath me shifts slightly under my weight as I struggle to move, my restrained arms making it nearly impossible. I twist, rolling onto my back, panting as panic claws at my chest.

The walls around me are padded too—thick and white. The room feels like a coffin, cold and suffocating, its brightness adding to my growing sense of dread. My gaze darts wildly, frantically, until movement catches my eye.

A figure steps into the room slowly, and I try to focus on the silhouette, then my blurred vision sharpens just enough for me to make out… Jess?

She’s wearing a doctor’s outfit, pristine white, with her hair pulled back neatly. Her sweet smile is strangely out of place, as if she’s stepped out of a manipulated version of reality.

“Hello, Raven,” she says softly, and it slices through the madness raging in my mind like a scalpel. “How are you feeling?”

I force myself upright, adrenaline kicking in and I shake my head, disoriented and desperate. “Jess? You have to help me… You have to…”

Her expression shifts, her smile faltering as her eyes darken. “We are helping you, Raven.” The warmth in her tone chills, and I feel the air leave the room.

“You took a dark turn, little lamb. But we’re going to make you all better.”

“No!” I shake my head violently, tears stinging my eyes. “I’m not sure… it’s not…” My voice cracks as a tear slips down my cheek, the words caught in my throat like razor blades.

“You killed people, Raven.”

I recoil as she suddenly thrusts her face close to mine, her smile now gone, replaced by something she is

cruel.

“You fucking killed my fiancé,” she hisses.

My eyes widen, the accusation hitting me like a physical blow. “No… I… I didn’t…”

“You fucking did, Raven.” Her tone trembles with fury, her body taut with restrained violence. “You were an accomplice. With your…” Her lips screw into a mocking sneer. “What did you call him? Your brother?”

The room feels like it’s spinning. I’m too tired, too broken, too confused to process her fucking words. Jess straightens slightly, her gaze raking over me with cold disgust. She takes a step closer, her hand moving to a lock of my hair, winding the red strands gently between her fingers.

“You have such beautiful hair,” she murmurs. “And it’s such a shame…”

I recoil at the word. “Shame?” I whisper, my stomach sinking.

Her other hand moves, and my breath catches in my throat when I see what she’s holding—a pair of gleaming scissors.

“Yes,” she says. “That I have to cut it all off. Rules are rules.”

The sound of the scissors snapping open and closed fills the room and I twist, trying to scoot away, but the jacket restrains me, holding me captive as she kneels closer.

“No, Jess,” I beg. “Please, don’t… don’t do this… I didn’t.”

Her smile returns, mean and harsh, as she tilts her head. “You don’t get to plead, Raven. Not anymore. This is for your own good.”

The first snip echoes in the sterile room, the sound razor-sharp and final. A chunk of my hair falls to the padded floor, crimson against the pale white.

“No!” I scream, thrashing against the restraints, my body jerking wildly. My cries are desperate, echoing off the padded walls. “Jess, stop! Please, don’t!”

She doesn’t give a fuck, her face coldly determined as the scissors bite into another lock of my hair.

“Stop moving, Raven,” Jess orders.

But I don’t stop. I can’t. I twist, trying to throw her off, my muscles burning from the energy, but the straightjacket holds me fast. The more I fight, the tighter it feels, constricting like a snake around my chest.

Another snip. Then another. My cries turn to sobs, and the tears flow freely down my face. She ignores me and just works, yanking my head back when I try to pull away. My hair, my identity—it falls in uneven chunks, stripped from me, piece by piece.

By the time she’s done, the air feels colder, harsher against my exposed scalp. My sobs have turned into quiet, gasping whimpers as I sit slumped against the wall, shaking.

Jess steps back, brushing her hands off like she’s finished a chore. The scissors clatter onto a nearby tray, and she gazes at me with a cruel smile, satisfaction glinting in her eyes.

“You look better already,” she says with a mocking tone, tilting her head to admire her work.

I can’t even respond as I curl into myself, cornering into the wall until I’m a ball on the padded floor. My tears drip onto the white fabric of the straightjacket as I bury my face into my knees, muffling my broken weeps.

“Rest now, Raven,” Jess murmurs, her voice grossly sweet again, like a lullaby turned sinister. “You’ll need your strength for what’s coming next.”

Suddenly she pauses, reaching over and she suddenly grabs my Mom’s necklace. She yanks and snaps it off my neck and I gasp like I’ve lost a part of me.

“You wont be needing that!” she chirps, and I start wondering if all these doctors are more psychotic than the patients.

I shoot her a harsh glare, a death warning because I fucking mean it. I’m coming for that bitch first. She smirks before walking away, my Mom’s necklace tucked in her pocket.

The door clicks shut behind her, the heavy lock sliding into place and I feel like lay there for what feels like hours, my eyes staying shut, tears slipping through my lashes as I try to shut it all out—the blinding light, the suffocating room. But I can’t shut out my thoughts.

Ty.

His name lingers in my mind. I can almost see him, smell him, the way his rough hands felt against my skin, the way his voice could steady me even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control. Is he out there now? Is he looking for me? Or has he given up?

I try to push the thought away, but it keeps coming back, constant. What if he’s hurt? What if they’ve taken him too? Or worse, what if he’s gone—left me behind to rot in this padded fucking nightmare, where my screams are swallowed by the walls?

I bite my bottom lip, “No, that’s not him.” I whisper.

I picture him breaking down doors, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with rage. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t rest until he finds me. Until we’re together again.