Farewell Apathy Read online

  Farewell

  Apathy

  Jenn Hype

  Farewell Apathy

  Copyright ©2016 by Living Hype, Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Living Hype.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.jennhype.com

  www.livinghype.com

  [email protected]

  Smashwords Edition April 2016

  Chapter One

  Without opening my eyes, I already know I’m somewhere unfamiliar. Something wide that feels a lot like leather is currently wrapped tightly around my ankles and wrists. Why does every inch of my body ache? Even my hair hurts. My fingers twitch from the instinct every human is born with; the one that makes you want to rub your injuries in an attempt to soothe the pain. Only my hands remain strapped down, which makes that instinct turn into agony.

  One eye blinks open at a time, my lashes crusted together and my corneas drier than the Sahara. If the room weren’t pitch black, I know my retinas would be running for their lives, because it takes zero time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I’ve been in the dark a while, it seems.

  Just how long have I been strapped down like this? It feels like someone took a razor blade to my tongue and then stuffed my mouth full of cotton. I can’t even pool enough saliva to swallow, so it’s no surprise that when I try to call out, the only sound I make is a hoarse whisper.

  Anger, fear and confusion team up with each other and throw a tantrum. I knew it was futile when I started kicking and yanking at my restraints, but just laying here helpless seems just as foolish. Of course it doesn’t take long for me to wear myself out, and in a matter of minutes my body goes back to being limp.

  Dammit. All I’ve accomplished is to make myself feel even more weak and dehydrated. I can think of a hundred deaths that would be less painful than this.

  The light scent of cologne wafts through my nostrils, and out of the corner of my eye I make out the shape of a shadow within the depths of the darkness swallowing the room. Whoever it is could be here to save me or finish me off. Whichever one it is, I hope they do it quickly. I’m about two seconds from freaking the hell out.

  Without saying a word or giving me some kind of heads up, the lights flicker on. Jesus, did someone just turn on the freaking sun? My poor corneas are fighting to not turn to ash, begging my tear ducts for help. Even with my eyes clenched shut, I can’t get away from the blinding spots, yet again being reminded that my hands are strapped down.

  Why are they strapped down, again? Oh yeah, that’s right, I still have no freaking clue.

  The saying ‘splitting headache’ takes on a whole new meaning thanks to the axe that’s wedged into the back of my skull. At least, I think there’s an axe back there. It’s the only way to explain why my head feels like it’s being cracked into two halves like a coconut. Slowly, so very, very slowly, I finally start peeling one eye open at a time. He’s blurry, but I can tell he’s a man, and he’s standing right next to me. The only detail of his face I can make out is his mouth, which is formed into a placid smile.

  Is he trying to be calm and reassuring, or is the jerk enjoying seeing me suffer? Either way, he looks creepy as hell.

  He stands stock still while my eyes continue adjusting, and remains unmoving while I take in every detail I can about him. If I make it out of here alive, he’s either getting a gift basket for saving me, or a personal sketch of his face when I book my ass to the police station and report him for cruel and unusual craziness.

  He is actually pretty good looking, with blonde-ish hair that’s a little too long on top, like he’s missed his most recent trim. A smattering of facial hair puts a dusting of blonde scruff along his jaw and chin, giving his otherwise youthful face a much manlier feel. His dark grey eyes are strangely piercing, and though his smile is close-lipped, I don’t doubt that behind those lips are perfectly white teeth.

  He’s not said a word this whole time, and I’m still studying his face when he speaks, scaring the crap out of me. “How are you feeling, Brailey?” He tenderly brushes a lock of my hair out of my face and pushes it behind my ear. The gesture in itself is affectionate, his expression unreadable. If he knows me or has some sort of connection to me, I don’t remember him. And why the hell isn’t he getting me out of here? Don’t fix my hair, un-restrain me, asshat.

  “Where am I?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. He lifts a cup to my face, tilting a straw towards my mouth. Could be the crazy Kool-Aid, but I’m too thirsty to give a damn. I’m pretty sure it’s water, but I suck it down so fast I wouldn’t have been able to taste it anyway.

  “You don’t know where you are?” He asks incredulously, yanking his hand away from my face quickly.

  “No, I don’t know where I am. That’s why I asked.” He scowls at my sarcastic retort. “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark though and guess I’m not staying at the Hilton.” I wiggle my fingers for good measure, his eyes darting to my hands briefly before returning to my face.

  “I’m sorry, you just surprised me. I wasn’t expecting you to not know where you are. What is the last thing you remember?”

  His calm demeanor is really starting to piss me off. I don’t want to answer his questions; I want him to answer mine.

  “I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to think when I’m strapped to a bed in a place I don’t recognize. Maybe if you’d let me up and quit evading my questions then I might be more cooperative.”

  I’m snarling, I can feel it, but he doesn’t appear put off by it. My feistiness only seems to please him, because his smile widens, revealing those beautiful teeth I knew he was hiding.

  “Of course, I’m sorry. I saw you were awake and I got carried away. I’m just glad you’re okay. Let me go get the guards to release you, and then we’ll talk.”

  My body starts to relax, until I realize he said guards. Why the hell are there guards? Am I in prison? I don’t care if there are sharks or lions or man-eating dragons outside of this building; I’m escaping this make-shift Alcatraz one way or another.

  He returns with a man as big as a mountain, who turns an odd shaped key into the buckles of my restraints, undoing each one with quick, rough jerks of his hands, causing a sharp pain to shoot through every part of my body. Asshole. If I thought it wasn’t intentional before, I’d be proven wrong by that smirk he walks away with as I rub my wrists.

  Sitting up is a bitch, and dizziness hits me in waves that have my whole body rocking. My wrists and ankles are covered in wide, angry looking bruises. I don’t remember it, but I had to have fought against those restraints before today; it’s the only reason I would have so much bruising. Not to mention several of them are already starting to yellow, meaning they had to have happened days ago.

  My fingers and toes flex, and it feels amazing and excruciating at the same time; like stretching out a sore muscle by further abusing it. All I want is to be out of this cold, sterile looking room and somewhere I recognize. A cheeseburger and fifty gallons of water also sound pretty awesome right now.

  Strong arms wrap around my middle, catching me when my legs give out from underneath me. I look up into those piercing grey eyes and I’m met with a warm smile. “I’m Mark. We have a lot to talk about.”

  ~

  Shaking myself out of the memory, I look up at Mark and realize just how much has changed in the
three weeks since I woke up strapped to that bed, a stranger in my own life.

  “I’m nervous.” Mark’s dark grey eyes look down at me with sympathy and kindness – a look he wears often around me.

  “I know, but you’re going to be great. You’re strong, and you can do this. And you aren’t doing it alone, you know that, right?”

  Mark has done nothing but try and help me, and I trust him wholeheartedly, but taking on the world with no memory of who you are or where you come from is terrifying. There will be time to fake fearlessness later. This is Mark, and I don’t have to pretend with him.

  “You can call me anytime, day or night. You’re not just a patient to me. You’re my friend, and nothing is going to change that just because we won’t be seeing each other every day.”

  Wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, I pull him in for an embrace, and after a few seconds his body relaxes and he returns my hug. I don’t make it a habit of hugging him, not with our situation, but this time it doesn’t feel so wrong. Mark is literally the only person I have in this world, and though my memories of him are now only few, that doesn’t change how important he is to me.

  As happy as I am to be leaving the cold confines of Mayford’s walls, I’m not looking forward to losing the friends I’ve made here. Over Mark’s shoulder I steal what I hope is one last glance of the monstrous brick building. The structure itself is actually gorgeous, having been built back in the early 1900s, the architecture reflecting the styles and themes you often see in large buildings built back then.

  A large portion of the main corridor is dedicated to the history of Mayford. Apparently, the building was originally intended to be a large cathedral, but funding ran out before it was finished, and the building and the surrounding land were later purchased by Dr. John Mayford. Dr. Mayford moved to the U.S. with his wife and five kids to oversee the conversion of several local buildings being converted into Polio sanatoriums when the outbreaks started.

  The doctor initially housed many Polio patients with the intent of later converting the building into a learning hospital for medical students, but over time Mayford began taking on more of the ‘special’ cases when other locations ran out of room. The reason is unknown, but around the mid-1900s after the Polio vaccine passed clinical trials, Dr. Mayford ultimately ended up restricting his patient base to only the ones considered clinically insane.

  The name changed from Mayford Medical Institution to Mayford Mental Institution, and the hospital is now being ran by Dr. Mayford’s oldest daughter.

  Shaking myself out of my random reminder of Mayford’s history, I put my attention back on Mark.

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you,” I whisper, my voice muffled as I press my face against his chest. He’s not wearing a suit like he normally wears, and I have to admit he looks good in his well-worn jeans and light grey thermal. Mark always seemed so much older than me when he was dressed up, but in his casual clothes he looks every bit his twenty-nine years. He’s here on his day off to say goodbye, despite my protests, but I drew the line at him coming with me. His offer to help me get settled was genuine, but I need to do this on my own. Plus, I don’t own anything, so there really isn’t much to settle in the first place.

  “The best way you could repay me would be to go out there and find your happiness. You deserve it, Brailey.” His voice catches on my name, and I squeeze him a little tighter. I’ve been fighting tears all day, too stubborn to show my fear, even to myself. Crying and worrying over all the what-ifs isn’t going to change the outcome of my circumstances.

  “You may regret that offer to let me bug you day or night, because seeing as how you’re my only friend, I’ll probably be doing that a lot.” I’d love to be able to stand here and pretend that I don’t need anyone and that I’m capable of doing anything I set my mind to, but that would literally just be pretending, and what’s the use in that?

  He pulls back to look me in the eye, but doesn’t pull out of my embrace entirely. My reserve crumbles just a little and a rogue tear escapes as I bite my lip to keep it from quivering. I’m way too determined to not get emotional to completely lose this battle, and the metallic taste on my tongue is a small price to pay if the only way to keep my lips from trembling is to bite down hard enough to draw blood.

  “It won’t be bugging me, Brailey. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the last couple years, and while I know you don’t remember most of it, you are important to me. I know it might be hard to believe that I mean it still, but I’m saying this from a personal, not professional place. You matter to me Brailey, so trust me when I say that I won’t regret telling you to call me.”

  He’s doing that freaky mind reading trick that he does, where he figures out exactly what I’m feeling by staring into my eyes. Mark makes it pretty much impossible to put on a front around him. Well, makes it impossible for me, anyway. What he doesn’t realize is how easily he gives himself away when he does it. At first I thought I was imagining what I saw, but it’s real. I don’t know if he’ll ever come right out and say it, but he’s still holding out hope that my memories come back to me.

  A tidal wave full of guilt washes over me - guilt I feel towards people I don’t even know - and it kicks my legs out from underneath me. My whole body threatens to crumble beneath its weight, and like he has every day for the last month, Mark is right there to catch me before I fall. Being held firmly against his chest calms my rapidly beating heart, but Mark is a safety net I’m losing after today. I can’t rely on his steady embrace to hold me together, and pulling away from him, I see that realization reflected back at me in his eyes.

  A horn honking alerts us that the taxi has arrived, and my heart rate picks up for an entirely different reason. The driver offers to load the taxi, but I don’t own anything. Everything I once owned went up in flames, right along with my memories.

  “Don’t forget to take your sleeping pills, okay? It’s important you get plenty of rest.” I nod and steal one last hug from Mark, promising to talk soon, and then I’m sliding into the back of a taxi that smells like smoke and oriental food.

  The distance between my new place and Mayford isn’t much, but it is enough to feel like I’ve cut the last tether holding me back from truly living. Mayford is a psychiatric institution, not a five-star resort. Even though I wasn’t an official patient, I still had to abide by the rules as such. Most days I wondered how in the world I was supposed to regain my sanity while surrounded by the insane.

  Walking around in the same clothing everyday was almost enough to make me crazy in itself. Mayford is seriously massive, to the point where only the middle of the structure is original. Multiple wings have been added on over time, each wing dedicated to a certain set of patients. For the most part everyone gets to roam freely, but there are wings that contain patients serving out criminal sentencing. Their ‘free’ time is spent inside a cordoned section of the Mayford recreational area.

  Like a giant scarlet letter, each ‘type’ of patient wears a different color clothing. Mine, the light grey set of extremely unflattering scrubs, were what the most ‘normal’ patients wore – their word, not mine. I would never use the word ‘normal’ under the circumstances, and considering taking care of those incapable of taking care of themselves is the entire purpose for Mayford, you would think they would be a little less crass and a lot more sensitive.

  They aren’t. Aside from a few staff members, everyone at Mayford is too busy looking down their noses to treat anyone with any kind of respect. The one thing I’ll give them credit for is that they treat each patient the same. Doesn’t matter if you’re wearing the bright yellow scrubs – the ones for patients who are almost totally gone – or the green ones that are for patients who are only a moderate risk to themselves or others. No matter what color your scrubs – Mayford treats you like shit.

  Forcing myself to put Mayford out of my thoughts, I use the short drive to go over the list of things I need to do as soon as I’m home. Hom
e. I’ll have an actual home. Wow, that sounds weird in my head.

  The phone clutched in my sweaty palm calls out to me, urging me to call Mark and take him up on his offer to help. Mark gave me this phone, wanting to make sure I was safe and had a way to call for help if I needed it. The glittery pink case brings to mind an image of Mark searching through girly-ass phone accessories, trying to find the one he assumes I would want. He’s going to make a girl really lucky one day.

  I almost refused the gift, knowing how much money it must have cost him. He would have insisted, and I didn’t want to taint our goodbye with an argument, so I graciously accepted. When he smirked and said he’d already loaded credit on the iTunes account he’d set up for me so I could buy music and books, I punched him. My small fist collided with a solid chest and the result ended with the injury belonging only to me.

  It’s really freaking weird the types of things I remember. How can using this phone be like riding a bike, but I can’t remember my middle name without someone telling me? The headphones Mark stashed in my bag when I wasn’t looking make it easier to drown out my own thoughts with the music he apparently already took the liberty of loading onto my phone. Unsurprisingly, I like every song. Sometimes it feels like Mark knows me better than I’ll ever know myself.

  The car comes to a stop on the middle of the interstate, and I pop one earbud out to hear the driver say it’s going to be a while due to a wreck. Sitting back and closing my eyes, I let myself get lost in the music. Without a lot of life experiences to reflect on thanks to the memory loss, my mind drifts to the memory of a week ago, when Mark and I first started our goodbyes.

  ~

  “I’m so sorry that I don’t remember, Mark,” I say as I knot my fingers together, twitching nervously.