I sat on white sheets, thirteen paces from the soundproof door of the room, watching the hallway light slice through the safety glass of the observation window. It pierced the darkness and spilled over the dresser before it disintegrated through the bars on the other window. Escape, escape to David pounded through my head. I tried to clear my mind by focusing on the glinting metal on the floor, the tip of a nail holding the bed to cracked linoleum. I had to stay focused.
My plan was in motion. It couldn’t be stopped. Darling, my roommate and my lifeline, was downstairs, in position. I would join her in a matter of minutes. She was helping me break out of our colorless cage. I would return for her. My moment was coming. I waited as the clock dragged itself through Time.
Plans for my escape started the day they wheeled me into that mental institution, Beaubois. I was twenty-two years old and fresh out of Harvard. The world was waiting for me. Sure, I’d cut my wrists but it wasn’t suicide. I had my reasons. David was out of my life and I was empty. Alone and numb, I wanted to feel something, anything, as I dragged the razor across my skin. I was depressed, but I didn’t need hospitalization. Why would I want to die so young?
“Tick, tock. I’m not done, yet.” I whispered into the Beaubois dark.
I patted the pocket of my patient uniform