Therapy Thursday. The day when us PDS sufferers would sit in a patronising circle, talk about our deaths, and try to justify what we did in our untreated states. I sighed, pushing my hair back, biting my bottom lip as the circle of sympathy got ever closer to me. The therapist, a young man in his late twenties, sat at the head of the circle, asking each of us questions about our experiences. Personally, I had nothing much to say about my death. It was wanted, it was calming, it was something that brought me into a place where i was safe from myself and my feelings. Whereas, my untreated state was a time of trauma; I had done awful things, things that i didn't mean to do. What person means to rip somebody's throat out in the cereal isle of a supermarket and eat it in front of shoppers? I had done a number of other things in that supermarket, nothing that i wanted to relive of course; taking the medicine every day brought back enough of it.

"Gerard, are you ready to talk?" The young man asked, a smile spread across his face. He was holding a brown clipboard, a piece of paper on it for each patient, whilst spinning his pencil between his fingers.

"What about?" I asked quietly, looking down at my hands.

"Your untreated state, maybe? It will do good to talk about it, the sooner you talk about it the quicker you can go home to your family." He smiled, his tone patronising; I didn't like it.

"I've already told you everything. I can't remember anything else other than that." I lied, pulling at the threads of my t-shirt, feeling his gaze burning a hole in my forehead.

He went to speak, but was interrupted by the bell. The bell, and the soothing classical music that followed, told us that our medication was ready. As the obedient dead people that we were, we all rose from our seats in unison, shuffling in a single-file line on our way to the nurse's room. it was strange to see hundreds of shuffling dead people, our navy-blue uniforms identifying us, all in different states of treatment. Those in the early stages were shackled at the feet, heavily sedated, and were often automatically taken back to their rooms for staff safety. They bit, were violent, and if they didn't respond to treatment in a month they were disposed of. Well, that's what I had heard from other patients, when they forced us to sit in the dinner hall and pretend to eat. I supposed that staff wanted patients to understand the dangers of refusing medication, as they often showed us videos of the untreated, placing emphasis on how bad they were. I felt a hand on my back, so I turned on my heel.

"Oh, Hi Ray." I said quietly, he shuffled forwards to stand by me.

"I have something to show you. I think you're going to like it." He said with a twisted smile, his hand still on my shoulder. He looked around, before digging into his pocket, pulling out three blue pills.

"What's that?" I asked, staring down into his hand.

"They call it 'Blue'. It's a drug made just for PDS sufferers, the ones on the outside smuggle it inside for us. They say half a pill is enough to knock you out, you know." He said, with a concerning smile on his face that made me grimace.

"I don't think that you should be messing about with that, Ray. You've been here two weeks, what if it messes with your release day?" I said, closing the fingers on his hand, watching him put the pills back into his pocket.

"Just because you've been here for six months Gerard, it doesn't mean that you know what's best. Besides, it's just like a tranquilliser. There's no harm in them, I've had them many times whilst being in here." He said, rolling his eyes, taking one out of his pocket. I watched him slip it under his tongue, before he pulled out another, holding it out to me.

"No thank you, Ray, thank you for the offer though." I said with a smile, walking ahead, putting my hands into my pockets. He mumbled something to himself, clicking his tongue, ignoring the guard as he shouted at him to walk faster.

As we neared the nurse's room, a sense of unease washed over me. I dreaded taking my medication, it gave me horrendous flashbacks to killing that man. It would play on my mind all day, I could never escape from it. And it stung, burning throughout my entire body as it tried to awaken my body; it was taking its time. Those that had already had it would come out from the room looking a little sleepy, like they had been given downers and were still incredibly high. My turn neared, and I could feel  my anxiety start to bubble. I chewed the inside of my mouth as I neared the dark, narrow corridor, listening to the cries of the patient in the room. That's what the drug did to you; traumatised you. Then they would come out, blank staring eyes, no expressions, and wander back to their rooms to sleep it off. Behind me, Ray was unusually quiet. He was gurning, his jaw cracking, grinding his teeth. Something wasn't right, but I was helpless to stop it as my turn for medication had arrived. I was shepherded into the room, the top of my uniform pulled down. One doctor stood behind me holding the injection gun, two held my arms, and one held my head still. I felt the needle slip into my skin, hearing the doctor pull the trigger on the gun, releasing.

••••
I was in the supermarket, black blood dripping from my mouth; I had snuck in through the back with a group of others. I could smell blood, I was so hungry. I could hear a man talking, so I headed towards that, spying him in the middle of the isle. I staggered forwards, arms hanging limply by my side, getting faster and faster as I neared him. Then I heard screams, as the man turned around, my mouth colliding with his throat, teeth sinking in.

••••
"Thank you, Mr Way." The doctor said as I came to, the world around me blurry as I staggered forwards, rubbing my back. I felt like I had a terrible hangover, the world spinning as I tried to leave the room. Ray was shoved forwards by a security guard, I watched as he almost fell. The doctors grabbed him, the same way that they had grabbed me, holding him in place. As soon as the needle went into the hole in his back, he let out a bloodcurdling scream. He lunged forwards at the doctors, pinning one down, trying to bite them. Security rushed in, slamming the door shut. That was the last that I saw of Ray.

My mind was slightly foggy, but I managed to stagger away from the commotion, back towards my room. I shared it with a guy that had come into the facility at the same time as myself. He was quiet, kept to himself, and hadn't caused me any problems in our time here. He hadn't overtly told me how he had died, but he had dropped hints. From the purple mark around his neck, I could tell that he had hung himself. Other than that, he was a charming man. I pushed open my door, spying him asleep on his bed. The medication did that to you, and I been more than looking forward to sleeping for the rest of the day. I kicked off my shoes, cracked my neck, and flopped down onto my bed, instantly slipping into a dreamless sleep.

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Song of the chapter - In Dreams by Roy Orbison

A.N
So, this is one from the archives that I've decided to edit, add to and make better due to the fact that our emo overlords have come back to us. Would love some feedback from you guys, seeing as i barely ever frequent this app anymore. Bad app tbh. AO3 is miles better.

Anyway, would love some feedback please <3