Warning: this chapter involves discussion of mental health - such one would see in a mental health assessment. While this is based on an actual mental health assessment for an Acute Unit some parts are dramatised. 

We're having a staring contest now and I think I am winning.

Jamie with his horror filled eyes, though he's trying and failing to hide it, and the consultant. I'm not too concerned about him. A middle aged man with brown skin and a name I'd likely struggle to spell correctly. I couldn't place his ethnicity, I was never always good at telling the difference.

Indian, maybe? Or Pakistani? I had worked with Doctors from those areas before, a few from Nigeria too.

It's not a racist or discriminatory thing.

I'm not saying that all Doctors in this teeny tiny island aren't white, or born or raised here. I'm just saying that I could count on one hand how many white doctors I had worked with.

It was one.

Not that it made much difference.

They were all very difficult to get a hold of when you needed them and were hardly ever around on the units I worked on.

I almost felt special that this one actually showed up so early in the afternoon to see me.

Almost.

But Jamie. He, I paid close attention to. He looks pale, like he had seen a ghost. Then again I suppose in his perspective I guess he did. I think I was officially declared dead at one point, we all were. But I don't remember. I choose not to. Dark memories bring dark emotions and those cause the cracks to widen and branch further up the walls.

I don't want that.

You don't want that too, trust me.

Or don't, that's your choice. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't trust me much. I'm not the most reliable at the moment. But I'm getting better, I promise.

"Emma," Jamie finally choked out before pausing to consider the next words that he was going to use. He's a bit stunned. I don't blame him. It must be tough staring at the ghost of a dead girl he once knew.

I smiled, refusing to break eye contact even though I know it unnerves him. I like that it unnerves him, how my smile is so wide but my eyes are so dead. The eyes of a dead girl. I can see it in his own hazel orbs. It makes me want to laugh until I cry but I fight the urge.

"Do you mind talking with us about what happened? What brought you into hospital?"

That's not how we're supposed to start these conversations. Jamie knows this, or at least he should know this. I've decided to let it slide, he's a bit frazzled right now. Poor, poor Jamie.

I pursed my lips and stared up at the ceiling as though I was considering my answer to his question.

I smiled as if a brilliant idea had popped into my head and resumed eye contact with him.

"No."

A simple word, only two letters. A word that we're taught when we were children alongside it's opposite. A simple word. A powerful word. Saying it with so little hesitation filled me to the brim with so much excitement and thrill I could almost swear that I'd explode from it. Painting the dull white and beige room with red and pink. But I don't explode, I remain in tact.

I suppose that's should be a good thing, shouldn't it?

A bit underwhelming though, isn't it?

"And why is that, Emma?"

I glanced over at the consultant, his accent is thick and definitely not from around here. This was the first time he had said anything, Jamie had made the introductions another unusual thing about this. I couldn't tell you how many of these conversations I had sat in on and the consultant or reg always dominated the conversation except when it was time for the patient to speak.

I think it's supposed to be my turn to speak.

I stared at him for another bit longer, digging my nails into his skin but not enough to draw blood. I don't know why I felt that he had just interrupted my conversation with Jamie but I did, and it made me angry.

I relaxed my posture as best trying to look as uninterested as I possibly could before shrugging.

"Don't want to," I said dismissively and oh he didn't like that now, did he? Tough.

Now Jamie is going to intercept.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asked as if on cue, like I was controlling him. Perhaps I am.

Little puppet on my strings.

I locked eyes with him again but I didn't answer, just watched.

He's going to lean forward now, try to look approachable and a place where someone like me could find comfort in. His eyes will soften and he may even tilt his head slightly.

He's gonna say that 'it's okay' that 'I'll be safe here'.

Then one by one, as if I wrote the script he did exactly that.

He leaned forward and tilted his head, looking at me with gentle soft eyes.

"It's okay, Emma. You're safe here, no one will hurt you if you talk."

A laugh slips through.

I tried to fight it, bite it back into the abyss or feed it to the girl curled up in the corner. She needed the laugh more than I did. But it escapes my grasp and becomes real and as it rings through the air I could see the thoughts tumbling through their heads.

Poor, poor, broken little girl.

"Have you ever harmed yourself?" Asked the consultant and another laugh almost slipped through but I grabbed it just in time.

I wasn't sure if it was the accent or just his overall demeanor but he was the exact opposite of comforting. He was all business compared to Jamie.

But thinking on the question, I suppose I had harmed myself in some ways or others. But I had no intention of telling him that, don't want to be misunderstood.

"Is your family here or are they all back at home?" I deflected, hoping to catch him off guard.

It mustn't have been the first time he had been asked something like that because his expression didn't change. Not even a twitch.

"We're not talking about me, Emma. We're talking about you."

"Do you think saying that name will make us have some sort of a connection?"

"It's your name, is it not?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

The staring game recommences and I think I'm beginning to wear him down.

"Then what do you wish to be called, if not Emma?"

I shrugged, "it doesn't matter what I wish to be called," I said, somewhat mocking the overly polite way he spoke.

I think I used to speak like that.

"Honestly, I don't expect you to call me anything at all."

"Well I must call you by something."

"Why?"

"I beg your pardon."

Again with the over-politeness.

"Why must you call me by something? Why are you so concerned with my name? What does it have to do with you?"

"Does my questions about your name make you anxious?"

Oh that was clever! Sneaky, sneaky doctor.

I shook my head as I laughed, "no doctor, it doesn't. Just making light conversation."

He stared at me, studying me. He's trying see inside my head and look at my thoughts, the same way that you do. I'm not gonna let him in though. My thoughts are mine.

Remember that. Just because I allow you here for free, does not mean that my mind belongs to you.

The Doctor states and stares, and I refuse to be the one to break the contact, before he looks down to write something on a sheet of paper.

The fact that the sheet of paper is only a few lines long is something that fills me with a certain sense of ... what is this? Pride? Glee? I don't know, it's not familiar to me but I'm addicted.

"You didn't answer my previous question, about if you had ever harmed yourself. Those scratches on your arms and face, they were self-inflicted weren't they?"

My, my, my, that was blunt.

I wondered if I had plucked a nerve that filled him with anger.

I stared down at the healing cuts on my upper arms, cuts caused by my own nails. The hospital gown they had given me had short sleeves and they were on full display, no secrets here.

"Did the medical staff tell you that?"

"Are they self-inflicted?"

Very sharp. Like my nails were that day.

I noticed that he didn't call me Emma that time.

"You never had an itch that you couldn't quite scratch before?" I asked with a dismissive shrug and smile.

"Not to the point where I've broken the skin."

I laughed.

It was a funny joke, only it wasn't actually a joke.

"Do you often scratch yourself?"

"No," I respond my voice still laced with laughter.

"Why do you scratch yourself?"

I wasn't sure what it was with that question. Probably because I was rarely ever asked why I did something. People just make their own assumptions and don't care about what's real or true.

"I used to scratch the back of my neck when I was stressed."

That wasn't me talking, that was someone else. Someone old.

I look over in the corner and see the girl peeking over her shoulder, her face still hidden.

You. That was you. Leave me alone. I don't need your thoughts.

"Is there something in this room that's bothering you Emma?"

"I'm not fucking Emma!" I said, snapping at the Doctor.

A suffocating silence took over the room. The kind that you get in these kind of situations. When someone just snaps. And in this moment I know that I have lost the game that I was playing and that just made me more angry.

"Emma, if you're not going to talk to us and be honest we won't be able to help you."

I laughed at that too, a dark and cold laugh, because that truly must've been a joke.

I knew that it wasn't but that just made even more pitifully funny.

"What makes you think that I need your help? What makes you think you can help me? I don't need your help. I don't want your help! I'm fine! Better than fine I'm free and if you think for for one second that I'm going to help you lock me up again then you're the one that's out of your goddamn mind!"

It was all coming out now, in floods and waves and the dam was shattered.

How fucking dare he!? How dare he belittle me and what's going on with me to think that he can help me! Hell. He wouldn't even be the one doing it. Doctors do fuck all and it's the nurses and carers who shovel all the shit but of course he's helping me! What a joke!

He goes to stand while I spit my words at him, unbothered and unfeeling. His mask of composure doesn't crack for a second and I begin to wonder if it's a mask at all and there's nothing under there.

He walks towards the door and Jamie follows suit, conflicting emotions warring in his eyes between staying with me and following the doctor.

Just as the Doctor opens the door to leave he turns to me one last time.

"You are unwell Emma and you need help whether you like it or not. You may not want our help but I'm sure your family would."

My blood turned cold at that when I hear the hidden message in his words.

"I don't consent. You can't talk to my family without my consent and I don't. I don't consent."

"I would rather not have to do this but you've given us no choice Emma."

And with that, as if to end the discussion there, the Doctor leaves.

"No!" I scream out, I can't control the anger anymore.

It's burning me inside and filling me with cracks that I can't hide from.

Those stupid, evil, fucking cracks.

"No! He can't do that! He can't do that! He can't do that! I don't consent!"

I don't know who I'm yelling at anymore.

At the Consultant?

At Jamie?

At myself?

I don't know if it matters anymore.

"No. No you're right he can't. I'll talk to him I promise," Jamie stuttered before leaving the room.

I stared at the doorway which seemed to twist and bend and get further and further away from my grasp.

I stared at the girl in the corner who was to blame for everything.

I stared at the cracks that crawled up the wall with a viciousness that almost sent a spark of fear in me.

Almost.

But I know these cracks. I know this darkness. I know the monsters that lurked inside and outside.

I know everything.

My eyes were forced opened and widened by anger and I'll be damned before I let them close again.

I'll be damned before I let them make me Emma again.

I'd rather die again.

The anger boiled in my blood and I could see steam coming off my steam as I realized that was what they wanted.

For me to be Emma.

For me to die.

And I just handed them the key to lock me in.

Before I could think to contain myself my fist collided against the wall and the room shook with my rage.

"Shit!"

Authors Note: Quick reminder that the main character is mentally unwell due to things that will come to light as the story progresses. Her POV is purely for the sake of the story and not an accurate representation of the mental health services. 

If you suffer from mental health issues please seek help and appropriate supports. Don't follow in my character's example.

Stay safe X