Machines whirr around me, a chill breeze drifting beneath the thin cotton sheet that hides my body from the rest of the world. Loud, scattered footsteps stampede in the hallway outside the ward I'm on. Three other women share this space with me, though I don't know their names. Girl One - who inhabits the bed beside me - looks younger than I am, I assume she's in her twenties. I heard the nurses whispering last night, huddled in the corner their eyes darting from her to each other. Something about a flight risk and a danger to herself. Girl One hasn't said a word since I've been here. Hasn't eaten much either. I don't blame her. The food is slodgy and bland. I've been hiding mine in the cardboard bowl I was given, before dumping the garbage down the toilet. I'm not going to eat their poison. They try loading me with pills, they want to keep the little boy for themselves. I won't let them. It's easy to store the tablets beneath my tongue until they leave, confident I'm their fool. The taste is vile.

Michael has visited a couple of times, angry at me for yet another visit to this hell hole. He doesn't believe me either. Stop this attention seeking nonsense, he'd hissed at me, spit hitting my face. I'd stared at him angry and confused. Did he really think I wanted to be here anymore than he did? I'd tried to leave, had screamed, clawed and shouted at a herd of nurses that grappled me to the bed before injecting me with something. I don't remember much after that, I simply remember waking up and feeling extremely groggy.

The nurses and doctors here loved to talk about me as though I didn't share the same space as them. As though I couldn't see and hear everything. Psychosis, they'd whispered together, faces almost touching a clipboard loaded with paper. They're idiots. All of them. They want to stop me finding him. Saving him. He's out there waiting for me, I know he is. I can feel it.

Girl Two screams in her sleep. I wish she'd stop doing that, there really is no need. Every day now she throws her body about like something out of the exorcist. A tangle of sheets and sweat until the nurses come in and inject her and she's finally silent. Her food lays untouched on the table to the side of her bed. Girl Three looks at it hungrily. Three. Two. One. There it is, the padding of her bare feet as she quickly hurries to shovel the food into her mouth before the nurses come back in. It's the same every day. I really am quite bored of it all now. I just want to go back. I want to find him. To save him.

"Hey Amelia, how're you feeling?" The blond nurse who watches us all intently is stood before me, small cardboard pot of medication in hand. She's fairly old, I'd guess in her fifties. Plump and too loud. Too chirpy. She's the worst of them all.
"That depends. Are you going to let me go?" I say, glaring at her. Her expression doesn't change, not even for a split second. It's like she's made of stone, that hideous smile carved permanently on her red face. She holds the pot out to me, shaking it slightly so that I can hear soft rattle inside. It reminds me of a snake.
"If you actually take your medication, we might be able to discharge you," she says knowingly. She doesn't budge as I put the poison in my mouth, slipping it beneath my tongue again.
"You know, if you keep hiding it there, you won't get any better"
Fuck. I look at her, hoping I can stare her out until she leaves. She doesn't. I've no choice. I have to do it. I swallow hard, trying not to retch as my body rejects the evil they're forcing me to take. Satisfied the Nurse walks off. When I can hear her footsteps by the reception desk I race to the bathroom, fingers down my throat trying to expell the darkness.

I'm tired now. My head feels heavy and my stomach hurts. I crawl back onto the uncomfortable mattress. I miss my bed. My home comforts. I've been here too long already. Michael's voice booms into the room. I open one eye to see him standing by my bedside. He's angry. Like always.
"For god sakes Amelia. Just take the damn pills so you can get better and we can get you out of here!"
I want to not trust him. To believe he's part of this. That this is a prison he's designed for me. But I know it's not true. He misses his plaything. Misses beating me until I don't know who I I anymore. If anyone wants me out of this place more than I do it's him. Maybe I should listen. Maybe. He sits on the chair to my right, opening a carrier bag I know will have new Pyjamas and snacks from home.
"Did you find him?" I finally ask.
Michael breathes deeply before turning his head to me.
"Yes Amelia. I found him. He's at home right now. Just take your meds and I can bring you to him,"
"Promise?"
"I promise."
I nod smiling. Michael found him. He's safe. As safe as he can be until he's with me. I let my eyes close, sleep taking me in its arms.