“Come here!”, the words rang suddenly in her head as she stood in front of the nurses stand. The whimper that escaped her lips, as she dropped her clipboard, grew into a sob as she ran for the door to the elevator – “to the elevator, then outside” she thought to herself. But she was being obvious and drawing attention, she would never be safe.
…
The itching, the gibbering of voices in my head – I awoke and nothing would move. I remembered what moving was – once, but not who or how or when I came to be here in this chair. I only knew that my eyes itched and my mouth was dry, and the pain was everything, everywhere – the pain was all; all except the voices endlessly in my head. Why wouldn’t they close my eyes, how could they not know – my God the itching.
Then one day they stopped, the voices, suddenly, like they had been ignored to long; and the pain – it was there – but distant and inconsequential, and I could reach out, reach out with mind – with such strength, strength that had always been there but that I had never found before.
I reached out once more, “Come Here”, I said, and I knew she heard me – I could sense the fear. The time it took to break her down was growing shorter and shorter, and I could make her do anything when she gave in. Soon she would stop the pacing outside the front door of the hospital, soon she would start up the back stairs, soon the knob would turn and she would step into the room – again. Again I reached out with all my strength, “Come Here!” I said to her mind as it quavered in terror, even as I heard the door click open ever so slightly, then wider, as she stepped into the room closing it quietly behind.
How difficult it must be, how frightening, to stand in front of a man in a wheel chair; a man incapable of even the slightest movement – not even blinking, a man you’re not sure can even see you, and disrobe completely. Her greatest fear is being caught – what if someone came along while she was here and caught her at this, but I could tell she was excited by it too.
I reached out with my mind once more, “the clothes!” but it wasn’t necessary; already a trembling hand was rising to her throat, the little finger toying with the top button of her blouse, the tips of her fingers moving lightly down her chest as the buttons loosened one by one. This was getting easier, and she was beginning to like it, even while hers eyes bulged in terror of it.