Read Online WHITE WALLS by Lauren Hammond - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lauren Hammond
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He's like the sun shining brightly on a hot day. His teeth are straight, white, and glowing against his light skin. Still, the smile and laughter doesn't touch his radiant eyes and I wonder what it is about this doctor that makes him seem, hidden. Guarded. “She's you,” he informs me.
“But that's not my name,” I tell him.
“Well, when you were brought in, you were unconscious. You had no identification. We had no way of figuring out who you were. Now that you're awake, you can tell me.”
I squint as I make out a name tag on his lab coat. It's silver, shiny and when the lighting hits it, it flashes and I can make out his name. Dr. Elijah Watson. He stares at me for a second and his heavy gaze on me makes me nervous. Heat rises to my cheeks and a flutter bounces in my stomach. I'm nervous because I'm terrified of telling this doctor my real name. I don't know him enough to trust him.
What if...
What if he discovers where I came from? What if he tries to contact them? What if they come for me?
I can't risk it.
I can't.
I don't want to go back there.
Ever.
Oakhill is like a leech, so decrepit with hunger that it fastens to you and bleeds you dry. It slowly sucks the life out of you. Every day another piece of you is bled out until you don't even know who you are anymore. I think of the patients who have been there a while. Aurora. Suzette. Aurora has been there two years and she still seems to be party herself, but Suzette? No. she's been long gone for a while.
“Well?” Dr. Watson's voice cuts into my sordid thoughts. “A name please?”
If I could change my name to anything what or who would I want to be?
Dr. Watson pulls a pen from his pocket and walks around the right side of my bed. He places the ball of the pen against the paper and looks at me with urgency. I open my mouth to give the name on the tip of my tongue—which is Mallory—but I don't get the name out.
I don't get my new name out because my attention shifts the window and I notice two police officers flashing a nurse with red hair my picture. Where did they get that? Or how did they get it? Dread seeps in through my pores and fear drags me down into a pool of terror to drown. Dr. Watson notices the panicked look on my face and follows my gaze to the window. He narrows his eyes for a moment then takes a small step away from me.
In an act of desperation I grab his hand. He tenses at my touch and his eyes drop to our linked fingers. He begins to pull away from me and I tighten my grip, tears welling in my eyes. His lovely eyes return to my face and regard me coolly. Sternly. With a lot of intensity. “Please,” I whisper, struggling to contain the emotion vibrating in my throat. “Please don't let them take me back there.” I realize that I'm begging and that I don't know this man. I don't know this man and I don't know what I expect from him, but the only thing I tell myself is that I have to do something. I have to try something. Anything. I can't just lie here and give up without trying something. If I don't try, I might as well just turn myself over to Dr. Morrow and let him fry my brain until I can't remember my name. “Please, Dr. Watson. Don't.”
His eyes burn into mine and for a second I have hope.
Maybe he'll help me.
He yanks his hand from mine and all of the hope inside of me scurries away, like a terrified child into their parents’ arms. My heart falls from its cavity into the pit of my stomach and I choke on a gasp stuck in my throat.
Dr. Watson walks to my door, lowers the blinds on the window, cutting off my view of the police officers. Then he gives me one, last cold look over his shoulder and exits my room, closing the door behind him.
I sink down into my sheets and sob softly into my pillow. I don't know why I thought he would help me and now, not only am I frightened, but I'm embarrassed as well. Mentally, I curse at myself for being so foolish to think that begging would work on a man like, Dr. Watson. Just
“But that's not my name,” I tell him.
“Well, when you were brought in, you were unconscious. You had no identification. We had no way of figuring out who you were. Now that you're awake, you can tell me.”
I squint as I make out a name tag on his lab coat. It's silver, shiny and when the lighting hits it, it flashes and I can make out his name. Dr. Elijah Watson. He stares at me for a second and his heavy gaze on me makes me nervous. Heat rises to my cheeks and a flutter bounces in my stomach. I'm nervous because I'm terrified of telling this doctor my real name. I don't know him enough to trust him.
What if...
What if he discovers where I came from? What if he tries to contact them? What if they come for me?
I can't risk it.
I can't.
I don't want to go back there.
Ever.
Oakhill is like a leech, so decrepit with hunger that it fastens to you and bleeds you dry. It slowly sucks the life out of you. Every day another piece of you is bled out until you don't even know who you are anymore. I think of the patients who have been there a while. Aurora. Suzette. Aurora has been there two years and she still seems to be party herself, but Suzette? No. she's been long gone for a while.
“Well?” Dr. Watson's voice cuts into my sordid thoughts. “A name please?”
If I could change my name to anything what or who would I want to be?
Dr. Watson pulls a pen from his pocket and walks around the right side of my bed. He places the ball of the pen against the paper and looks at me with urgency. I open my mouth to give the name on the tip of my tongue—which is Mallory—but I don't get the name out.
I don't get my new name out because my attention shifts the window and I notice two police officers flashing a nurse with red hair my picture. Where did they get that? Or how did they get it? Dread seeps in through my pores and fear drags me down into a pool of terror to drown. Dr. Watson notices the panicked look on my face and follows my gaze to the window. He narrows his eyes for a moment then takes a small step away from me.
In an act of desperation I grab his hand. He tenses at my touch and his eyes drop to our linked fingers. He begins to pull away from me and I tighten my grip, tears welling in my eyes. His lovely eyes return to my face and regard me coolly. Sternly. With a lot of intensity. “Please,” I whisper, struggling to contain the emotion vibrating in my throat. “Please don't let them take me back there.” I realize that I'm begging and that I don't know this man. I don't know this man and I don't know what I expect from him, but the only thing I tell myself is that I have to do something. I have to try something. Anything. I can't just lie here and give up without trying something. If I don't try, I might as well just turn myself over to Dr. Morrow and let him fry my brain until I can't remember my name. “Please, Dr. Watson. Don't.”
His eyes burn into mine and for a second I have hope.
Maybe he'll help me.
He yanks his hand from mine and all of the hope inside of me scurries away, like a terrified child into their parents’ arms. My heart falls from its cavity into the pit of my stomach and I choke on a gasp stuck in my throat.
Dr. Watson walks to my door, lowers the blinds on the window, cutting off my view of the police officers. Then he gives me one, last cold look over his shoulder and exits my room, closing the door behind him.
I sink down into my sheets and sob softly into my pillow. I don't know why I thought he would help me and now, not only am I frightened, but I'm embarrassed as well. Mentally, I curse at myself for being so foolish to think that begging would work on a man like, Dr. Watson. Just
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