"You should clean your room. It's a mess," Father said as he stepped inside, his voice carrying a mixture of irritation and concern.
"I have something to tell you."
I didn't want to talk to him-not now. Not ever, if I had the choice.
Lately, he'd been acting strange, hovering around more than usual. Ever since he spoke with Dr. Lupin, it felt like he was watching me through someone else's eyes. Maybe the doctor had finally convinced him-maybe this was it. The moment he'd decided to lock me away.
"Is this about sending me to the mental hospital?" I asked flatly, sitting on the edge of my bed, pretending I hadn't just spent the last three hours staring blankly at the ceiling.
His expression shifted. For a second, guilt flickered in his eyes. He sat down in the chair near the door and stared at the floor.
"Wow. You already knew," he said quietly. "Dr. Lupin... he thinks it's the best thing for you. He assured me you'd receive special care-better treatment than anyone else there."
Treatment. That word echoed inside me like a scream in a tunnel.
As if I didn't remember.
As if I'd forgotten the electric shocks.
The way Lupin smiled-not out of kindness, but something darker-each time he strapped me down.
This wasn't the first time he'd recommended the asylum. And Father, gullible as ever, had swallowed every one of his honeyed lies. Dr. Lupin was a sadist with a medical degree-one of the worst kinds of hypocrites. He hated his job, sure, but he hated his patients more.
And I-I hated him back. I wanted revenge. More than that, I needed it. But right now wasn't the time for revenge. Not when I could barely keep myself together. Not when the only alternative was being a burden on my father.
So I smiled-tight-lipped, hollow-and said, "I'll go."
My voice cracked, but I forced it to sound enthusiastic. Like I meant it.
Father nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face.
"Fine then. Be ready by tomorrow morning," he said, his tone final, as if that settled everything.
But it didn't.
Not even close.
**********
"Draw this. Say your name."
Those words were scrawled on a small silver card, right next to a strange, almost otherworldly symbol.
I stared at it, confused. The card had been handed to me by a girl with messy blond hair-Rachel, I think her name was? I wasn't entirely sure.
The symbol looked like a distorted treble clef, as if someone had tried to draw it in a hurry... or in a trance. It didn't make sense. Was I actually supposed to draw this? And then-say my name? For what purpose?
What could I possibly gain from this? I don't normally entertain this kind of nonsense, especially not when I'm bored. Besides, the girl was from the psychic ward. What was I even expecting?
And yet...
Something in me stirred. I couldn't explain it.
I picked up a pen and opened a journal lying nearby.
This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
Still, I began to copy the symbol. Line by line, stroke by stroke, something felt... off. Like I wasn't in complete control. My hand moved with an eerie precision, unlike me.
Why was I doing this? I wasn't expecting a miracle. I never do things like this. But something about that card...
The symbol now complete, I took a deep breath.
Now came the second part.
"My name is... Izmir."
I said it aloud, unsure why my voice trembled just a little.
Nothing happened.
I sighed and glanced at the clock. 3:04 PM.
Then, darkness.
My eyes rolled back. The journal slipped from my hands.
I had passed out.