That was short lived.

I stare at the white door as I stay seated in the corner of the empty padded room with my arms trapped in a strait jacket. There's an itch just out of reach that's driving me crazy. I focus on my breathing, hopefully it'll go away if I stop thinking about it.

Two seconds later, it has become unbearable. I try to make my arms move. I try to wiggle my fingers but the jacket is too tight. No muscles are moving. Slowly, the itch crawls until it has taken over my entire chest.

This time, I get on my feet. I rub myself on the walls in an effort to relief myself. I close my eyes once it finally stops. I begin to slide back down on the padded floor only to be stop by the itch spreading on my back.

I think I irritated it because now my back is on fire. I rub it on the walls. Faster and faster but it's not stopping. This time it has reach my legs. I hit myself over and over. The padding is not helping. It feels like I'm rubbing myself against feathers which makes everything worse.

A scream escapes my throat as I continue to hit myself in every wall. I scream and hit everything until my body is too tired to stay up. It's as if someone just poured out hot/cold liquid inside my mouth.

The itch is still there. If I stay still enough, I can almost sense the smirk it's waving around.

"Are you done, now?" Sarah says to me with her stern motherly voice.

"Can I die, now?" I murmur. My own ears barely heard the words. If she wasn't inside my head, she wouldn't have heard them at all.

"What's wrong with you always choosing the worst moments to be logical?" She reprimands. "I'm tired of helping you survive, Rachel."

The tears flowing down my face pile up under my cheeks, creating a wet wall between my skin and the cold floor.

"Why do I keep doing this to myself?"

She snorts. "I've been asking myself that same question for ten years, now. Why do you keep thinking you can do this? Listen to me. Listen to Kenny and me. We're all you have."

"I want more."

"Too bad, you're not going to get it," Kenny shouts at me. "Either keep your promise and kill yourself or shut the hell up. No one wants to keep listen to the same yapping every time your plans go south."

I hide my face under my arms and let the tears free fall.

Two seconds, that's all I got. I got two seconds of being the queen, the main chick in town before everything tumbles down. Like usual, the universe always waits till I'm high up and think I'm indestructible before it pulls the ladder it had just lent me. It's the circle of my life – be crazy, be caged, vouch to change, attempt to change, get screwed by the world, and return to the crazy.

I should stop thinking. That's what I should do because whenever I think, something bad happens. Whenever I follow other people's plans for me, I get a little better.

That can be a good idea to follow. The only thing about it is whether I truly do want to get better. I say I do now because I'm alone and I'm desperate for the comfort others give me but I refuse to acknowledge. However, I know I'll regress to my old ways as soon as I'm out of here. Maybe staying this way is the way to go, the way to break the cycle. I know I'll never stay sane forever so I should stop striving for it and embrace the insanity.

I should. I've only been happy or have the semblance of happiness when I'm acting reckless and crazy.

Stop thinking...

Stop thinking...

Stop thinking...

Never mind, I think when I hear keys jiggling behind the door.

Nurse Hugo rolls in a table carrying trays filled with cups of pills and water. "Time for your pills." He barely glances up at me as he speaks.

He closes the door before going around me to free my hands.

"That's a lot of things to swallow," I joke.

He hands me a cup with three little pills without moving a single muscle in his face.

"Did you lost your sense of humor, or something?"

"I have other things to do, Rachel." He extends his hand further to urge me to take the cup.

He hands me a cup filled with water once I hand him back the other cup.

"How long am I in here for?" I ask when he's about to move away.

"Minimum a week is our standard punishment for violent behaviors," he replies. This time he holds my gaze. There's no hint of amusement or teasing.

"So how much time do I have left? About four days, five days?"

"Two weeks." He moves the empty cups on the bottom of the table and checks something on his clipboard.

"I thought you said it was only for a week?"

"I said the standard punishment is a week but as you made it clear, there's nothing standard about you. I made sure you received the premium service."

"You hate me, don't you?"

He doesn't respond. Instead, he turns me around and reattaches the jacket.

"I don't hate you," he says before glancing at his watch, "I don't love you, either. I'm your nurse. I take care of you. That's what I'm being paid for."

He walks out and locks the door.

I thought I was being kept from the rest of the world before so what do I call this? At least, a couple of hours ago, there were others. I could have soak up the sun for a couple of minutes per day. Now, all I have is a white padded room and voices for company.

"We've always been the only true company you had," Sarah reminds me. "Inside this room or outside, we're the only ones who will be here to the end."

"When will that end be?"

"That's up to you. If it was up to me, it would have happened already."

I stare at the wall in front of me. I sit on the floor while keeping my eyes on one of the corners. Before I know it, I've fallen asleep.

I wake up to nurse Hugo bringing me my breakfast. This time, he doesn't bother paying attention to any of my attempts at making small talks. He leaves me alone with a plastic cup of orange juice and a plate of dry pancakes and sausages. There's no spoon or fork.

He continues to be my only source of human contact for the rest of my punishment. Every day he comes with food, drinks, and my pills. No words, no jokes, no laughs.

"The royal treatment," Kenny would tell me every time he leaves the plate on the floor for me.

Once I threw it all back to his face to get a reaction. He simply wiped it off and left.

I think I'm almost at the end of the two weeks, now. I'm feeling calmer. I'm anxious to have another taste of life, another second chance at getting better. Perhaps this time I'll truly get better. I'll be able to get out of here and become the daughter my father has been rooting for.

A wicked laugh interrupts my optimistic thoughts. "Here we go, again."

"If you want, I'll wait here for you," Kenny says. "I'll wait for the cycle to come full circle, again."

Fun fact: I itched so much while writing this chapter that it left my chest all red and my mom thought I got a rash.

P.S. My summer just started last week so I think I'll be writing more now. I'll try my best to finish this before I go back to school in a couple of weeks.