At some point, quiet time stopped being finite.

Chapter 83

Coming out of solitary confinement, I was transferred to the hospital’s main ward.

I spent my first morning lying in bed, facing the wall. There were two other beds in the room, but the occupants were in art therapy. I was sure I didn’t belong here, and didn’t want to participate. The doctors quickly made it clear that if I stayed in bed all day, I wouldn’t be getting out any time soon, so I got up.

I soon realized that the psychiatric ward thrived on a rigid schedule. Like a child, you were expected to wake up when you were called, eat when you were given food, engage in group activities, and go to bed when the lights were turned out.

Tessa was one of the women staying in my room. She was schizophrenic, but she was so heavily medicated most of the time she just sat in a chair staring at the wall. The nurses helped her to the cafeteria and, after a few failed attempts of trying to mash food into her mouth, helped her back to her chair. In the brief moments between her episodes of catatonia, she would throw tantrums, ripping off her hospital gown, and curse, naked, at the nurses and other patients.

One day, after a breakfast of muted-coloured mush, I was walking up and down the hallway, which served as my sole pleasure. I loved moving without making any sound, the way I could almost float, undetected, the concrete floors and slippers snuffing my existence. There was no consequence to movement—unlike back home, where you couldn’t take a step without everyone knowing what room you were in, the floors creaking, betraying you.

On my seventh lap, the unattended Tessa spotted me, her large brown-black eyes locking onto my feet. She bolted after me. Her breathing was strained and her nose produced a whistle like that of a boiling kettle.

“Hey,” Tessa called. “Hey, you. Stop.”

I paused, against my better judgment, and turned to face her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded, pinning me against the wall.

“I’m going for a walk,” I explained, trying to remain calm.

She leaned in close. “I know you have my baby.” Her eyes were dark and unreflecting. “Give me back my baby,” she screamed, her saliva flying at my face, landing on my cheek.

I wiped my face without saying anything.

“Give him back.”

Within seconds, the nurses were running down the hall and pulling Tessa away from me. She continued to scream as they dragged her into a room nearby.

“I know you have my baby,” she shrieked. “Give me my baby.”

I sprinted down the hallway, my slippers flopping loose, slapping against the concrete floors with each stride. Panting, I slammed the door behind me and peeked out through the triangular wire mesh in the window.

All the noise reverberated inside me as I climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over my head.