Page 11 of Unmoored

Apparently, shock therapy is particularly dangerous during a storm.

Once I was unstrapped from the table, Bucky gently carried me back to my room, and he helped me clean my limp body before I collapsed into bed.

Bucky doesn’t belong here, just like I don’t. His good eye is too kind, his body language too gentle. One day I’ll gain the courage to ask him for his story, but until then I’ll let his small smile that barely reaches his patched eye bring me a small bit of comfort. I’ll let his scarred hands clean my body, and I’ll always be eternally grateful for the occasional sweet he would sneak me from the kitchen.

In truth, I’m not sure why I’m so distrustful of the rest of the staff here. I can understand why they don’t believe my story about the shipwreck, but I don’t understand why they care so much. I really don’t remember what happened, and I don’t knowwhythe ship sank after I was tossed overboard.

All I know is that I was rescued by a kind, handsome creature that these people will never know of, would I ever allow them to get their hands on. My only reprieve from the horrors within these walls is knowing that I can spend days in my own dreams, where the Talassi were real and they came to rescue me.

—

November 23, 1877

The shock therapy is growing worse. My mental state is growing worse. The staff’s distaste for me is growing unbearable.

I don’t know what I did to make them want to break me so badly, but there seems to be no end in sight. Unfortunately for me, the first few shock sessions did not produce anynew memories, so they increased their frequency and intensity.

I haven’t written in months. It’s too exhausting. It takes days for my body to recover from each session, even with the extra food from Bucky, and I’m unsure how much more I can take. My headaches are growing worse, and my heartbeat keeps me up at night with odd beats and palpitations.

This place is killing me, I think. But I don’t want to die here.

—

January 1st, 1876

It’s a new year, and with that comes no more shock therapy! These wretched nurses and doctors seem to finally understand that electrocuting me until I pass out will not bring forth my suppressed memories, so they informed me a few days ago it was no longer needed.

Instead, I’ll be subjected to something called hydrotherapy, and I’m unsure if it sounds worse or better.

I’m to be dunked into a tub, and held underwater until I nearly lose consciousness, then brought back to the surface in hopes that it unlocks whatever is hiding in the recesses of my mind .

I am very much not looking forward to this new form of treatment, they gave me a week-long reprieve from my treatments, and for that I’m grateful.

During this time, Bucky has started letting me sneak down to the rocky beach in the middle of the night. It began the night of the full moon, when he startled me from my sleep with a warning not to make a sound, lest I want to be thrown into thesolitary cells.

We took the crumbling service stairs at the end of the hallway down to a path that led through the garden, staying hidden in the shadows of the stone wall until we reached the start of the beach. I nearly jumped with joy as we reached the water’s edge. It was low tide, and beautiful shells and rocks decorated the sand and stone under the pale moonlight.

I waded in until waves lapped at my ankles, not caring that the ocean was freezing. But as I stood in the shallow water, gazing out into the dark abyss, I was overcome with an intense feeling of longing. I wanted nothing more than to immerse myself in the depths, wandering out as far as I could, allowing the current to sweep me under and take me out to where I was naught but a speck in the vast expanse of seawater.

For the first time in months, my mind was finally clear. Something inside me broke, and all the tears I’d been holding in for months broke free as I silently sobbed into the embrace of the ocean.

I almost hoped Draya would appear to drag me away.

Where to? I didn’t know. But in that moment, my heart ached with how much I missed my Talassi friend. I’m notsure why that strange creature made such a mark on my soul, but he did. And I long to see him once again.

—

January 20, 1878

Hydrotherapy is not nearly as awful as shock therapy, in case you were curious. But Bucky gave me some advice, and he told me to dramatize my reactions. The worse they thought I was hurting, the sooner they would end the session.

Was he right? I was unsure. But all they do is dunk me into a tank full of water until they think I’m close to passing out, and then they pull me back to the surface for air. I’ve always been great at holding my breath, so I simply pretend to choke on the water and beg for mercy as they yank my head back and I gurgle on my own spit.

In the grand scheme of things, I suppose it could be worse.

—

March 30, 1878