Excerpt: Breaking Point

“I’m not insane,” she insisted, her voice defiant. “I shouldn’t be here.”

The woman in the white coat sighed. “Sterling,” she said, her voice irritatingly soft and sweet, “Plenty of people think that they shouldn’t be here, that we’re trapping them here. But really, we just want to help you, and the only way we can is if you open up.”

Sterling bit the insides of her cheeks, trying to keep herself from lashing out at this woman. It was a hard thing to do, though, as all of the people here were annoyingly condescending, treating her as if she were completely incompetent, which, she would argue, she wasn’t. In fact, she didn’t quite see why she was even here. She was sane, and she could defend her case, should she be given the chance. But no one asked her, no one inquired as to how she felt. For people who were supposed to be helping her, they didn’t seem to care very much.

“Sterling?”

Sterling blinked twice, tuning into what the woman was saying at the mention of her name.

“Are you even listening to me?” the woman asked.

“No,” Sterling replied, rolling her eyes.

The woman in the white coat sighed again. “Why don’t we just call it a day?” the woman suggested. “We can pick up on this again tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait,” Sterling stated, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The woman didn’t seem to be at all fazed by Sterling’s sardonic tone. She simply smiled at Sterling and led Sterling back to her little white room, if it could even be called that. It was tiny, only enough room for an uncomfortable bed and couch, both of which were also white. There were a few square feet of empty space where Sterling could pace when she got restless, and the walls were bare and painted white to match the rest of the room.

Why was everything so white? Even the clothes she’d been given were white. Next to the miniscule size of this room, the whiteness of it irritated Sterling the most. Would it really kill them to add just a little bit of color here? Sterling flopped down on her bed, wishing she’d been allowed to bring her art supplies with her. If she had, then this room would be beautiful. But as it was, it was simply a blank canvas waiting to be filled.

Sterling rolled onto her back, thinking. She needed to find a way to get out of here, and the only way they’d let her is if she “opened up”. It seemed simple enough. Except for the fact that “opening up” was the last thing Sterling wanted to do here. She didn’t want them to know about the hell she’d gone through when he was rushed to the hospital. She didn’t want them to know that it was her fault. They had no right to know.

No one did.