Chained Soul – Part Twenty-One

Welcome back to Chained Soul, my new serialised novel that I’m releasing right here on my blog, as well as on Tapas and Wattpad. Quick warning: this series does contain strong language, so if that’s not your thing, you’re free to skip this one!

Check out Part One, including a synopsis for the whole series, here!

If you missed Part Twenty, you can read that here!

Day Twenty-One

I suppose it was only a matter of time before the psychologist lady came back, with this new computer thing going on. If I was in their shoes – well, first of all, if I was in their shoes then I would’ve released me already, but that’s neither here nor there – then I’d want to check on the wellbeing of someone who’d just been reintroduced to how horrible the rest of the human population can be.

Part of me is surprised that it took her so long to show up. Maybe the cost of the computer meant that they had to cut her hours so they wouldn’t go bankrupt or something. I don’t know. I wouldn’t care if they sacked her.

Well, maybe I would. There’s always the chance that they could find someone worse out there, and hire them for less money, so they give even less of a shit about doing a good job. Grass is never greener and all that.

Still, she showed up today, anyway. I was just sitting on my bed, listening for the pings and minding my own business, when I heard her knocking on the door. I didn’t bother getting up. Not much point in being polite in here, really, so why bother?

Besides, I’ve got to conserve my energy in case I spontaneously think of an amazing escape plan. Believing that there’s a possibility of getting away keeps my hopes up and all that, makes sure I don’t go off the deep end and start catastrophising and generally being a more of a miserable sod than I already am.

Conversation With Psychologist Lady

-she came right in after knocking on the door, no hesitation whatsoever, and stood in the middle of the room, looking at the computer like it was the first time she’d ever seen such a thing, and I was still looking at it too, so we both just sorta existed in silence for a few seconds before she kinda woke up and looked at me-

Her: Hello, Robin. Are you enjoying your new privilege?

Me: What the fuck is there to enjoy? Your censoring thingy is shit, by the way. I can tell when people are mad at me.

Her: The censoring is in place to shield you from any profanity or anything that would harm your recovery.

Me: Recovery from fucking what, though?

Her: You know I can’t just tell you that, Robin. We’ve been over this by this stage.

Me: Well, now I know half the country seems to hate my guts for some reason, and I’ve got kids emailing me about their favourite animals and all. Do you have any sort of quality control for that thing?

Her: It is intended to allow you to communicate with the outside world.

Me: You seem to have missed some lessons on communication – it’s meant to be a two-way thing, not just people screaming at me.

Her: I’m sure not everyone is screaming at you, Robin.

Me: (waving at the computer) Go on, look through them yourself. Try and find one that’s not nonsense or absolutely furious at me.

Her: I already have access to your communication files, Robin, and I’ve viewed a sample of the emails that you have been sent.

Me: Did the sample include the primary school essay on animals? Because I think that really was the shining star of the bunch.

Her: Robin, please be serious. Has any of the communication helped you to remember anything else about before you came here?

Me: No. Why would it? No one who I know has been emailing me, I don’t think. It’s just random strangers. How the fuck are they even getting the email address for that thing, anyway?

Her: You have been added to the facility’s website. It’s a public service.

Me: I feel like I should have got some sort of say in that. Privacy and all that.

Her: Officially, you have revoked your right to privacy by undergoing treatment here.

Me: … You’re not being serious, are you?

Her: I know you don’t remember the trial, but everything was laid out quite plainly for you, and you did choose to accept treatment, Robin.

Me: The trial? You never mentioned a fucking trial before!

Her: I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be disturbing your memory retrieval process. It’s important that you recover your recollections of your past experiences naturally, in order to avoid any potential states of shock or other adverse side effects.

Me: I fucking demand to know what’s going on, right now! You might as well tell me – one of these emails is going to get something to slip past your stupid censors, and then I’ll figure it out!

Her: I can assure you, they will not. Those emails are heavily screened for your own safety and wellbeing.

Me: Well then what’s the fucking point of giving me the computer in the first place? It’s basically a brick that tells me that people hate me but refuses to tell me why, except that I’m apparently a burden on the tax-payers.

Her: Your treatment is being funded by the state, so that is correct.

Me: … So now you’re calling me a burden for being put through treatment that I don’t want after being kidnapped?

Her: For the last time, Robin, you were not kidnapped. You came here voluntarily. Your memory loss has been the worst case that we’ve seen after the induction process into the facility, and some of my colleagues don’t even believe that you’re actually experiencing amnesia. I have had to vouch for you time and time again and persuade other professionals that you deserve to stay in the treatment process. Sometimes, it seems like you’re doing well, and then I come into work and hear reports of you screaming and banging on the walls, talking to imaginary people who aren’t there and generally making an absolute nuisance of yourself. If everyone wasn’t distracted by the more outwardly violent patients, you would have been dropped from the program in a heartbeat.

Me: So I can leave? All of this time you’ve been keeping me here and convincing people to keep me here but – I can leave?

Her: Not in the way you think. You will not walk out of here as a free person. The alternative is not something that I’d recommend.

Me: But what is it? Like, if it’s here or prison, then no offence but I’m starting to think prison would be better. At least they have actual outdoor time. And visitation. And phones. And better food.

Her: I am not at liberty to tell you right now, because that would violate the protocols regarding your amnesia. However, I can assure you that this facility is the best option for you. It is the safest place for you to currently be in, throughout the entire country. We are performing state-of-the-art, cutting-edge research and have developed a rigorous assessment process and outpatient system that will ensure your wellbeing and safety even after you leave the core facility. If I were you, I would do my damndest to sit here, behave, and try to remember on your own, because no one else is going to give you the answers.

She left a bit after that. I’ve sorta been doing what she said to – just sitting and thinking. But now part of me is dreading hearing Helen on the other side of the wall, because it didn’t feel like she was bluffing just now. That was some proper, frustrated, from-the-heart sorta stuff.

And that means that Helen isn’t even fucking real.

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