CH.5

ELISE

Days at Pinewood Wellness Center blend together into one long, blurry mess. I can't tell if I've been here for weeks or months anymore.

The rooms have no windows, and the strict schedule wipes out any sense of time passing. Only the different nurses coming and going remind me that the world outside still exists.

"Good morning, Mrs. Westfield." A nurse I don't recognize puts a small cup of pills on the table next to my bed. "Time for your medicine."

I look at the pills. There seem to be more than yesterday, or maybe the day before. They keep changing the doses, adding new ones, until my thoughts feel like they're moving through molasses.

"What are these?" My voice sounds strange, weak from barely using it.

"Just your regular treatment." The nurse's smile is polite yet empty. "Dr. Mercer added something to help you sleep better."

Sleep better. A nice way to describe the nightmares that make me wake up screaming. The visions of Alexander and Natasha  laughing while I sink into darkness. Or maybe it means how I try not to sleep, fighting to keep clear thoughts before the drugs take over.

"I want to talk to Dr. Mercer about lowering my medication." I don't touch the cup. "I can't think straight. I can barely function."

"That actually means the medicine is working." The nurse glances at her clipboard. "It's stopping the false thoughts."

"They're not false." The words come out automatically, weaker every time I say them. "They're real."

"Group therapy starts in twenty minutes." The nurse pushes the cup closer. "Dr. Mercer won't let you join unless you take your medicine."

I stare at the pills, weighing my options. Group therapy is my only chance to talk to other patients, maybe find someone who believes me. But each session leaves me more doubtful with my confidence crumbling under the therapist's questions.

"Fine." My hands shake slightly as I pick up the cup.

The nurse watches closely while I swallow each pill with water. They always check under my tongue and inside my cheeks.

The first time I tried to hide a pill, they gave me an injection instead. That kind hits harder, makes me feel even worse.

"Good." The nurse writes something down. "Someone will come get you for the community room at nine."

Alone again, I sit on the bed, fighting the fog creeping into my mind. This new medicine works fast, making my thoughts dull and slow.

I force myself to focus on a small mark on the wall. Every day, I count the distance from the floor and door to make sure they haven't moved me to another room while I was too drugged to notice.

An orderly named Paul arrives at nine. Unlike Marcus, who handles "difficult" patients with cold efficiency, Paul sometimes shows small kindnesses.

"Ready for group, Mrs. Westfield?" His tone is neutral, just doing his job.

I nod, not sure if my voice will work right. Standing takes effort, each step slow and careful.

Paul doesn't rush me. He stays close as we walk down the quiet hallway.

Five others are already in the therapy room when we arrive.

I know them by now. Martha, the older woman convinced the government put tracking devices in her teeth. Kevin, the young man who never speaks. Richard, the former businessman who lost everything and had a breakdown.

They all have real problems, which only makes my situation worse. My so-called delusions are the only ones based on truth.

Dr. Harlow, the therapist, points to an empty chair.

"Join us, Elise. We're talking about progress today."

I sit down, keeping my face blank while the room spins slightly. The medicine makes everything soft around the edges, like looking through a foggy window.

"Have you noticed any progress in your thinking?" Dr. Harlow asks when I stay quiet.

"I'm not sure what you mean by progress." I choose my words slowly, knowing they'll be written down. "I guess I'm... calmer."

Dr. Harlow's smile doesn't change. "That's not quite what we're looking for. Have you had any new thoughts about the conspiracy ideas you've been holding on?"

"They're not ideas." The words slip out before I can stop them.

Dr. Harlow glances at the nurse by the door.

"I see. Maybe Henry can share his experience with similar strong beliefs?"

Henry, the former businessman, sits up straighter. "When I first got here, I was sure my business partner had ruined me on purpose. But over time, I realized my own mistakes led to my company failing." He looks right at me. "The medicine helped me see the truth."

"That's great progress, Henry." Dr. Harlow nods. "Elise, does that sound familiar to you?"

"Our situations aren't the same." I dig my nails into my palms, using the pain to stay focused. "I have proof."

"Proof you can't show," Dr. Harlow reminds me. "Because you believe it was all destroyed by this secret plan involving your husband, stepsister, father—"

"And several board members," I add quickly. "And a judge too."

A few people in the group sigh. Martha shakes her head like she feels sorry for me.

"That's how it starts, dear," Martha says softly. "First it's one person, then two, then suddenly everyone's against you. That's when you have to stop and think, what's more likely?"

"Exactly, Martha." Dr. Harlow smiles. "There's a rule called Occam's razor. The simplest answer is usually right. Which makes more sense, Elise? That all these powerful people are secretly working against you, or that stress is affecting your thinking?"

My chest tightens. It always happens in these sessions. They speak so gently, so logically. Some days, when the drugs are strongest, I almost believe them.

"I know what I saw." My voice sounds weak, even to myself. "I know what I heard."

"Memory isn't perfect, especially under stress." Dr. Harlow keeps her voice calm. "Your husband mentioned you were under a lot of pressure with the fertility treatments."

"There were no fertility treatments!" My voice rises, making the orderly step forward. I force myself to breathe. "That's a lie."

"Your medical records say otherwise." Dr. Harlow flips through her notes. "Three IVF treatments in the past year. The hormones can cause serious mood swings, even confusion."

I close my eyes, trying to push through my frustration and the drug-induced fog.

"The records aren't real," I say through clenched teeth.

"And that's what we need to work on." Dr. Harlow turns to the group. "Telling the difference between what we believe and what is real..."

The session drags on. Each time I defend myself, someone calmly offers another explanation, making me sound confused. By the end, I'm too tired to keep arguing.

The medicine already makes me sluggish, and now I'm emotionally drained too.

"That's enough for today," Dr. Harlow finally says. "Good work, everyone. Elise, Dr. Mercer wants to see you now."

Paul helps me stand and leads me down another long hallway.

Dr. Mercer's office feels intimidating. expensive furniture, degrees on the walls, everything screaming power and control.

"Come in, Elise." He gestures to the chair across from his desk.

"How are you feeling?" he asks with his pen ready.

"Like I'm drugged." I sink into the chair, my body heavy. "I can't think clearly."

"That's part of the process," he says, making a note. "Your mind is fighting the medication. It will pass."

"Or I'll just give up fighting." I hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Dr. Mercer looks up, studying me. "Fighting what?"

"This... version of reality you're creating," I whisper.

"I want to help you see what's real." He leans forward. "Your husband called yesterday. He's very worried about you."

I grip the fabric of my pants. "I don't want to hear about him or see him."

Dr. Mercer keeps his voice calm. "He's your husband, Elise. His support is important for your recovery."

"He's the reason I'm here!" I burst out.

Dr. Mercer sighs. "We need a stronger dose."

My chest tightens with fear. "Please don't," I whisper. "I'm trying."

"I know." He gives a small nod. "But trying isn't enough. We need results."

That night, the new drugs hit hard. I feel myself floating, looking down at my own body.

They're trying to break me. And the worst part? It might be working.