Chapter 2

The next morning, I stood before the nurses’ counter.

“I would like to exchange some points to make a call.”

The nurse, Jane Dunne, flipped through my points card and cocked an eyebrow.

“Are you sure? It’s going to cost you all the remaining points you have. Most patients would save up for that very last meal…”

She lowered her voice.

“You also know that once you’ve gone through the lobotomy, you won’t be able to taste anything anymore.

“Last time, when you called your family members, none of them wanted to pick you up. If you call them now…”

“I’m sure.”

She stared at me for two seconds before taking my card away.

“You have ten minutes. It’ll start counting the moment the call goes through. Once the time’s up, it’ll cut off by itself.”

I grabbed the phone and called my best friend, Zoe Greg.

“Zoe, it’s me, Clara.”

She was quiet for a few seconds.

“I’ve heard.”

Zoe’s voice was very soft. “Victor called all of your classmates last week.

“He said you’re violent and asked us to stay away from you, so we won’t trigger you.

“I’m sorry.”

Then, Zoe hung up on me.

I made another call. When they heard my voice, they immediately said, “Victor’s called me before. I can’t talk to you, sorry.”

Then, the call ended again.

I glanced at the timer on the wall.

Four minutes had passed. I still had six minutes left.

I took a deep breath and still chose to call my mother.

It rang three times before she answered.

“Mom, next Wednesday, I’ll be…”

“What is it again?”

She sounded impatient as she immediately cut me off.

“I’ve told you to only talk about discharging from the asylum when you’re better.”

I started tearing up from anxiousness.

“No! Mom, please hear me out. If no one picks me up by Wednesday, I’ll have to go through a lobotomy. After that procedure, I won’t remember anything…”

“That’s great.”

My mother sounded unbothered.

“It’s great that you’ll lose your memory. Otherwise, you’ll only think about bullying Sally.”

She hung up on me again.

The timer indicated that six minutes had passed, and I only had four minutes left.

My fingers were shaking when I dialed Victor’s number.

After Victor answered, before I could speak, he already said impatiently.

“Clara, I fully support Mom’s decision. Please stop calling me…”

I immediately roared into the phone.

“Victor, they’re going to give me a lobotomy!

“After that, I won’t recognize any of you anymore!”

Victor was quiet for a second.

“Clara, what you’re saying right now proves Mom’s point.

“How could a normal hospital perform a lobotomy? Are you making up stories to make us feel sorry for you?

“If undergoing surgery will make you better, you should go ahead and do it. Once you get better, we’ll definitely come and pick you up.”

He hung up on me.

I had used up eight minutes. There were only two minutes left.

I called the very last contact.

Xander Reid, my boyfriend.

However, he was not the one who answered the call.

“Hello, this is Reid & Co. Who are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for Xander. I’m his girlfriend, Clara.”

The assistant paused.

“Ms. Clara, Mr. Reid is currently working on Ms. Sally’s case. It’s not convenient for him to talk to you now.

“He asked me to let you know to stop calling him and cooperate with the treatments prescribed.

“Once you get better, he’ll pick you up with your family.”

Everyone kept telling me to "learn to behave."

Everyone was all just the same.

Their idea of "learning to behave" was for me to admit to something I never did.

They wanted me to admit that I had mental health issues and that I was a violent patient who hit Sally.

I was expected to give in and apologize to everyone.

But I was not ill. I did not hit Sally either.

Why would I admit to that?

I ran out of time and the timer cut my phone line off.

99 days and 10 minutes, I ran out of all the time I had.

That night, Jane opened the door to my ward.

“In two days, there will be a full body check-up scheduled for you before the surgery. Please cooperate.”

I sat on the edge of my bed and knew that it was going to be my last chance.

If I could prove to the doctor that I was not ill at all, they would stop the surgery.

In the next two days, I barely slept at all.

I could not cry or get agitated. I also could not insist on my innocence.

If I showed any signs that I was out of control, it was over for me.

On the day of the check-up, the doctor, Ted Johnson, sat opposite me and flipped through my medical records.

“Since you were admitted to the asylum, have you ever gotten into a fight with other patients?”

“No.”

“Have you ever experienced any hallucinations?”

“No.”

“Are there any times when you find it hard to control your own emotions?”

I looked into his eyes.

“Dr. Johnson, in the past 99 days that I was admitted, I was not violent at all. You can look into my past records.”

He flipped page by page.

Finally, he put my medical record aside and took off his glasses. Then, he looked at me.

“All indicators showed that you’re normal. Since you were admitted, nothing has been out of the norm.

“In simpler terms, you’re not ill. If anything, you’re healthy.”