Free WHITE WALLS by Lauren Hammond Page B

Thirteen

    ~After~

    I wait.
    For an answer.
    To find out about my future.
    The stunningly handsome Dr. Watson hasn't returned to my room. His muffled voice mixed in with the police officers muffled voices faded out hours ago. A wide range of emotion has been running through me ever since.
    There's fear.
    Confusion.
    Anger.
    The uncertainty of my situation gnaws at me. In some moments it feels like a pair of teeth are ripping into my stomach and clamping down before they tear away the lining and I'm left alone. I'm open, exposed, and hemorrhaging from the inside out.
    I hate not knowing what's going to happen to me. As I sit here and wait, a dozen possible scenarios flash through my mind.
    What if...
    What if...
    What if they let me remain in the hospital until I'm healed then haul me back to Oakhill? What if they take me now? Or what if there is some sort of protocol they have to follow first?
    No matter which way I look at it, there is no happy ending for me. I'll wind up, tortured, lost and empty. The biggest disappointment is that I had hope. I had it, believed in it, and cradled it in my arms like a swaddling newborn. I trusted hope with my future and got let down.
    I think of Aurora and what she probably sacrificed for my escape. Then I think of how enraged she would be if she saw me being drug back down the darkened halls of Oakhill by two orderlies dressed in white.
    I gave you a chance, she'd tell me.
    At chance at freedom, she'd tell me.
    I imagine the saddened look in her big brown eyes. I imagine the twist of emotion on her child-like face. You know what else she'd tell me. She'd tell me, you had it all, Adelaide, and you blew it.
    I've spent so many years loathing myself. Believing everything Daddy ever told me. That I was a waste. A whore. A stupid girl. Even Damien couldn't wash away a lot of the self-hatred I'd built up through the years. I blink back tears and drop my gaze to my hands when I think of him. The tubes connected to my arms blur in and out of my vision and I come to the heart-wrenching realization that it took Damien dying to make me realize that I am not all the things Daddy has led me to believe I am.
    I am smart.
    I am strong.
    I am witty.
    I have a good heart and fierce determination inside of me.
    Pressing the tip of my finger to one of the plastic tubes connected to my arms, I know what thinking about everything from my past means. It means technically I am not a patient of Oakhill. I'm not even a patient at this hospital because they don't even know my name. I'm Jane Doe. Unless the police told the staff my real name. But if they haven't I'm still free.
    And I can still get the hell out of here.
    Picking up my pillow, I bite into it and rip the IV tubes from each arm. I let out a muffled scream and bite down on the pillow harder as a stinging pain sprints down my forearms, stopping at my wrists. Little droplets of blood pool in the crooks of my elbows and I wipe them away quickly before yanking off the cords that are connected to my chest.
    There's a rectangular window on the opposite side of the room. Stumbling out of bed, I make my way toward it, limping and gritting my teeth. My legs ache. My entire body is stiff. I can barely breathe on account of my broken ribs, but I'm not going to let that stop me. I'm not going to let anything stop me now.
    I make it to the window and press my good shoulder into it, sliding it open the slightest bit. Then I hook my right hand underneath it and push it open as much as I can for me to climb out.
    Then I look down.
    I'm on the second floor.
    Sticking my head out the window, I estimate the drop is about twelve feet. My attention averts to the side of the cement building. There's a ledge that spans from one end to the other. Below me is another ledge. Above me are more. In fact, it seems that there's a ledge about ten inches wide on every floor. I study the distance between the ledge on the first floor and the ledge on the floor I'm on. With my injuries,