Page 45 of Kill Me

Fuck. I’m going to die in here.

Time passes, but I couldn’t tell you how much. I must have fallen asleep because I’m woken up by a door opening and the presence of someone beside me. I’m still unable to move my legs, and someone is fiddling with things around me.

“It’s time for your treatment now, Quinn.” I open my eyes to see Dr Stephanie grinning above me.

“But you told me I didn’t have to do it,” I cry.

“I told you what you needed to hear. You’re sick, Quinn; you need this to get better. Your meltdown proved that.” I can’t describe the look in her eyes in this moment. It’s not sadistic. It’s not anger. It’s not hatred. It’s evil. Like she’s someone who needs the cries of her patients to feel accomplished.

“But you said it was all in my head.” I’m so confused.

“It is. And the only way to get rid of it is to burn it from your brain for good.”

Burn it from my brain? I’ve never wanted to be subjected to the horror of my mother and Eric more in my life. Anything is better than this.

From my side, I see Richard moving a trolley closer to the bed. On top of it is a piece of equipment that looks like the electrodes I read about. Behind him is what looks to be resuscitation equipment.

“Will I be asleep?” I ask.

“Well, that depends, Quinn. Are you going to be a good girl? Only good girls get to sleep through the pain.”

“I’ll be a good girl, I promise. Please just put me to sleep. I can’t cope with this.”

She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she pretends to read through her notes, writing on the pages every so often. I whimper. I can still feel no pain; it should be a moment to celebrate. Instead, I’m anticipating the electrical currents that are about to shoot through me.

“Oh, Quinn. Stop whining. You’re not a baby. I don’t want to have to gag you.”

Dicky picks up the wires for the machines that I assume will monitor my heart rate and attaches them to stickers on my chest that I don’t remember being placed.

“Have you removed her jewellery, Rich?”

“Yes, it was all taken off her at intake.”

“Okay, please remove her trainers.” I feel him move to my feet, and his hands touch my ankles. His calloused skin is rough to the touch, and I feel the impending need to vomit. I swallow the bile and focus on a spot on the ceiling. Lifting my head feels heavy and like it’s zapping me of the little energy I have.

I’m too distracted to take note of her actions until I feel the sting on the inside of my arm and the cold flush of IV liquids going through my veins and realise she has put a cannula in place. I watch her leave the room.

He moves up to my head and lifts two padded items off of the trolley next to me; they can’t be much bigger than a pound coin. “W-w-what are they?”

“These are electrodes. We will place one on each side of your head to deliver the treatment. It’s known as bilateral ECT.” His voice is softer, like the realisation that Dr Stephanie has gone rogue with my treatment has him concerned. He places them back on the trolley before picking up what looks like an antibacterial wipe and cleaning the skin on my temples.

Tears are free-falling down my cheeks.

He places an oxygen mask on my face, securing the band behind my head before picking up another set of wires and attaching them to different places on my head. “These will monitor your brain wave activity throughout the treatment.”

“And then what happens?”

“And then we will administer your general anaesthesia and a muscle relaxant so that you’re asleep and don’t feel any pain throughout the treatment.”

“I suppose that’s at least something. What will happen to me afterwards?”

“Afterwards you may feel muscle aches, headaches, confusion, and some memory loss. The effects differ from person to person.”

“I’m scared.”

Dr Stephanie walks through the door, and just like that, the softer side is gone. “Get a grip. You’re a grown woman. I’m sure you’ve been through worse.”

“Please open your mouth,” he instructs, placing a mouth guard inside. “This will help to limit any damage or injury from movement during the procedure.”