Safe is a cocoon that shuts out the world.” – Seana McGrath Steroid psychosis was what they called it. The name meant little to her. She just heard it batted around when Barth had company. She never had company because she turned her back and slid into her snuggly isolation. Seana allowed Barth to tuck her into bed after giving her the 2 mg Ativan and 10 mg Ambien. She would have been grateful for the gesture if only she could feel gratitude. As it was, she felt nothing. It was like being heavily numbed with Lidocaine. Not a dreamy, silky float. No. She was like a drained, dried-out gourd. Worse still, she didn’t care that she didn’t feel. She didn’t care about anything. The clock was the closest thing to a friend she now had. Or wanted. Tonight, she had watched the bedside clock until exactly ten o’clock. Not one second sooner nor a breath afterward. It had to be dead on. Something inside Seana demanded precision. Most of the time. Sometimes she wavered because she didn’t know she demanded precision.
