The room is bright. I can tell by the way my eyelids feel semitranslucent. I ease them open to a squint, and when I decide my head can handle a little more, I open them to see where I am. Another gray room. This one looks much the same as the others I remember . . . that I sort of remember . . . assuming I didn’t dream them. But in addition to the glaring fluorescent lights, this room has a window high in the wall. It’s covered by mesh and out of reach at about nine feet, just below the ceiling. My wrist and ankle restraints are tied tight. I seem to recall being free of them, even if for a short time. I shift my gaze to the bend in my elbow. It’s red and purple with a tiny lump and a little perforation at the top of it where a needle should be, but for once it’s not. And though my head is still thumping behind my drooping eyelids, I am glad to be free of the IV. My brain feels whole for the first time in . . . a day . . . a week? I have no idea how much time has passed.
