The White by Anonymous

White. White floors, white baths, white gowns, and white light. The whiteness was blinding. The bathwater had long gone cold, and my lips had turned the color of plums. I knew I wasn’t allowed out yet. The nurses said an hour in the bath everyday was necessary for my healing. I didn’t need healing from him. He took Angela from me. Now I’m here.

What I remember most was the blood. The unmistakable spots of red splattered on the floor around the bed where he slept with her. Just above the mattress a portion of the wall had been indented. The stain of an angry fist. I saw the unlocked gun box before I saw him. 

I smelled the cheap liquor from his beard and saw the unbridled confidence of a man who would draw blood for their sick hedonism. I was stronger than him; I’d spill my blood for Angela. He was about to come at me when the police arrived. Then, they brought me here. 

Insane people surround me. Joanie grinds her teeth against the table in the cafeteria, and Pip can’t stand still without yelling “get me out!” But Angela isn’t here. The cops took him away. Angela is gone, and the cops took him away. All that is left to do is watch the nurses attend to the insane and pretend I can't hear the screams coming from the chamber at night. 

For the first time in 240 days I was taken out of the bath early. I was disappointed because bath time is the only time I feel. The nurses rubbed my back and put the white patient gown on me. I became a ghost, a phantom of flesh. My wet feet left a trail of bath water as the nurse led me out of the bathroom into the icy hallway. I frowned as we walked passed my cell, continuing down the labyrinth of white tile. The key’s jingle ruptured the silent plane that wrapped around me. An unfamiliar woman’s voice. She directed me into her office; her arm gestured to red –– the red chair across from her desk. The chair was soft. Nothing in this small room was white, except for my gown and the envelope she placed on the desk. 

“You will report here on Monday,” she announced with a congratulatory tone. The envelope read in bold letters: Gopher & Sons Incorporated. 

The next morning, my body was still groggy from shock therapy the nurses silently unstrapped me from my bed, and I quickly noticed that I was no longer in a dressing gown. A sky blue blouse and fitted gray skirt appeared on my body. No questions were asked here, so my mouth remained closed. I couldn’t even remember the last time it was opened. A security guard gripped me too closely and led me out of the building. I had to remind myself it wasn’t him. Don’t run, you will be put back in The White. Before I knew it, I was thrown out on the street and the gate was locked. I turned around to look at the building. Bricks and bricks and bricks. No windows. No going back.

I rummaged through  the new leather bag that had appeared on my forearm. It was the color of rubies. Or blood. I withdrew a slip of paper, on it there was an address for an apartment and for Gopher & Sons Incorporated. At the bottom of the paper, my new name, Dorothea Dent. I only now realized I could not recall my real name from before The White. 

I arrived promptly at 8:00am on Monday morning. The nice lady at the front desk told me her name was Mrs. Compton, and showed me to my desk.  Then, she pointed to a man who would be my new boss, walking in through the main doors. He walked with an air of confidence and power, never stopping to interact with his lowly subordinates.

Mr. Blake took some time to abandon the harsh glares and authoritarian orders, clearly wanting me to quit. I stayed, or else I would be sent back to that place. Angela was taken away from me, and I had no one. Mr. Blake soon became my someone. When Mr. Blake threw away the rose I gave him, I easily concluded he considered me close enough to not be hurt by his honesty. As our relationship progressed, I decided to introduce the next step. His quick agreement to a drink in my apartment said more about his feelings for me than words ever could. 

Stumbling into bed in my cramped apartment, I kicked off my heels that I had worn on my first day out of The White. White. Drip, drip, drip. “Don’t ever let a man take advantage of you,” Angela had warned. I paused, thinking about Angela’s last words to me before she left, but Mr. Blake kept me walking with a steady hand on my lower back. A couple drinks later, we were both tipsy with love and whiskey, and I spent the night in his arms. 

I woke up to a crippling headache from the hangover. As I staggered to the bathroom for a drink of water, a glint of light reflected off of the shelf. Curiously, my hand floated along the dusty wood until it found a smooth, heavy band. A ring. No, a wedding ring. A flood came crashing down through me, sobs quickly racking my body as I realized how he had manipulated me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I have no one. I don’t even have myself. Every shred of my soul was burned by The White and he blew away the ashes.

The next morning, I received a call that I was fired from Gopher & Sons. Images of The White came back to me. White. White floors, white baths, white gowns, and white light. Empty, cold, empty. Screams interrupting the drip drip dripping of the bath water. No. I refused to go back. I took the five-forty-eight train to Shady Hill. I looked for the last time upon the deteriorating shack that had been my home. I thought of Angela. No. She is gone, and there is nothing you can do to get her back. Focus. I wiggled the false floorboard, and retrieved the emergency gun. The last drop of innocence was squeezed from my heart, and I had nothing left to protect. I would watch your back, Mr. Blake. I’m done playing games.