Madness (Madness #1)

Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Her door looms before me, and my knuckles hover just inches away from the wood, trembling slightly.

The hallway behind me seems to stretch, and the shadows blink at me, murmuring hurtful words.

What if she’s busy and doesn’t want company?

What if I’m bothering her?

She quietens the voices in my head, the insanity that plagues me daily, and I need her right now.

The sounds from the ward seem to echo around me, the murmur of one-sided conversations behind the closed doors and the clink of metal occasionally.

My heart pounds in my chest as I war with myself.

“Just knock already,” a voice comes from behind me, causing me to jump, “Yi have been there fir ages, and she’s probably sat in there waiting on yi.”

“She wouldn’t know I was coming,” I say to Harry, turning to face him.

He’s leaning casually against the wall, his eyes glinting with humour, “Yi wid be surprised aboot wit she knows. Just knock yi dafty.” He mutters before turning to leave.

“Do you want to come in with me?” I ask him, hoping that he will.

Being alone with Red makes me nervous, and I feel weird coming to her room without any real reason.

“Naw, am good. Ju–” he swallows, “Just let me know if she’s alright, aye? Ave been worried since yesterday.”

“Why not just ask her yourself?”

Harry shakes his head, his wild red hair seeming to move unnaturally with him, “I don’t think I can.” Is all he says before he slips into his room, closing the door softly behind him.

Steeling myself, I timidly knock on her door, needing to be stronger… “Better.”

“Shh. ”

“Come in,” Red calls from inside. I look back to Harry’s room, hoping he’ll come out and join me in Red’s room, but when his door stays firmly shut, I take a deep breath and open her door.

“Al!” Red smiles brightly at me, her blue eyes shining, “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine… I just really needed to. Actually, I don’t know what I need; I just feel weird,” I tell her.

My head spins slightly, and I waver against the door that swings as I do.

Red’s smile fades, a look of concern contorting her face as she steps forward and gently takes my arm, guiding me into her room. “Sit down,” she says softly, leading me to her bed, and I sink into it, feeling the weight of everything that’s been weighing on me disappear for a moment.

The room is comforting – the first real comfort I have felt in years and the scent of her overwhelms me in the best ways.

“What happened?” Red urges, sitting next to me and leaning closer to me. Her presence is grounding in a way, and the voices quiet, and the delusions that seem to lurk in the corners of my vision vanish.

“Curious,” I mutter to myself, “So curious.”

“Have you been to see Nurse White?” she asks me, and all I can manage to do is nod in response.

“It’s okay, Al, I get it. Why don’t you lie down and have a nap? I’ll wake you up in an hour, and hopefully, whatever she’s giving to you can wear off. ”

“Thank you,” I manage to say as sleep pulls me under. I don’t even feel myself lying down on her bed or when I pull her closer to me instead of letting her stand up.

Soft.

Warm.

Safe.

The room is quiet except for the steady rhythm of Red’s breathing beside me.

There are no voices or shadows. No shouting, as it makes my mind feel like it’s tearing itself apart from the inside out.

“Do you ever feel lost?” I whisper to myself, my voice barely a whisper. I somehow feel lost without the voices to keep me company.

Red stirs slightly but remains silent. “Sometimes, I wonder how Wonderland became so twisted. Why does White play the game she does, and why everything feels so distorted all the time apart from when I’m with you.”

Red’s fingers entwine with mine, “Maybe we’re not truly lost. Maybe we are right where we need to be… together. With you and the others, I feel like I can face whatever happens.”

“You mean that?” I ask her, turning my head to look at her as she stares blankly at her ceiling.

“I do.”

“I’m sorry for barging in,” I apologise, feeling guilty for being here for so long, but Red just shakes her head in response.

“I don’t mind Al. I like having you here in my space. I wish you could see how I began to paint you before it was all washed away.” She sighs, but it’s filled with hopelessness.

“I bet it was amazing, like really amazing. I’ve never seen paintings before… not really unless you count Alice’s ramblings that were littered all over the walls in our house.”

“I’ll show you one day. I promised Desmond to wait until he manages to get me some painting supplies.”

That seems to draw a smile out of her, and I smile in response, “I’d like that.”

I look at the wall where her mural once was, now marred by washed-down streaks of blood, and I have to suppress the memories I work so hard to try to forget.

The memories of being locked in the small cupboard flood back, vivid and painful… always painful. My fingers ache – a phantom pain from when I would claw at the wall until my nails were gone, aching and bleeding.

I would call out for her, promising never to leave, hoping my pleas for my mum would reach through her delusions. But it was never enough.

Instead, I was left in the darkness for days, forgotten like an abandoned pet, until reality would finally break through, and she remembered that I existed .

Red’s hand on my chest breaks me from the memories, and I look down to where her fingers are splayed out over my blue top, “Are you ok?” she whispers into the room.

I start to nod, then stop myself because I’m not. I haven’t been for a while, and Wonderland seems to be twisting my mind.

I don’t know what way is up or down, and I feel like I’m falling… floating? As the world rushes by me.

“I do not know,” I admit, the words somehow heavy on my tongue.

Red’s eyes search mine for a moment, and she rests her forehead against my shoulder, “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m okay either,” she admits softly, “My body feels tight, unnatural almost, and I lash out because I feel irritated. The painting helps a lot, and I know that hurting myself isn’t ok, but it’s a release.”

“Does Jameson get mad?” I ask because I can barely handle seeing another mark on her skin when she comes down for tea. My heart physically aches with the desire to hold her, to beg her to mark me instead because I can bear the pain if it means she isn’t hurting herself.

But I also know that she isn’t mine to feel like this about.

Red nods, a soft, almost bitter laugh escaping her lips, “They both do. Bander and Jameson both hate it, but they get it. They know that Wonderland is so messed up that I need a way to cope with being stuck here when I know it’s not where I belong.”

She zones out, staring at the now blank wall, and I pull her closer to me, wanting to comfort her in any way I can.

There’s a sharp knock at the door, startling us both, “Red, Red, Red!” Hare’s voice excitedly shouts from the other side.

Red stands, opening the door with a forced smile, “Hey buddy! What you got there?” she asks him.

“Wocky got you a present!” he shoves a plastic vase into her hand, thirty white roses filling it.

“Can you tell Wocky that I said thank you?” she says, taking the present and stepping backwards.

“Yup, yup, yup!” Hare skips away, and Red closes the door gently, her forced smile fading into a frown.

She places the vase on the table, her fingers smoothing over the pristine petals. She seems almost dazed, and I start to worry when she wobbles on her feet.

“Red?” I murmur, scared to startle her.

“I-”

“Come on, let me run you a bath.”

I take her hand, leading her into her ensuite. Products litter the sink, and it sinks in for a moment, just how long she’s been here for.

Will I be here for this long?

Will I be lost in Wonderland forever ?

“Give in to your legacy, and you can be free…” the masculine voice fades out when Red’s hand squeezes mine, and I remember what I have to do.

The motions come as second nature, a task I regularly did for Alice when she would lose herself far too much and forget to bathe.

I turn the faucet to fill the porcelain tub, and the sound of running water seems to drown out the silence that somehow has been loud since the arrival of the roses.

Red stands there like a statue, clutching a stem in her hand. Crimson blooms from her fist, the thorns digging into her skin, and I worry my lip on how to extract it from her grip without hurting her.

“Why white roses, Al?” she murmurs, her voice tinged with confusion and upset.

I don’t say anything right away, adding bubble bath to the water and leading her over to the steaming bath, “Are you able to strip and get in?” I ask her, “Do you want me to step out?”

She shakes her head but says nothing else and stands there, staring at the tiled wall.

“I’m going to strip you down, ok? I did this for my mum all the time when she got lost in her head,” I tell her, and strip her down to her underwear, never looking away from her face as I do, “A warm bath might help clear your mind.”

I coax her into the bath, the stem still clutched in her hand like a lifeline .

The steam seems to envelop the room like Abe’s therapy sessions, and the gentle smell of lavender lingers from the bubble bath I used.

Red lowers herself into the water, sighing as she sinks into it until only her head is visible.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I say, stepping away to leave the room even as every part of me is screaming to stay with her.

“Don’t,” she rasps, scotting forward in the water, “Join me… please?”

It’s the plea in her voice that has me stripping down to my boxers and climbing in behind her.

She settles back against my chest, and I freeze as her body moulds into mine almost perfectly.

I’ve only ever had one person be this close to me…

“Do not think of such things at this moment, Alice. Focus on her…” it says, and for once, I want to listen to him, to allow myself to feel free even if I never will be.

My boxers grow impossibly tight, and I try to tilt my hips so she doesn’t feel the reaction my body is having to her.

“So, what’s wrong with white roses?” I ask her, wanting to know why she shut down at the mere sight of them.

Red sighs, her wet hand clutching mine. The other lifting the drowned flower out of the water, “They mean purity. My dad would buy White them all the time and would always give me one from the bouquet, saying I was far too young for flowers of my own but that I was just as pure as them…” she sighs, “I always preferred red.”

I stroke Red’s hair away from her face and over her shoulder, the fiery red colour glistening with droplets.

“Why not just paint them?” I suggest, hating how my voice trembles from the memories that assault me of cold autumn nights.

“What a strange thing to do,” Red mumbles sleepily, barely above a whisper.

“She had to be happy, Al, and you made friends.”

“The friends that my mind made up,” I hiss.

“What?” Red shifts against me, “What did you make up, Al?”

I exhale, knowing I need to tell her but scared that she’ll look at me differently after, “My mum would get sad when the flowers would start to turn brown. It would throw her into an episode, and I could never tell what way it would go. Would she be so sad that she wouldn’t be able to leave her bed? Or would it throw her down the rabbit hole of rage and never quite knowing who she was, never mind me?”

“So, you would help her bathe? Like you are doing with me?” she asks, tilting her head back to look up at me.

I nod, “If I didn’t, she would stay in the same clothes for weeks sometimes until you couldn’t tell what dirt was on her skin and what was on the fabric. The water would turn brown, and I would have to coax her to even get into the water while she would sit there comatose almost.”

“So, how would you make her happy when the flowers would die?”

I hold Red closer to me, needing the strength she always seems to lend me in this moment, “She would take me outside just after sunset with a can of red paint, and she would tell me that the flowers had to be painted before she woke up…”

Red gasps, her hand covering her mouth and the flower is forgotten in the water as she clutches my hand in hers, holding it against her chest, “How long were you out there for?”

“All night. She would lock the door, and I had no choice but to do as she asked; otherwise, I found myself locked away when I came in in the morning. It wasn’t so bad if it was a little warm, but the cold nights were the worst, and the only way my mind seemed to be able to cope was to make the flowers come alive… to be my friends.”

“Did she not think it was strange to paint the flowers?”

“It wasn’t strange for her,” I reply, “It made her happy, and when she was happy, things were… easier.”

“Easier, how?”

I hesitate, feeling the weight of my past and not wanting to admit that I might just be as mad as Alice was, “She had her moments. Moments when she was different when the madness wouldn’t affect her, and when the flowers were beautiful and not sad, those moments were less brutal and more loving. She would remember to feed me, and I wouldn’t be locked away as often.”

Red stares at me for a moment, “Did anyone know?”

I shake my head, “No. It was our secret, and just like the flowers, the truth behind the paint was hidden. I wasn’t allowed outside of the house when it was daytime, only at night when it was dark.”

There’s a long silence, and I keep my mouth shut, scared to say anything else that might scare her away. Red finally breaks it, her voice softer than before, “What if we could paint the flowers in some way? I don’t have paint, but I do have an idea.”