6

As I sit on the bed, my mind is racing with questions and confusion. What medication? Why do they need to make sure I'm comfortable? Why was the nurse so insistent that I take that pill? And why did they lock the door behind her when she left?

I can hear muffled voices outside, but I can't quite make out what they're saying. It's as if they're intentionally speaking softly so that I can't hear. But why would they do that? What are they hiding?

As I try to piece together what's going on, my eyes drift over to the bedside table, where a small notepad and pen are sitting. Maybe if I write down what's happening, it will help me make sense of it all.

I pick up the pen and begin to write, my hand moving quickly across the page as I try to capture every thought and detail. I write about the nurse's strange behavior, the doctor's reassurances, and the locked door. I write about the voices outside and my growing sense of unease.

As I write, my mind becomes clearer. I start to see the situation more clearly, and the pieces start to fall into place. I realize that I'm not just confused and uncertain; I'm in danger. The people here don't have my best interests at heart, and they're doing everything they can to keep me here and under their control.

But why? What do they want from me?

As I ponder this question, I hear a key turning in the lock. The door creaks open, and the doctor walks in, carrying a small vial of liquid in his hand.

"Hello again, Amber," he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I just needed to get your medication."

"What medication?" I demand, my fear and anger bubbling up inside me. "And why are you keeping me locked up in here?"

He smiles placidly, as if he's dealing with a stubborn child. "You're not being locked up, Amber. We just want to keep you safe and comfortable. And as for the medication, it's just something to help you relax. You've been through a lot, and we want to make sure you're okay."

I shake my head, my skepticism growing with every word he speaks. "I don't believe you. What do you really want from me?"

The doctor's smile falters, and I can see the anger and frustration in his eyes. "You're not making this easy, Amber," he says, his voice cold and menacing. "But don't worry. We'll get what we need from you one way or another."