The door clicks shut. I know for certain I’m not home. My head is like a lead weight, my mouth and skin are dry. The sheet around me is stiff and holds no warmth, no comfort. I can even feel the rubber protector underneath. Then a whiff of disinfectant confirms it. Hospital.

I open my eyes, which are partially glued together by sleep. Through the blur, I see only white. I rub the gunk from my eyes, and as my vision clears I find myself in a small, white, shoebox-sized room with a large window that looks out into a hallway. Nurses flit by. I want to get up, but my body feels too heavy to carry. The door opens and a nurse enters.

‘Hello Isabo, ready for a cup of tea?’ she asks in a tone that would disturb any hangover.

‘What’s happening?’ I mumble through my claggy mouth.

‘Don’t worry, darlin’. Dr. Morris will be with you soon and he will explain everything.’

She leaves the tea on the side table and closes the door with a click that sounds permanent.

‘Don’t worry daaarlin’… what the fuck is going on?’

I try to stand. My feet resist the cold tiles. Looking out the window and to the left I see people walking about like zombies, flatlined flesh, moving with no meaning. A horrible feeling washes over me. A bit of bile lurches up my throat and I swallow to push it back down.

I’m not in a regular hospital at all.

I’m in a bloody psych ward!

My heart throbs loudly in my ears, my palms become clammy. I slide down the window to the cold tiles, pulling my knees in tight to my chest. Terror rips through me. How did I end up here? What happened? What the hell did I do? My mind is like sludge. I can’t think clearly. Fear opens its dark jaw so wide that I am sure it’s going to swallow me up. The door clicks open again.

‘Hello Isabo. I’m Dr. Morris. How are we feeling?’

‘I don’t know about you, but I feel like shit.’ I try to stand. He grabs my arm. ‘Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t you fucking dare!’

‘Now Isabo, that kind of attitude will get you nowhere. I am only trying to help. You must calm down or there will be consequences.’

I sit down on the bed. Picking up the tea, I notice my hand shaking a lot. What is happening to me? I take a sip, generic tea in a generic foam cup. It tastes pretty awful, but at least it’s wet.

‘Now Isabo, can you tell me the last thing you recall?’ He peers over his thick, metal-rimmed glasses, clearly searching for answers as much as I am.

I suddenly flash to a guy with his hands down my pants. Fuck, I’m not going to tell him that!

‘Um, being at some party, I guess.’

‘Do you remember anything else? Anything after that?’

‘No.’ And that’s the truth. I have no bloody idea.

‘Isabo, last night you were found near Kings Cross, extremely agitated. You were inside a church, smashing things up and screaming that the church should be brought to justice.’

My heart thumps in my ears again. Is the room spinning? I feel so light-headed, enough to fly out of my body. Nothing is holding me down.

‘Isabo? Are you recalling anything? Isabo?’

His stern voice brings me back.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Do you remember being in the church at all?’

I take another sip of the milky tea, searching my clogged memory.

‘I remember talking to a guy outside the party.’

‘Did he harm you or frighten you in any way?’

‘No, we were just talking.’

A flashing recall of the blond guy’s hands pushing my jeans down and trying to undo my zipper. I think he tried but didn’t get anywhere.

‘Are you sure?’ Dr. Morris says while flipping his pen through his fingers.

‘I’m sure.’ If something like that happened, I’d know. I’d feel it.

‘Are you sure you don’t have any memory of being in the church?’

I search my mind, begging for something to appear, but there’s nothing but fog.

‘No, I have no memory of any church.’

‘Well, that’s enough for now. Let’s start with a shower and some breakfast and we can talk more a bit later.’

‘When do I get out of here?’

‘We shall discuss that later.’

‘Why can’t I go home now?’ My voice trembles, and tears sting my eyes. ‘Please, why can’t I just go home?’

‘You are clearly unwell, Isabo. We want to help you, we want to get you home, but for now you need to stay here so that we can stabilise your mental health.’

‘Where’s my dad? Does he know I’m here?’

‘Yes, he knows, and he’ll be here soon. But for now, let’s get you into that shower and then get you something to eat.’

He opens the door and stands back, offering to let me pass. He looks more like a banker than a doctor.

I shower in a grey toilet block with no doors while a bored-looking female nurse watches me, regardless of my protests. After, I sit in a lime-green tracksuit that’s far too big and watch others move through the dining room with their breakfast trays. If I could just float out of my body and disappear. This is one of those moments when I really wish I didn’t exist. As my legs jitter up and down uncontrollably on the plastic chair, it dawns on me that the nurse watching me shower may have seen my cuts.

‘Shit, shit, shit!’ I whisper as my hands try to hold my legs still.

A big, hairy guy tumbles towards me and then sits down at the table. He smells so bad I’m close to throwing up. Fortunately, a male nurse insists that he has a shower before breakfast and reassures him that there is plenty of food and that he won’t go hungry. He snarls at the nurse as he moves out of the seat and swears while he thunders past the accordion double doors, my legs bouncing even more in reaction. A cold piece of white toast with Vegemite sits in front of me, untouched. The smell of hospital disinfectant mixed with the stink of the cafeteria lunch to come makes my gut squelch. A girl sits down on the other side of the table and beams a huge smile at me. ‘Hi! What’s your name?’ I stare at her, my face blank. ‘First-timer, eh? Don’t worry, I’ve been here before. It’s not that bad once you get used to it. The food is pretty good too!’ I bolt from the plastic chair, weaving as fast as I can through a few slow-moving zombies and to the toilet, where I throw up till my throat burns raw. Fuck, what the hell is happening to me? Why would I smash up a church? For what reason? I sit down next to the toilet, leaning my thumping head on the wall. The smell of my vomit makes me retch again. When I rise from the bowl and turn my head, I see the grey shoes of another nurse.