Chapter Text
Days pass. Still, Bryce wakes up in the padded room; arms incapacitated by a straitjacket. Each day, Adam visits him dressed in scrubs and takes care of him akin to the way he first cared for Ohm.
Each day, Bryce would fight back to the best of his ability. He tried to refuse medication, but the pills were shoved down his throat anyways. Without the ability to stick a finger down his throat and regurgitate the drugs, Bryce was victim to whatever Adam made him take.
This went on, and eventually Bryce became resigned. He stopped putting up a fight because he realized it was useless to keep fighting.
Slowly, Bryce begins to question if he was the one who is crazy.
Maybe… maybe Adam is right and he is delusional.
At first, Bryce tried to counter Adam with knowledge he's learned in the years he worked as a caretaker… but each time Adam refutes it with logical evidence.
Time passes by and Bryce is no longer so sure that Ohm even existed. Who even has a name like Ohm???
When Bryce no longer presents any intent on escaping or attacking, Adam undoes the straitjacket. He praises Bryce for being a "Good Boy" and taking his medicine.
Every day is the same schedule. Memories blur together.
Bryce is the patient and Adam is his caretaker.
Though… there is always one specific thought that nags at Bryce. If I'm truly sick, then why do I always feel funny after taking the medicine?
He never bothered to bring this question up with Adam. He knew it would be useless.
His only socialization came in the form of Adam.
Adam started bringing him treats for being good.
…