Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

I started circling the couch she sat on, and without
thinking, I skated my hand over the portable bar, tugging on
the corner and making the bottles clink together. Heat trailed
up my neck.
“The first day, you’re wondering what’s going on,” I
explained. “No one’s saying anything. No one will answer
your questions. You can’t see anything but your little plot of
cement. And after the first week, you start talking to yourself a
little just because there’s nothing to do, and you’re getting
really fucking bored.”
“You mean lonely?” she jabbed.
“Pissed off,” I gritted out, correcting her. “No one is
coming to visit. Where’s Banks? She would be there. Why are
they keeping me from her?” And then I nod at her. “But you
know you can take it. You can take anything they dole out.
Will’s fine. Kai’s fine. They’ll be fine.”
I kept circling the room, the muscles in my neck suddenly
tight as I dragged my hand over the surface of tables and
walls, going a little faster now and my fingers digging in as I
held her stare.
“But a month in, you start to find that your head is heavy,”
I said, growing breathless at the memory. “Really fucking
heavy, Rika, like you can’t lift it. So you start doing things to
snap yourself out of it, like banging it into the wall over and
over again.”
I brushed past a vase and sent it crashing to the wooden
floor, but I didn’t stop. I was in my cell again, circling the
eight-by-eight-foot square and going mad.
“And your skin feels tight, and the walls are pressing
against your lungs, so you can’t breathe, and your brain starts
slipping sideways, because the world looks so different now
than it used to.” I sucked in a breath and squeezed my eyes
shut for a moment. “And you just want to run—run hard. And
breathe. You’re crawling inside yourself. You don’t just want
out of the room. You want out of your skin.”