He walked into her life at a time when she was looking to assert her identity. From the first glance she knew he was the one. He was everything her mother had warned her about — the vile, degenerate waste that makes up part of society. He was perfect.

For far too long she had danced to the tune of others in her life and somehow along the way she had lost herself.

She longed to feel the breeze on her face, the sand under her feet and a man in her bed. To be defiant and get away with it. She longed to apply the many contrary beliefs she secretly held on to but could not voice on account of her timidity and submissiveness.

She longed to soar, to explore the beautiful world that lay at her feet; to break free from the invisible chains that kept her firmly grounded in her Christian upbringing and the coat tails of her overbearing mother.

She nursed this desire like a newborn; feeding it with information from the Internet and the numerous people who visited her room in the dead of night to keep her company. She kept a secret journal of all the things she would do with her freedom should she ever get it.

With each waking minute, her covetousness grew, morphed and took on a life of its own. She counted days, crossing them off her calendar, like a prisoner waiting for her parole hearing. She did her time.

Her formative years were spent under the control of her rod-wielding mother who seemed determined to kill her spirit.

She knew she needed someone to walk with on this journey. Someone who saw the world the way she did; a troubled soul whose demons would play well with hers.

And he fit the bill, rough around the edges; carefree, with a boldness that both scared and awed her. His polish, grace and suave demeanour added to his appeal.

Their initial interactions had been stiff and dull. He walked into her room one day and after exchanging pleasantries, checked on her vitals and offered her the afternoon pills. He stuck around to make sure that she had swallowed them and even asked to check under her tongue, then left as abruptly as he had come.

Then began her fixation and fascination with him. She found herself longing for his daily afternoon visits despite the awful pills he brought with him.

She needed to find a way to talk to him, and soon. It had to be before she took her pills because something always overcame her whenever she took them and she would be groggy. The only time she was lucid and able to work on her plan to gain freedom was the short time between dawn and the 8am roll call.

The pleasantries slowly turned into small talk. He took to her like a duck to water and started to visit her more often than the single afternoon session that had previously been the norm. She took the time to get to know him — his likes, dislikes and what made him tick. Soon enough, she knew which buttons to push and he was eating from the palm of her hand.

He had read her file: Schizophrenia. The numerous conversations he had with other orderlies about the extent of her condition always ended with them begging him to stay away from her. She was bad news. She was often confused and was convinced that people had evil intentions towards her. She also randomly picked fights with other patients, which was why she was confined to her own room. In her mind, she was still a teenager.

His heart went out to her and he wanted to be her friend. He wanted to be there for her especially because her own family had abandoned her.

She watched him walk into her room one afternoon. The stern, faraway look that had once been on his face had given way to a toothy grin that made him all the more appealing.

He sat with her and talked for what seemed like hours. She was playful, flirtatious and coy.

What he didn’t know was that she was putting her plan into motion and he would be her ticket away from her ruthless mother. Her immediate worry now was that he should leave before her mother came. She was very strict about not having boys in the house, especially in the bedroom.