Insanity (Asylum 1)

I go into detail and tell her about Damien. About how we met. How in love we are. Some of the things I love about him. Some of the things that drive me mad. I describe his physical features and talk about his mother and how much I loathe her. By the end of my rant I’m surprised that Aurora still seems generally interested in knowing more about him. She stares off out the window in a melancholy state. “Do you know where he is?”

“Damien?”

A nod.

“Of course I know where he is,” I huff. “He’s here.”

Aurora’s gaze deadlocks on me and she raises both eyebrows. “Here? As in, in the asylum here?”

“Yes, but not as a patient,” I chuckle. “He’s an orderly.”

Both of her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? How come I’ve never seen him?”

“I don’t know. He works over at the men’s wing of the asylum a lot.” I eye her oddly. “Maybe you just haven’t noticed him before.”

“Addy, I’ve been here seven years I know every staff member’s name, what they look like, I’ve even dipped into some staff members files and know some of their more personal information,” she informs me. “There isn’t a Damien Allen that works here.”

“He’s new,” I tell her. “He arrived shortly after I did. You probably just haven’t gotten a chance to do any investigating.”

“Addy, there—.”

Our conversation is interrupted by a knock on the door.

It’s Marjorie.

I was smiling and enjoying myself until I get a good look at her smug, round face. “Adelaide,” she says curtly. “Dr. Watson, instructed me to fetch you for your session with him.”

Right.

I glance at Aurora who has started cackling then I peek over my shoulder at Marjorie and she’s looking at Aurora with pity and shaking her head. I wave at the crazy version of Aurora and follow Marjorie out the door and down the hall. She leaves me just outside of Dr. Watson’s office. His back is to me and he’s on the phone with someone. I lift my hand to knock, but decide against it. Sliding to the side, I place my back flat against the wall and eavesdrop.

“It’s out of the question!” he snaps. “You know I don’t condone that kind of treatment.” He pauses. “I will repeat myself, it’s out of the question!” His tone is more authoritative. More final. “That kind of treatment is inhumane.” A sigh of frustration. “I don’t care how effective you think it is. How about this? You treat your patients the way you want to and I’ll treat mine how I want to, but understand this; you will not use any of those methods on my patients Matthew are we clear?”

He’s talking to Dr. Morrow. A sharp intake of breath trails down my throat and my mouth forms an o . They have to be talking about what goes on in the basement. My spine stiffens and panic spins around inside of my stomach just thinking the word basement . I stare off in a trance-like state, the neutral colored walls blurring in my eyes. Calm replaces the panic I’d previously felt when I realize that Dr. Watson is not the bad guy. He’s not the one who sends people to the basement. According to him, he doesn’t believe in that kind of treatment and for the first time since I’ve been receiving treatm

ents from him, I’m thankful that he’s my doctor and not Dr. Morrow.

“Adelaide.” I jump at the sound of my name, turn my head, and clutch my chest, hoping to steady my racing heart. Dr. Watson stands next to me, regarding me with cool yet wary eyes. His eyes are more of an amber color today and there’s intensity in them as he continues to examine my face. “How long have you been standing there?”

I open my mouth to answer him, but words seem to have escaped me. Either that or my voice box isn’t working. It’s strange how this man captivates me. I shake off the thought as a guilty feeling surges through my gut, straight up to my heart. Damien . I replay the painful look on his face from my drug-induced slumber. No, I tell myself. You should not be captivated by this man. There is only one man for you. Damien.

Dr. Watson folds his arms across his chest and lifts an eyebrow. “Well?”

I continue to gawk at him for another minute. I like when he makes that face. It’s a puzzled look and when he widens his eyes I can see the depth in them, the beauty. Point blank it’s a striking look. I finally find my voice and focus on the creme tile squares. “I just got here.” I keep my voice low and make certain I don’t stare directly into his eyes.

I’ve heard from several sources that you can tell a lot about a person by looking into their eyes, and I know if Dr. Watson were looking into mine right now he’d be able to tell that I’m lying to him.

“Very well, then,” he says and gestures to the open door. “Come, have a seat.”

My eyes follow the length of his arm and I push away from the wall. He leads the way into his office, retreating to his desk and I sit down in the folding chair. Bending over, he reaches into a cabinet, rummaging around, making a lot of noise and I know what he’s doing. At this point nausea slaps against the walls of my stomach, my whole body tenses, and my heart hammers against my ribcage. “No,” I gasp, fidgeting in my spot, scooting my chair back. “I don’t want to.”

Dr. Watson spins around and places the metronome in front of me. “You know that you have to, Adelaide. This is a very effective form of treatment.” His voice is warm, but his eyes are cold and have appeared to harden a little bit.

I shake my head and my voice quivers, “Please don’t make me.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I hold them back and look away from Dr. Watson. I hate the metronome. The way it ticks, cutting into quiet until all you hear is tick tick tick . The annoying sound echoes in your ears and throbs in your temples. I hate the way the level lures you into a false sense of reality as it moves back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Dr. Watson has used it on me twice before and after I’d left his office those two times, I’d felt seduced and naked. Seduced because it was like that tiny lever on the metronome had a mind of its own and knew exactly how to yank my deepest darkest secrets out of my head. Like a forbidden lover who knows exactly how to speak to you, and touch you, and kiss you to get you to spread your legs for them. I felt naked because somehow that tick…tick…ticking had the ability to make me produce word vomit and at the end of the session I was ashamed of some of the things I’d said out loud. Whether he’s helping me or not, there are some secrets; things that have happened in my past that I don’t even want to tell Dr. Watson. And I know that when he uses the metronome on me he’ll bring most of them out.

Dr. Watson shakes his head and huffs, “Adelaide.” Then he walks out from behind his desk, takes a seat on the front left corner, and outstretches his arm, his finger aimed at the tiny lever on the metronome.