Insanity (Asylum 1)

What does he want me to say? I should tell him the truth and when I realize it, he’s already got me by the chin and tilts my head upward. His eyes stop at the bruise on my cheek which is probably yellow and purple in color by now. Then he narrows his eyes, clenches his jaw, and I swear I can hear his teeth grinding. He let’s go of my chin and backs away, storming off in the direction of my house, “That’s it!” he shouts. “He’s fucking dead!”

“Damien, no!” I catch up to him and pull on his arm. “Just stop, please!” Damien yanks his arm away and something pulls in my chest, causing my knees to buckle from the pain. A garbled shriek leaves my throat and my knees hit the ground. I can’t breathe. There’s too much pain. I try to gasp, “Daaamm.” I’m trying to say his name, but the words won’t come out right. “Daaamm.”

I grunt and use my arms as bandages.

Damien realizes I’m not behind him and spins around. When he sees me on the ground, he’s next to me in a second, scooping me up into his arms and carrying me over to the trunk of the willow tree. “No,” I wheeze softly and gently slap his shoulder. “Put me down.” He lies

me flat on the ground, brushes the hair away from my face, and I notice the hurt flashing in his eyes. I point to the right side of my ribcage. “Press here.” Palms flat he presses down just below my breasts and even though the pain doesn’t completely subside, the pressure makes it more bearable. And being able to breathe has never felt more magnificent.

I’ve had bruised ribs a couple of times before this, but the pain has never been this excruciating. That leads me to believe that maybe I’ve cracked one or even worse, broke a few. Breaking, bruising, or cracking your ribs is the worst kind of injury to have if you ask me. The first time one of Daddy’s fits left me with a bruised rib he actually took me to the hospital. And do you know what they did? Absolutely nothing. Part of me thinks that maybe that’s why Daddy kicks me in the ribs so often, because he knows I’ll have to suffer through the pain of recovery. “Does that feel better?” There’s a pleading look in Damien’s eyes combined with a layer of wetness. I’ve never seen him cry before. Daddy never cries. He didn’t even cry when Mommy left. He always says, “Real men never cry and those who do are pussies.” Daddy is an idiot.

I admire Damien for his ability to show his emotion. That combined with all of his other amazing qualities makes him damn near perfect in my eyes. Reaching up, I swipe a finger along his cheek and wipe away his tears. “Don’t cry for me, my love. I’ll live. Everything will be fine.” But that does the opposite of what I expected it to.

Damien pushes himself out of his crouching position to his feet. There’s a darkness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. A scowl on his lips that I can’t bring myself to look at. His chest rises up and down in sync with his breaths and a loud rasp crawls out his throat. Suddenly, he slams his clenched fists at his sides, throws his head back and screams. His scream is so loud, so boisterous, and so piercing it’s like a werewolf’s tortured howl during its midnight run under a full moon.

“Damien,” I reach for him, fingers needy, voice desperate, but it’s like he doesn’t even know I’m there. Now I’ve seen Damien’s temper flare up on plenty of occasions. Most of those occasions usually occurred after Daddy and I had a fight, but this is different. I’ve never seen him like this before. Like he’s so…so…so out of control.

After a few more screams, some stomping, and a few back and forths of pacing, Damien lies down next to me and kisses my temple. I face him, and watch him as he pinches the bridge of his nose, lets out a long winded sigh, and then my attention shifts to the corners of his eyes and I focus on the tiny streams that rain down his cheeks. “I’m going to take you away from here, away from him. I promise, Addy.” His voice cracks with emotion. “I don’t need my parents’ money, I’ve got my own. We can survive on that.” He looks at me, deadpan. “I’m serious, let’s do it. Let’s run away.”

“Your mother won’t stand for that.” I picture the deeply rooted scowl on Marlena’s lovely face upon discovering that her son went slumming and decided to stay in the slums permanently. It brings a smile to my lips. “She’ll have every cop in the state out looking for you.”

He laces his fingers through mine and brings my hand to his lips, kissing it. “I’m eighteen years old. I’m a legal adult. She can’t do anything.”

I look down at our entwined fingers. “But what about me?”

“What do you mean, what about you?”

“I’m not eighteen yet. I’m a minor.”

And that means if Daddy decides to play hardball and come looking for me, the only way I’ll be leaving West Des Moines, Iowa is in a body bag.

Chapter 16

~AFTER~

The next morning I sit in the rec room, in my usual spot by the window. Soft chatter from the group of girls who sit on the couches flits over to me, but I tune it out.

I’ve been staring at the empty spot where Cynthia usually sits for the last twenty minutes. Occasionally I break away from the couch and stare at the wide entrance with the open arched doorway, waiting for her to walk through the door.

But she doesn’t.

Martine LaVelle, a resident nutjob, and someone who is actually not faking it like Aurora paces back and forth across the back of the room muttering, “Numbers. So many numbers. If you can count you know them. Then you can add them together. One plus one equals two. And two plus two equals four.” She carries on with her sequence for about fifteen minutes, twirling a strand of her mahogany hair between her bony fingers. Then she starts the sequence all of over again repeating herself.

I don’t see Martine in the rec too often. She’s usually kept in solitary because she doesn’t like contact with the other patients. Plus she has the tendency to get violent. Once, she bit into another patient’s arm, gnawing on it like a chicken leg. After being restrained, and taken down to the basement, I heard someone say that Martine mentioned that voices in her head told her to bite the girl’s arm. Then, Aurora informed me that she was schizophrenic.

She’s staying away from everyone else in the room. I guess today must be a good day.

My eyes flit over to Aurora’s usual spot. The place where she colors. She does this every day. “Isn’t that a bit juvenile?” I’d asked her once. “I mean I haven’t colored since I was in grade school.”

Aurora had frowned and replied with, “No.” She had a green crayon in her hand and she was coloring in the grass surrounding the house she had just drawn. “Coloring is the one thing that gives me peace.” She rolled her eyes. “If something as juvenile as coloring is the one thing that keeps me from letting this place get the best of me then I’m going to fucking do it.” There was a snappy tone to her voice so I backed off and decided never to ask her about her coloring again.

Centered on Aurora’s empty chair, I wonder where she is today. She’s never absent from rec time. Maybe she had a therapy session that ran over or maybe she had to use the ladies room. I shrug and decide that she’s probably fine and that I shouldn’t be too worried. I know Aurora is as terrified of the basement as I am, so she wouldn’t do anything to get sent there. If she’s not here now, she’ll be here soon enough. After all, where is she going to go?

Facing the window I see Damien through the chain link fence on the men’s side of the ward, as he bends over and picks up a plastic ball off the ground. Patches of green are starting to show through the dead, yellowed grass. I sit up anxiously, palms flat against the cool glass when I think Damien is going to turn around and look up at me. Inside I’m chanting; Yes. Please. Turn around. I can’t wait to see your beautiful face. But my inner chanting ceases when Aurora comes up behind me and says, “What are you looking at?”

I jump, clutch my chest and spin around. “My God!” I gasp, feeling my racing heart beneath my fingertips. “You could have given me some kind of warning that you were going to be behind me.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Like what?”