Insanity (Asylum 1)

I’ll make him understand.

There’s only one problem with that…When I leave the infirmary there is a new orderly standing by the door and Damien, well…

Damien’s gone.

Chapter 22

~BEFORE~

Damien has been gone for a month. I know that isn’t very long to most people, but to me it feels like decades.

He writes me.

Love letters.

They are poetic, heart-warming, and beautiful. Just like him.

The first time I received a letter from my beloved was three weeks ago. At first, I was a little worried about the contact between us because of Daddy and everything, but Daddy is never home when the mail comes. I’m not allowed to get the mail. Daddy prefers that he brings it up when he comes home. But before Damien left he promised he’d write me so I check the mail every day after my walk. And so far I’ve gotten a letter every week.

Today is Friday.

I stand at the end of the drive and sift through the pile of mail. Joy floods through me when I see my name on the envelope and I quickly remove the letter, fold it up, and shove into the pocket of my dress. Then I race up my driveway, my heart beating a million miles a minute. My veins pulsating with anxiousness, and my head swimming with thoughts about reading my lover’s words.

I miss him

the most when I’m alone in my bed at night. I keep my window open because I think there’s a small part of me that thinks I’ll see him, standing there, beneath the light of the moon, ready to sneak me out and whisk me away to our own little world. A world of him and me. A world of love and beauty. A world without hurt, depression, or misery.

But he never comes.

I know it’s because he’s thousands of miles away, going along with our plan, readying for our future, but somehow me leaving the window open at night, and pretending that he might show up helps me get through the days without him better.

Pouncing on my bed, I squeal like a giggly child as I shred the envelope and pull out its contents. Something metal and shiny falls on to my thin, yellow blanket and I pick it up. A heart-shaped locket. I hold it up, watching the sunlight beaming in from the window as it dances along the metal surface. The sun touches it in spots making it shimmer and I suck in a deep breath, overwhelmed by its beauty.

There’s a separate piece of paper apart from the letter. I open it slowly and tears sting my eyes as I read it.

Addy

This is a gift for you, my love.

It reminded me of the way I love you.

And I just wanted you to know…

That you will always have my heart.

Love always and forever,

D.

I’ve never owned a piece of jewelry and as I continue to read the little note, I put the locket on, and remind myself to take it off when Daddy gets home so he doesn’t see it. I know what will happen if he does. See it, I mean. He’ll either break it, or steal it and try and sell it. More money for his dirty, wicked habit.

It’s expensive to drink in excess. Daddy knows this, but I’m not sure if he cares. He doesn’t like me to know any of his financial matters, and I’m sure that’s perfectly normal for most parents. I know Damien doesn’t know how much money his parents have either. I mean, he knows they have garages full of money, but he doesn’t know the exact amount. I only know about our financial situation because when Daddy isn’t home sometimes bill collectors call our house. Daddy, doesn’t always pay our bills on time and sometimes he doesn’t pay them at all. Sometimes I think about mentioning the calls, but I know that might earn me some lashes with his belt or a fist to the jaw.

That reminds me of a saying Mommy’s mother used to tell me when I was little. “Children are to be seen and not heard.” We couldn’t ask questions. We couldn’t even speak. Basically, what she meant by that was that children were just supposed to sit there, with their hands folded in their laps and stare off while the adults went about their business. We were supposed to exist and not exist at the same time. We were supposed to be life-like dolls.

I was always thankful Mommy never thought of it that way. She’d always frown at her mother and say, “Oh hush, mother. That’s too old fashioned to even think about.”

Sadness overwhelms me when I think about Mommy. I know she would have loved Damien just as much as I do. And I know he would have loved her too.