Insanity (Asylum 1)

I stare into those blue eyes now, but I’m not getting the same vibe that I did then. Because there’s something missing from them now. I can’t see into them. They almost look murky and glazed over. Not that deep vibrant blue that they used to be. Closing my eyes, I swallow the wad of thick saliva in my throat. What am I doing? Questioning myself on whether his eyes are cloudy or not? This is insane. I kiss his lips. The beautiful, full pouty lips that have smiled at me, touched every inch of my body, and whispered lovely words into my ears. He returns the kiss reluctantly, but I’m surprised by how cold his mouth is.

How it feels foreign.

And odd.

It’s like kissing a fish.

“Damien?” He pulls away from me, runs a hand over his jaw and a soft, genuine smile spreads across his face. My eyes flit back and forth across his cheekbones, eyebrows knit in concern. “What’s wrong with you?” His skin is beyond pale. No toasted almond tone. No rosiness in his taut cheeks. He looks like he’s been bleached white.

“Nothing, love.” He takes me by the arm and guides me down the hall. This time gently. “We’d better hurry. You don’t want to be late.”

I am beyond confused. What’s with the mood swings? A minute ago he was so angry with me I thought he might bring me to tears. Now all of a sudden he’s being nice. I grip his fingers tightly, my feet scuffing against the floor, the cold temperature of the tile bleeding through my socks. His profile comes into view and right above his cheekbone there’s a patch of his coal black hair missing. I reach up to touch the bald spot, but he swats me away. “Damien? Are you sick?” My eyes work their way over him. “You look terrible, my love.”

Damien coughs out, turning his head and using his elbow to cover his mouth. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

“Oh no. You poor thing. I wish I wasn’t in here. I’d take care of you. I’d make you feel better.”

We stop outside of Dr. Watson’s office and Damien does something spontaneous. He snakes his arm around my back, pulls me tightly to his chest and kisses me. Kisses me hard. And even though his mouth is still cold, I can feel the intensity in the kiss, the passion, the neediness and want. So I lose myself in it, falling deeper and deeper into a world where only he and I exist.

In this world, we’re not confined by the asylum, or doctors, or mental illnesses. We’re in the field behind my house, the sun raining down on our skin, the scent of wild flowers dancing in the breeze. We’re playful and in love, rolling around in the long green and yellow grass, our clothes crumpled and dirty, perspiration causing our hair to sick to our faces.

We laugh.

Together.

Making music with our voices rumbling together.

Then I’m falling again, crashing back to reality when Damien pulls out of the kiss. For a second, I just stand there, reaching out for him, my eyes still closed. “Come back to me,” I whisper. But when I open my eyes, Damien is just standing there, biting his lip, a saddened look on his face. “Damien, what is it?” I move closer. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

He winces at the sound of my voice. “It’s too much.” His voice cracks.

“What’s too much?”

He doesn’t answer.

Instead he turns his

head, lets out a depressing sigh, and I watch as a tiny tear rolls down his cheek. The sight of his tear breaks my heart and makes me sick at the same time because I can’t help but wonder if I’m the one who’s making him cry. I take another step closer and slowly raise my hand to wipe the tears from his cheek, but Damien catches me by the wrist before my hand makes it all the way up. “Don’t.” The word comes out shallow and raspy in his throat.

“I don’t want you to cry,” I say. “Tell me. Tell me what I can do to ease the pain.” He has to tell me. He has to let me do something because seeing him like this has me seconds away from tipping over the rails of grief and insanity. “Please, Damien.”

He opens his cloudy blue eyes and blinks back a few more tears. He’s breathing softly, but his breaths come out wheezy. He shakes his head, lowers it, and when he lifts it, he takes my hand and places my palm flat against his chest cavity. His muscles twitch underneath my fingertips and I can feel his cold, clammy skin seeping through the thin white shirt of his uniform. He hunches over, resting his forehead against mine. “You’ll always have it, Adelaide.”

I inhale his musty breath. His breath used to smell like coffee and chocolate. Now it smells of damp, dark closets, and decay. “Have what?”

Damien presses my hand harder against his chest. “My heart.”

A gasp leaves my throat and his words stab and twist in my gut. My heart throbs and palpitates in my chest. My fingers tremble. With quivering lips and tearstained cheeks, I open my eyes. My hand is still out, lingering in the air.

Damien is gone.

My eyes trail down the hall and I call out his name.

No answer.

Then I bring my hand to my chest, but only make it halfway. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something—that the tips of my fingers are covered in blood.

Chapter 25