Psychotic Love

Chapter 1

My eyes opened and I jerked upright, my palms sweating and I could still feel the cold acrid tang of fear that lingered in my mouth. I stared all around the room without really seeing it for many long minutes. Everything slowly came into focus and disappointment welled up from within.

 Another failed attempt, another recovery, and another brutal session waited for me beyond my little room. My hands curled into fists. I desperately wanted to smash something, to break it, to show everyone how pissed I was at myself. I had been so close to escaping this cage, to finally be free of this life, to start over fresh with a new name, a new future, and no past. My hands slowly relaxed as the anger drained away, just like it always did, leaving me feeling empty and somewhat cold.

I slipped my legs over the bed and shoved my feet into the slip-ons that were provided to the inmates and patients here. It was known as the Tundry House, a place for the mentally ill and the criminally insane to be locked away out of sight from the rest of society. I was just one nut in this nuthouse, but I was the youngest here, so that had to count for something, right?

I rolled my eyes as I stared at my reflection in the one way glass. We weren't allowed to communicate with the other patients from our rooms. It all had to be supervised and documented. When was the last time I washed my hair, I wondered as my mop of greasy, unkempt, tangled locks slipped down to cover my eyes. I shoved it out of my face and almost cringed. My hair felt disgusting and very brittle. My gray eyes were dull and lifeless, and yet held a strange gleam to them. 

The doctors say it was the madness within. And yet I knew that when I had lived on the outside, in my other prison, when the life was still in my eyes combined with that gleam turned the color of them into quicksilver, striking and compelling all at once. I grimaced when I took in the rest of my face. My cheekbones were prominent, and I could almost see the skeletal structure if I turned in the right light. They fed us enough to keep us standing upright, but not enough to retain our strength.

My dirty, gray jumpsuit stood out from the white room. The only things with any real color to them were the sink, toilet, and bed frame that was lovingly bolted to the floor. And if you can call shiny steel a real color that is. The room was sterile and distant, as frigid as the unyielding bastard that put me in here. 

I was told by everyone around me that I'm psychotic and I believe them, but I'm also saner than they are because while I've accepted that I've got a couple of loose screws in my head, they try to pretend like everything in their tiny little world is just fine. We are all mad, some just admit it to themselves and find comfort in that. However, it was never my intention to become a lab rat or science experiment to be studied and dissected behind this glass. I could almost hear the scream from my pristine white walls that I was just another outsider that didn't belong.

I could never tell what time of day it was in this place. Unlike other places the lights at the Tundry House never got turned off. I supposed that the other doctors figured that the real terrors came out in the dark. For me the lights weren't bright enough to keep away the shadows, but were too bright to truly let me rest. I couldn't help but wonder if they were doing it on purpose, at least to me. He had to be paying them enough to let them do whatever they want. 

Before I could contemplate being used as a rat in this cruel experiment some more half of the one way glass slipped to the side, opening the only door in or out of my cell. My shrink, Dr. Johnson, stepped inside my room. She was tall, I suppose, but much too thin. Boring brown hair blended in with regular brown eyes. There was nothing spectacular or extraordinary about her. She insisted she be called Judy. What an awful name to give to anyone, except maybe her. I never addressed her by either of her names. In fact, I didn't speak to anyone at all. Her eyes peered at me behind wire rimmed glasses and they held disappointment in them. Was that because I had tried to run away, or because I got caught?