The Taste Of My Blood

Schizophrenic Prayer

Warning: Mentions of Rape. Sorry.

"E-excuse me? Another..." You stumble through your words, not only was this guys a fucking psychotic asshole. He's got voices telling him he should kill? Why would the staff even let him loose like this? It doesn't make any sense. Knowing the dangers of him being around other people?

"You see.. It started when I was, 9? . Parents were loaded, we're so fuckin' rich now, right? They hired me this nanny to babysit me while they're at work 24/7.." He said firmly, but he was so comfortable though, he finished his cig and got another one from the box. You just sat there, waiting if he'll ever continue the story or not. Minutes probably passed, he's still taking drag after drag, you feel like he forgot what he was telling so you open your mouth to try and say something but he cut you off by continuing his story..

"So this fuckin' nanny shows up, right? And he beats the shit outta me. 'Know what I mean? She hits my head most of the time.. And my parents were never around for me to tell 'em that this fucking nanny is a psychotic bitch." He laughs but shook his head, his eyes were close as he took another drag on the cigarette.

"Then what?" You said, because honestly, as weird as it may seem, you actually liked his company and his story. He blew out smoke and licked his lips, he continued,

"So this bitch becomes my nanny for almost 5 years, I tried to tell my parents but they won't listen. No one saw what was happening. Until that time when I was 14. First she won't feed me.. then she'll lock me in my own closet..." He spoke, cigarette in between his lips, he muttered 'fuckin' bitch' under his breath. "That bitch.. won't feed me for days! That... that fucking bitch..." He's almost yelling now, laughing at his own words while you notice tears brimming on his eyes. The way he's flailing his arms while speaking, almost like he's so angry and frustrated. "....that fucking bitch.. she tied me up on my own bed... and fucking raped me! Said that.. said.. " he takes a drag, a bit longer than earlier, "...said she won't feed me until I make her fuckin' come. And she wasn't kidding.. the first time it happened, I struggled to make my fucking cock hard. Because how, right?? How the fuck do I make it hard when you're being raped.. enlighten me."

And you.. You just sat there, nodding, and nodding. Taking in every little detail he's saying or doing. Just trying to make something out of him.

"So it happened again, right.. Just three days after that. She refused to feed me. Good thing she gives me fuckin' water or I'd be dead. Imagine not eating for almost a week??" He stopped, only to light another cigarette. "So again, she carried me in my room, slapped and kicked and fuckin' punched me. Because I struggled so hard.. I was a 14 year old who hasn't been fed in 5 days..."

You notice tears just forming in his eyes, waiting just to fall down at the right moment. Then he spoke again,

"This time though, I did it right.. I did everything I could to make my fucking dick hard. I closed my eyes, there were tears and snot and saliva probably everywhere on my face. And she came... I didn't. Thank fuck for that. But it still disgusts me 'til this day. I remember it like it had just happened. And you know a few days after that, she bashed my head with my mom's favorite flower vase." He chuckled, smiling at himself.. "She bashed my head and my parents found out. Because how stupid could she be?? It's like she's trying to get caught."

He's laughing, not like the way when he was talking. He's just.... laughing. You raise your eyebrows and thought 'fuck this man is a psycho.', then he stopped, faint smile plastered on his face.

"Sebastian?" You snapped him back to reality, he stared at you, smiling. He continued, "I was sent to the hospital right after that.. There were blood everywhere, I was losing too much. And I was in a temporary coma, for about two weeks.. And when I woke up. I started hearing voices... At first I thought it was my parents, because it was just calling my name all the time."

He takes a quick drag, "Then it got so much worse as years passed. Fast forward to when I was 21.. I discovered the beauty of cocaine.." he blew smoke, directly on my face.

"...and all other drugs, really. Not just coke. But cocaine does the trick. Ya see.. when I snort the shit outta that, these voices.." He points at his head, cigarette in between his fingers. "..they stop. It's like a miracle. Years and years of dealing with suicide and medication. Only cocaine made the voices stop."

"Are they still in your head now?" You ask, because you were just so intrigued with this person. His life has been literally a roller-coaster ride, but the tracks are always going downward.

"Now? Yeah, they're here. Years went by after that, I was addicted to being normal. But being normal means I have to do coke. Maybe the drugs did some damage in my head, I was sober for almost 6 months because of my parents. I started hearing this one particular fucking voice, it resembles mine, but not really.. Y'know? It's not my voice but I feel like it is. And it tells me things.." He stopped, and just stared at his half lit cigarette and you noticed he hasn't puffed yet because the ashes were still formed on the cig itself. He went on with his story though,

"Tells me things like, my mom is cheating on my dad.. At first it was just things like that.. But months have passed and it got worse.."

"Worse?? How?"

"It tells me to kill... Of course I never did. I knew better than that. But it gets so frustrating, because it knows what I do, it knows my weaknesses.. And feeds into my fear. My self-loathing.. It made me hate myself even more." He said, taking a long drag and releasing the smoke on my face. He stares at you intently, raising an eyebrow.. He said in a low voice, almost like a whisper, "I started the idea of killing myself.. To kill the voices."

He said, "It was just an idea at first, I never got around to it. But after six months, I broke my sobriety and bought pounds and pounds of fucking cocaine. I was gonna let all hell break loose."

"What did you do?" You said, you can't say anything other than questions, because you're curious, so curious and naive that you believe what Sebastian says, even when you know he might be making it up. But you think to yourself, 'No one can make up a story that detailed.' You try so hard to convice yourself.

"I snorted that fucking coke in a week, with friends. Well.. I thought were my friends. But when I was laying down on the floor, my mouth foaming white. Life slowly slipping away from my grasp... No one was there to help. None of my friends." He took a last drag and threw the cigarette butt on the ground, and sat back on his chair. Looking at me,

"I didn't mean to overdose, hell.. No addict wants to overdose. It just happened, I guess.. Y'know? When you're in that high.. That.... that beautiful feeling.. of peace and quiet in your head... I feel so... so fucking normal!!"

He stood up, pulling his jeans up to his waist, and you see how skinny he is. But he looks good in this stage, you don't know if it's his story or the way he tells it, that you keep urging him to spill more. But he started walking away from the table,

"Hey! Where're you going?!" You called back at him. All he did was point at the gates, and it was followed by this loud ringing of alarm. Like the ones you hear at school when it's recess. But this is louder, scarier.

He looks back at you one last time before greeting two nurse at the door, holding his arms.

Notorious, huh? You can see now why.