Mental

21 | t a u n t i n g

"We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe."

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

/ / l o u i s / /

The door to my room opens and I continue to stare at the ceiling. I'm extremely angry and I don't want to see or talk to anyone. Dr. Foster was supposed to be here today. Where is she? She was supposed to change my bandages. She lied to me. I scared her off last night and she was never coming back. She's just like everyone else: weak, afraid, a coward. Since she didn't come back, I ripped the bandages off. Harry told me it would be a smart idea to do, therefore, I took them off me. They lay in the corner of the room with my blood stains still on them. She lied to me. I thought she was nice but she lied to me.

Two nurses and a security guard enter the room and I look them up and down. My eyes widen when I see Dr. Horan enter the room. Harry sits on the wall and he watches them just like I am. Why are there so many people in my room? Dr. Horan leans against the wall and there's a toothpick in his mouth. If only he knew Harry was sitting right beside him.

"Today's your lucky day, psycho," he smirks and Harry turns his head to look at me. He's smiling as his white eyes and teeth shine.

"Psycho," he repeats and the word slithers off of his tongue. I look down at the floor as one of the nurses approach me. "I'm beginning to like that word more. It suits you."

"No," I murmur and Dr. Horan laughs.

"You get to go home, idiot!" he exclaims and everyone looks at him, including Harry. 

My eyes widen and I begin to shake my head. I can't go home. I won't go home. My home is my prison. Harry holds me hostage there and I don't want to be held hostage anymore. What about Dr. Foster? Does she know I'm going home?

"Watch it, Horan," the security guard says. "I wouldn't push him if I were you and I won't stop him when he attacks you."

"I'll be ready," Dr. Horan mutters.

Harry's ticking noise becomes louder, "How interesting."

The nurse gently grabs my hand and I watch as she pricks my finger. Blood oozes out of my finger and she holds a small machine up to my bleeding finger. The machine collects my blood and she stands up once it's done stealing the blood from my finger.

"I'm just making sure you're good and healthy. You don't want to leave here ill, do you?" she asks and I shake my head. I don't want to leave here at all. Harry laughs from where he's sitting and he lets himself drop from the wall. I blink and let out a gasp. He's now sitting in front of me with his head tilted to the side.

"Are you afraid?" he whispers. "Are you afraid to go home with me?"

"No," I reply.

"Good!" the nurse cheers. "We wouldn't want you to go home ill, either."

Harry's long, black fingers stroke my cheek and I close my eyes, making him laugh. The sound of his laugh reminds me of how his laughter came out of my mouth last night. It wasn't me laughing. The sound that came out of my mouth was not my own.

It was his.

"I can smell your fear," he whispers as if everyone else in the room will hear him. "You're afraid to go home with me, Louis. Why is that?"

"You'll hurt me," I whisper and he falls over laughing.

"The only one that can truly hurt you is yourself!" he yells before laughing some more. "You let me control your body. Therefore, you only have yourself to blame!"