Eccentric [h.s] *ON HOLD*

twenty six.

"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved in secret, between the shadow and the soul." -Pablo Neruda

-

Fear. You could say the abnormality of the mere emotion can ignite something within you. The chemical reaction powered by noradrenaline, surging through your veins and awakening your anxiety. It can either arouse your curiosity or deflate your serenity.

For me, it is neither.

You could say at times like this, I am a blank slate. When overworked or panicked, my brain stops working for a few seconds before starting up again. All I can do is study Harry's dead, empty expression. Funny thing is, the last time I did this, he ended up yelling in my face. Now I'm just waiting for it to happen.

He slowly rises from his seat, glancing down as he gaze falls to the ground. There is something in his eyes I can't comprehend; something between vulnerability and possibly, fear? It is rare of him to be afraid of something, excluding the times where he has one of his episodes. But this doesn't look like in episode- it is raw, sane.

The gesture confuses me when he pulls me out of the dining hall and leads me into the secluded corner of the corridor. The pathway is empty, only a few inmates walking around here and there. But to me, in this moment of anticipation and pacing, it is just Harry and I.

"What's going on?" I ask calmly, expecting the worst reaction from him.

He closes his eyes, fists squeezing before he releases the pressure. His jaw shifts a couple of times and from the angle I am standing at, it is visible that a thin layer of sweat glistens on his forehead.

His voice drops. "They did it."

"What?" I question, my tone hissing as I try to keep my voice down as well.

"I went down to the basement and I saw it." Harry says, his breathing shallow as he struggles to calm down. I hold onto his arm, rubbing his tense muscles as I feel him relax under my grip.

"What did you see?"

He looks away for a second before diverting his vision to me again. "Jerome's body. They wrapped him in bandages and covered him with a white sheet on the stretcher but I could still tell that it was him. They left his eyes open."

My rubbing motion halts instantly and my heart drops to my stomach. "B-But Jerome-"

Reading my thoughts, Harry cuts me off, expression with the same grimness. "He was at the memorial service, yes."

A silence.

My mind centers on the thought of Jerome's dead body, but at the same time, it's just not possible. He was in the chapel, mourning over Rosie's death like none other. Who could kill a person that was already grieving? The air is hot and sticky as I press my hand against my mouth, swallowing the bile that threatens to rise out.

"No." I finally conclude, shaking my head. I'm too focused on my own erratic breathing that it takes a while until I hear somewhat of a whimper from Harry as well. When I look up at him, his eyes are glossed over.

"It's all my fault." He sobs heavily, "I-If I never left his side during the memorial service, he would have been alive. God, why'd I have to move to your row? I'm the one to blame, I never should've-"

"No, it's not." I press, getting on my knees as he slides down against the wall. His face is buried in his hands as I try to soothe him but he completely bursts.

"Yes, it is! I never should have let him out of my sight, I should of known that the warden was up to something!" Harry raises his voice, flailing his hands around as he speaks.

I can feel the knit in my eyebrows. "How do you know it was the warden?"

"I heard her talking to the doctor. She said that in the morning, she'll make an announcement in the dining hall that Jerome killed himself. Don't you see, they've got everything planned out!" Harry starts to breathe irregular, his voice at a whisper-hiss.

"Okay, just calm down, everything will be alright." I shush him, aware that someone might just walk passed and hear.

"No! Just stop saying that for fuck's sake! People are disappearing and dying with no explanation and who knows- any one of us can be next!" Harry says, and I realize that he has a point. I open my mouth to speak, but he doesn't let me.

"They treat us like we're different species of human. Like we're cannibals craving each other's flesh and blood every single damn day. It makes it easier for them to blame it all on one of us because it's oh so believable. It gives them another reason to kill off all the imperfect beings in the world!" Harry rants, eyes filled with so much intense anger, I am startled.

Being careful not to agitate his mood, I speak softly.

"You're right, but there is no benefit in getting stressed out over it. Instead, we need a plan."

~

We're sitting on my bed, legs tangled as we rest in the comfort of each other. Apparently, the institution doesn't have  pens or pencils because inmates could harm themselves or others with them. There is an old typewriter down in the recreation room, but it's short on ink and a few letters don't work properly.

So we've come down to a broken, almost chewed on looking pink crayon.

"First, we need to tell someone." I say, resting the paper on my thigh.

Harry rolls his eyes. "This is another one of your stupid ideas, isn't it?"

"No, it's not stupid." I shoot defensively.

"Who are we going to tell?" He asks, challenging me. "It has to be someone who can take action on it, and right now, the highest position is the warden. But look at who's being an amazing warden !" There is sarcasm in his voice as he does jazz hands.

"Well, we can tell Sister Theresa." I suggest.

I think it is a smart idea considering that Sister Theresa is the head nurse at Wolverhampton MI. She has practically dedicated her entire life to this facility, helping people with mental disabilities. I don't think she would sit around and watch innocent inmates being brought down one by one by the warden.

Harry squints his eyes at me, snatching the piece of paper along with the pink crayon. "I think you're forgetting that we're insane asylum inmates. No one would ever believe us." I look down at my nails as he speaks, but when I glance up again, I find him doodling flowers on the planning paper.

Grabbing it from his hands with a dirty look, I write down my ideas. "That's why we need proof."

[SORRY FOR THE LONG WAITS AND SUCKY CHAPTERS. I'M JUST REALLY CAUGHT UP IN THINGS AND I THINK THIS PLOT IS GOING NOWHERE. THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING SO PATIENT x M.]