“She bit you? How?” Malcolm says, during a breakfast f sausage, eggs, toast, a fruit cup and orange juice. I rub the bandage on my arm, the area around the bite still tender to the touch.
“I went in her cell to talk to her and she bit me,” I say, taking a bite of the soggy eggs.
“You went in her cell? How did you come out alive? No one has ever survived confronting mental Marilyn without prior training. Can we see the bite?” Toby asks. I shrug my shoulders and peel the bandage back revealing the large bite mark on my left arm. I place my arm on the table.
“Behold, the bite of mental Marilyn,” I say. The boys stare at it in awe.
“Dude. She got you good. Did it bleed?” Evan asks. I nod.
“It was bleeding for a while. Marilyn ingested some of my blood too,” I say, covering the bite mark on my arm again.
“That is awesome!” Everett says. “Hey. We’re going to the library. Wanna come?”
“Sure,” I say. I take my tray to the trash and follow the boys to the library, passing Marilyn’s cell. She’s screaming and cursing loudly.
“It’s that time of year again,” Toby says, as we walk out of the building through the double doors.
“What’s going on?” I ask. The boys look back at me.
“Every year at this time, she has extensive medical testing done. It’s to check for illnesses as well as to keep her record up to date,” Evan says.
“So, for about two days, doctors draw Marilyn’s blood and stuff like that. They can’t sedate her because it’ll affect the tests. She also has urine samples taken, CT scans, X-rays, MRI’s and a shit ton of others. Of course she hates it. It’s a full battery of tests. They also do lots of psychological tests on her. They’re all done on site,” Everett says. We enter the library and go up the stairs to the computers.
“It’s also the time of year where the most doctors, guards, and other people get hurt. Mental Marilyn gets pissed as can be, and gets violent. She bites, thrashes, kicks, and even spits. Isn’t she pleasant?” Toby says. I take a seat on a bean bag chair.
“Mental Marilyn says that she enjoyed killing her parents,” I whisper.
“Of course she did. She’s a psychopath. Psychopaths by definition lack all empathy and feel absolutely nothing during the act of killing,” Everett says, showing me a dictionary entry about psychopaths.
“She’s as hot as can be. What I’d give to date her,” Toby says. He looks at the computer. I don’t want to tell the boys about what I want to tell Marilyn.
I can’t really focus on what I have to do. I don’t have much to do since its Sunday, but I do call my mom. She answers, and she’s at work.
“This is Juliette Watson. How may I help you?” Mom answers. That’s how she answers her work phone.
“Hey, mom,” I say. I lean against the wall, and mess with the bandage.
“Oh hi, Donovan! How are you today, honey?” Mom asks.
“I’m okay. I was just bored and I figured I’d give you a call,” I say, leaning against the wall.
“Okay. Well, how are you adjusting?” Mom asks me.
“I’m adjusting well, I guess. I’m doing okay in my classes,” I say.
“I’m glad. Your father and I miss you a lot. We went and saw your dad’s family yesterday. Your aunt Alexa is having a baby so you’ll have a new cousin in a mere eight months. That’s really all that’s going on with us. How about you? Anything interesting going on?” Mom asks. I’m not going to tell her about Marilyn, because she’ll freak out and demand that I come home.
“Not really. I’ve made a few friends, and I’m not hearing the voice as often. My RBD hasn’t really acted up. I did wake up on the floor a couple days ago, but I have a room to myself so I haven’t hurt anyone,” I say.
“Well, I’m glad. I told you it would get better. Hey, I’ve got an appointment in a couple minutes. Call anytime, okay? I miss you, Donovan,” Mom says. “I love you, honey.”
“I love and miss you too, mom,” I say. Mom hands up and I hang up the phone, and then walk down the hall to my room. I shower, which is awkward when there is no shower curtain, and change into the standard issue sweatpants and shirt. I get ready for bed, and wait until midnight.
I know I could get in big trouble, but I want to tell Marilyn how I feel.
I sneak out at midnight and the guards are down getting coffee. I run back to Marilyn’s room and get the door open.
Marilyn is lying on her back, towards the back wall, staring at the wall in front of her. I watch her chest rise and fall as she breathes. She’s awake.
“I know you’re there, Donovan,” Marilyn says, as I shut the door. “You’re really asking for it. I will kill you with no mercy. Just not right now. I’m weak.”
“Look, Marilyn,” I start to say.
“What? What do you want to say? That I’m a cold hearted bitch? That I’m an insane psychopath? I already know both. So leave. I would get up and kill you, but I’m sore, weak and tired. You know very well that I’m dangerous. I will hurt you. I thought you learned, Donovan. I thought my bite would keep you away. I’m sure I told you that I’m a cannibalistic murderous psycho. I’ll never feel love. I’ll never feel empathy. I want to kill. I love killing. It’s all I want to do,” Marilyn says, not even trying to sit up. “And right now, I want to kill you. I want to stab you like I did to my parents. I’ll kill you slowly, though. Maybe I’ll stab you in the stomach. That way, it’ll take a little while. I could also slice your jugular. It can’t be stitched up. You’d bleed out in a matter of minutes. Compressing the chest could kill you. I could sit on your chest, but that may not work, since I don’t weigh much, but maybe I can get someone else to do it for me. There are people who would. The weight would crush your ribs, collapsing the very bones that protect the chest cavity. The heart would stop, which of course would happen, and the lungs wouldn’t be able to take in air. It would hurt. You’d feel the pain. Oh, and I’d just love to watch you die. Am I scaring you now? Because I could go into full detail, Donovan.”
“Well, I…” I say. Marilyn interrupts.
“You know what? All of the newspapers were right about me. None of that shit they published was bullshit. I’m an accident. I shouldn’t have been put on this earth. I’m a prodigal genius that went totally wrong. I’ve been kept in a boring padded cell, wearing a straitjacket, no pants, shackles on my ankles, and booties on my feet. I look like an idiot! Who am I kidding? I’m a criminal mastermind and a cannibalistic psychopath who has no empathy. I kill and take pride in it. I murdered my own parents, the very people who gave me life. They did absolutely nothing to deserve it. Absolutely nothing. It’s a pity they birthed a psycho like me. I am nowhere near a good girl. I’m nuts. Absolutely crazy. I killed my pet fishes, you know. I was six. I put rat poison in their tank and watched them die. My parents thought I didn’t know what I was doing. I did know. I used to love to cut open animals. While they were still alive. I’m sick. I’m twisted and malicious. I burned down our house, killing the family dog. I was ten, Donovan. Ten. I’m nowhere near innocent. I’m as wacky as wacky can get. Everyone looks at me and says that I’m so small and innocent. I am a nutcase. I live in a fucking loony bin. My brain is a scientific wonder. I’m 17 and a complete psychopath. If I wasn’t a medical wonder, do you know what they’d do, Donovan? They’d ‘humanely euthanize’ me, like they do to dogs and cats. They’d kill me. Look at me, Donovan. I’m insane. I like hurting others. I like killing. I’m crazy. I’m never going to be normal. The public doesn’t want me around. I intend to kill again, Donovan. No one is safe. Absolutely no one. Not even you,” Marilyn says. She’s absolutely calm, almost sounding sad or upset.
“Marilyn…” I say. She interrupts again.
“And you know what’s the worst? All these doctors test me, trying to find a cure for insanity. There is no cure. I’m never going to have a future, Donovan. I’ll never get married, never have kids, and never have a job. I’ll be locked up in a cell with a straitjacket on for the rest of my life. Do you know how boring it is to be in a cell like this 24/7? I get fed maybe once a day, and I go pee but I can’t even pee alone. I have guards standing there. I can’t shower myself either. I am chained up and the doctors do it for me. You know, I haven’t seen the sun in years. I don’t even know when it’s day or night. I’m poked and prodded like some sort of lab rat,” Marilyn sighs. “Everyone hates me. Everyone hates mental Marilyn, the psychopathic prodigy.”
“That’s just it…I…” I start. She interrupts again, and I’m getting really frustrated.
“Mental Marilyn. That’s what they call me. They’re fucking right. I’m mental. I’m nuts. Insane. I’m crazy. Flat fucking crazy. Batshit crazy,” Marilyn says. I cut her off before she can say anything else.
“Marilyn! Quit interrupting! I know you think everyone hates you and doesn’t care, but that’s not true. I care. I care about you, Marilyn. I might be the only one, but I care. I, Donovan Benson Watson, care about you, Marilyn. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I care,” I say, yelling at first, but then lowering my tone. Marilyn looks up at me, a puzzled expression on her face.
“W-what?” Marilyn is at a loss for words.