Insanity (12 page)

Aurora purses her lips and thinks over the question. Finally she says, “Okay.” Seconds pass by and she says nothing. I keep my eyes on her and by the way she’s chewing her lip and rolling her thumbs, I can tell this is going to be difficult for her. “His name was Edward.” Her voice is filled with emotion and even from where I’m sitting I can see the tears glistening in her eyes.

“Aurora, if this is too difficult—.”

“No,” she snaps, cutting me off. “It’s just that I haven’t seen or thought about him in years. I can’t even remember how old I was the last time I saw him. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. I could have possibly been fourteen, so who knows. But one thing I do remember more vividly than anything was the sound of his laugh. It was a deep, booming rumbling laugh. Even if I was having the worst day ever, just hearing it would brighten my day.” She sighs. “He had beautiful sea green eyes too. Not too light. Not too dark. They were enchanting.”

“Sounds like he was a real dreamboat,” I comment with a smile.

“Yeah.” A hint of a smile forms on her lips. “He was.” Aurora does her best to hide her face from me, but she’s not fooling me at all. Tears dribble down her cheeks, her features are twisted in pain and it’s during this moment that I know she loved this boy. And it saddens me more than anything that her coming here was probably what ripped her away from him. Aurora clears her throat and does the best she can to wipe all of the emotion off her face. “So,” she says. “Tell me about yours.”

I go into detail and tell her about Damien. About how we met. How in love we are. Some of the things I love about him. Some of the things that drive me mad. I describe his physical features and talk about his mother and how much I loathe her. By the end of my rant I’m surprised that Aurora still seems generally interested in knowing more about him. She stares off out the window in a melancholy state. “Do you know where he is?”

“Damien?”

A nod.

“Of course I know where he is,” I huff. “He’s here.”

Aurora’s gaze deadlocks on me and she raises both eyebrows. “Here? As in, in the asylum here?”

“Yes, but not as a patient,” I chuckle. “He’s an orderly.”

Both of her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? How come I’ve never seen him?”

“I don’t know. He works over at the men’s wing of the asylum a lot.” I eye her oddly. “Maybe you just haven’t noticed him before.”

“Addy, I’ve been here seven years I know every staff member’s name, what they look like, I’ve even dipped into some staff members files and know some of their more personal information,” she informs me. “There isn’t a Damien Allen that works here.”

“He’s new,” I tell her. “He arrived shortly after I did. You probably just haven’t gotten a chance to do any investigating.”

“Addy, there—.”

Our conversation is interrupted by a knock on the door.

It’s Marjorie.

I was smiling and enjoying myself until I get a good look at her smug, round face. “Adelaide,” she says curtly. “Dr. Watson, instructed me to fetch you for your session with him.”

Right.

I glance at Aurora who has started cackling then I peek over my shoulder at Marjorie and she’s looking at Aurora with pity and shaking her head. I wave at the crazy version of Aurora and follow Marjorie out the door and down the hall. She leaves me just outside of Dr. Watson’s office. His back is to me and he’s on the phone with someone. I lift my hand to knock, but decide against it. Sliding to the side, I place my back flat against the wall and eavesdrop.

“It’s out of the question!” he snaps. “You know I don’t condone that kind of treatment.” He pauses. “I will repeat myself, it’s out of the question!” His tone is more authoritative. More final. “That kind of treatment is inhumane.” A sigh of frustration. “I don’t care how effective you think it is. How about this? You treat your patients the way you want to and I’ll treat mine how I want to, but understand this; you will not use any of those methods on my patients Matthew are we clear?”

He’s talking to Dr. Morrow. A sharp intake of breath trails down my throat and my mouth forms an
o
. They have to be talking about what goes on in the basement. My spine stiffens and panic spins around inside of my stomach just thinking the word
basement
. I stare off in a trance-like state, the neutral colored walls blurring in my eyes. Calm replaces the panic I’d previously felt when I realize that Dr. Watson is not the bad guy. He’s not the one who sends people to the basement. According to him, he doesn’t believe in that kind of treatment and for the first time since I’ve been receiving treatments from him, I’m thankful that he’s my doctor and not Dr. Morrow.

“Adelaide.” I jump at the sound of my name, turn my head, and clutch my chest, hoping to steady my racing heart. Dr. Watson stands next to me, regarding me with cool yet wary eyes. His eyes are more of an amber color today and there’s intensity in them as he continues to examine my face. “How long have you been standing there?”

I open my mouth to answer him, but words seem to have escaped me. Either that or my voice box isn’t working. It’s strange how this man captivates me. I shake off the thought as a guilty feeling surges through my gut, straight up to my heart.
Damien
. I replay the painful look on his face from my drug-induced slumber. No, I tell myself. You should not be captivated by this man. There is only one man for you. Damien.

Dr. Watson folds his arms across his chest and lifts an eyebrow. “Well?”

I continue to gawk at him for another minute. I like when he makes that face. It’s a puzzled look and when he widens his eyes I can see the depth in them, the beauty. Point blank it’s a striking look. I finally find my voice and focus on the creme tile squares. “I just got here.” I keep my voice low and make certain I don’t stare directly into his eyes.

I’ve heard from several sources that you can tell a lot about a person by looking into their eyes, and I know if Dr. Watson were looking into mine right now he’d be able to tell that I’m lying to him.

“Very well, then,” he says and gestures to the open door. “Come, have a seat.”

My eyes follow the length of his arm and I push away from the wall. He leads the way into his office, retreating to his desk and I sit down in the folding chair. Bending over, he reaches into a cabinet, rummaging around, making a lot of noise and I know what he’s doing. At this point nausea slaps against the walls of my stomach, my whole body tenses, and my heart hammers against my ribcage. “No,” I gasp, fidgeting in my spot, scooting my chair back. “I don’t want to.”

Dr. Watson spins around and places the metronome in front of me. “You know that you have to, Adelaide. This is a very effective form of treatment.” His voice is warm, but his eyes are cold and have appeared to harden a little bit.

I shake my head and my voice quivers, “Please don’t make me.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I hold them back and look away from Dr. Watson. I hate the metronome. The way it ticks, cutting into quiet until all you hear is
tick tick tick
. The annoying sound echoes in your ears and throbs in your temples. I hate the way the level lures you into a false sense of reality as it moves back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Dr. Watson has used it on me twice before and after I’d left his office those two times, I’d felt seduced and naked. Seduced because it was like that tiny lever on the metronome had a mind of its own and knew exactly how to yank my deepest darkest secrets out of my head. Like a forbidden lover who knows exactly how to speak to you, and touch you, and kiss you to get you to spread your legs for them. I felt naked because somehow that
tick…tick…ticking
had the ability to make me produce word vomit and at the end of the session I was ashamed of some of the things I’d said out loud. Whether he’s helping me or not, there are some secrets; things that have happened in my past that I don’t even want to tell Dr. Watson. And I know that when he uses the metronome on me he’ll bring most of them out.

Dr. Watson shakes his head and huffs, “Adelaide.” Then he walks out from behind his desk, takes a seat on the front left corner, and outstretches his arm, his finger aimed at the tiny lever on the metronome.

At that moment I jump from my seat and push his hand away. “No!” Dr. Watson stands, towering in front of me. “You can’t make me!”

He leans over, placing both hands on my cheeks, his thumbs brushing against my cheekbones. This man has a magical touch. One caress of his fingers has me at ease, but there’s also something vaguely familiar about Dr. Watson putting his hands on me. But I haven’t figured out what that familiarity is, yet.

He’s touched me before. Not in a sick perverted kind of way, but in a concerned and sometimes I even think loving kind of way. “It’s okay, Addy,” he soothes me. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Trust me. I only want to help you. I only want to see you get better so you can get out of here.” His voice vibrates in my mind. That suave, beautiful, and deep voice plummets into the darkest corners of my brain and I swear I’ve heard it before outside of our sessions. We gaze into each other’s eyes and his eyes soften subtly. He studies me hard, eyes flitting over every facial feature I have and then I swear a see a flash of pain in his eyes. This man is hiding something, I can tell.

His hands fall from my face and rest on my shoulder blades, but neither one of us tears our eyes away from each other. That is until we hear the screaming.

“No!” Thundering footsteps crash into the tile and there’s shouting from the staff on top of the screaming. “No! Stay away from me!” Dr. Watson tears his eyes away from mine and glances out into the hall. Several nurses stampede past the door. “Please! Please! Don’t take me down there!”

Dr. Watson steps away from me and jogs to the door. I follow, standing beside him and his eyes widen. I remain at the door, watching as he breaks out into a full sprint, running to the opposite end of the hall. His body is tense, his fists clenched. I get the sense that some kind of argument is about to go down.

Peering out the door, the crowded hall is pure chaos. Dr. Morrow is surrounded by two orderlies, three nurses, and Cynthia, the asylum gossip queen, is writhing on the floor. She’s thrashing beneath the grasp of the orderlies and nurses. She tries to fight them, kicking and swatting at them, but eventually they manage to restrain her.

My eyes widen in shock and I slip into the hall, stopping at the halfway mark. Remorse sweeps through my entire body and I can’t help but wish that I could help her somehow. I can’t help but wonder if there is a way I could somehow set her free. Help her escape. Send her on her way to wherever her real home is.

Cynthia still thrashes and screams, “I’ll do anything! Anything! Just don’t take me down there again!”

Dr. Morrow prepares a sedative. My eyes drift over all of the faces in the crowd and I spot Damien as he rushes to the scene. His eyes flit toward Dr. Watson and a scornful and hateful scowl spreads across his lips.
What’s that about?
Damien’s eyes meet mine for a second and hurt pierces those blue blue eyes. He blanches then looks away. I want to run to him. I want to apologize. I want to beg him for his forgiveness and explain everything. That the strange man I saw in my dreams was only a strange man and that he means nothing to me. I want to tell Damien that he is the only man who will ever mean anything to me. He’s the only man who’ll ever fully have my heart.

But I don’t.

Dr. Watson interrupts my thoughts when he shouts, “What the hell is going on here?”

Dr. Morrow presses his thumb against the bottom of the syringe and squirts a tiny amount of liquid through the tip of the needle. “We caught this one trying to escape.” His voice is calm, frozen, and completely terrifying.

My attention averts to Cynthia who is still thrashing, but is become weaker and weaker by the second. She whimpers softly and the sight of her red cheeks and the frightened look on her face brings tears to my eyes. I want to scream
don’t hurt her, please
. Then I catch Damien out of the corner of my eye, holding her down as Dr. Morrow stabs her with the needle. Cynthia’s body goes limp in the two orderlies’ and two nurses’ arms and her head lulls back and forth as the three nurses strap her into a gurney.

Dr. Watson is outraged and he points a finger in Dr. Morrow’s face. “This isn’t right Matthew, and you know it! These aren’t animals! These are people!”

A wicked smile curls on Dr. Morrow’s lips. He cups his hand around Dr. Watson’s bicep and says, “I’m doing what you said, Elijah. I’m letting you treat your patient the way you want to. And well, this is how I treat mine.”

Veins pop out of Dr. Watson’s neck and his face is a deep shade of crimson. He breathes in deeply and clenches his fists at his sides. “Don’t do this Matthew,” he says through gritted teeth.

Dr. Morrow looks away from Dr. Watson and instructs the nurses, “Take her downstairs.” Then he faces Dr. Watson. “Mind your own business Elijah. Worry about your own patient.”

Patient?

Patient?

Am I his only patient?

The word bounces around in my head as squeaks from the gurney echo and fill up the entire hall. Damien lingers in the hall and props himself up against one of the walls staring back at me and Dr. Watson drops his gaze to the floor.

Me, I’m glancing between both of them more confused than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Dr. Watson slouches his shoulders and pivots on his heel, walking back toward the office. Damien is scowling at his back. But, why?

During this moment, I can’t help but wonder two things; one, why Damien hates a man he doesn’t even know? And two, why I am Dr. Watson’s only patient?

Chapter 13

~BEFORE~

Daddy was in a really bad mood today.

The blossoming bruise on my cheek and the ache in my ribs serve as a reminder. After a sharp intake of breath an intense pain punctures me so deeply, that I wind up hunched over on the bathroom floor, unable to breathe. The pain spreads across my chest cavity, then plummets to the walls of my stomach before breaking out into a full on throb. With shaking fingers and lost wits, I remove a bandage from a cabinet underneath the bathroom sink and wrap it as tight as I can below my breasts. The tight makeshift tourniquet I’ve made doesn’t take the pain away completely, but it helps. I can now take small shallow breaths without feeling like a knife is skewering me over and over again.