Page 11 of Bleed for Me

The next person to introduce themselves was Jordan. Once again, breathtakingly gorgeous. He was more muscular than the other two by a long shot, hell, he was the biggest one in this room entirely. He didn’t seem at all interested in this little social experiment. In a mundane voice, he listed off his disorders along with his age. Jordan was twenty-four and murdered his aunt and uncle in cold blood. His aunt was pregnant with a little girl, but that didn’t stop him from raping her in front of her husband and then killing her.

As a future psychologist, I knew that my personal thoughts on the matter should be neutral. It wasn’t like he could help it entirely, but that didn’t stop the judgment from tittering into my mind anyway. Murder was still murder, and she’d been pregnant.

A girl named Alina was next. She sat next to another girl who looked almost identical to her, except one of them was covered in tattoos where the other wasn’t. They both had long, black hair that trickled down the front of their shoulders, getting lost beneath the table. Their eyes were the same dark brown, and they had curtain bangs. Their heritage was a little more difficult to make out, but if I had to guess, they were either Korean or Guatemalan.

Alina flipped her hair behind her shoulders and glanced around the room as if she owned the place. She was the one with tattoos, giving her an edgier look than her sister. “Hi,” she began coolly, taking her time with it and drinking in everyone’s expressions. “My name is Alina Ravenswood. I’m twenty-three years old and I was diagnosed with Malignant Narcissism,Anxiety, Depression, and Sadistic Personality Disorder.” She sucked in a sharp breath that was so exaggerated it punctured through the air and reached me all the way across the room. “One day, my parents went out on a date, leaving us in charge of our little sister. We—” She sniffled, dropping her gaze down to her hands.

Whatever sob story she was about to tell, I knew she wasn’t truly remorseful. It was too obvious with how dramatic she was being. She enjoyed being the center of attention as most narcissists did. She wanted us to feel sorry for her. It was one of the most common manipulation tactics that narcissists used.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, placing a hand to her chest.

Apparently the three hot guys sitting nearest to her didn’t buy it either because Jordan rolled his eyes. “Will you hurry the fuck up? It’s not like you haven’t told this story a thousand times over already.”

Alina’s head snapped over in his direction and she narrowed her eyes. Instead of entertaining him though, she returned her gaze to the expectantclass. The sad look was wiped off her face as if he’d flipped the switch by merely calling her out. “I helped kill my sister and dumped her body at the lake,” she rambled off as if she were discussing the weather.

Her twin’s story was the same. Her name was Rachel, and she was diagnosed with Hypervigilant Narcissism—which wasn’t uncommon. It was a hereditary trait and could also be brought on by neglect or passive parenting. She was also bipolar, which could make for a deadly combination.

It didn’t take long for it to get to me. My hands trembled as everyone’s eyes burned into my face, waiting to see what I’d say.

Swallowing nervously, I began. “My name is Rosalie. I’m twenty years old. I haven’t been diagnosed with anything…yet.” My heart thumped against my ribcage furiously and I had to steady my breathing before continuing. “I came home fromcollege during the weekend to spend time with my little sister as I usually did. When night fell, my step-father came home drunk. I told my sister to run to the neighbor’s house and I grabbed a knife from the kitchen. I lured him out the back door. Before he could attack me, he spotted my younger sister lurking near the house and went after her instead. I’d managed to cut him twice before he could really harm her and then I was disarmed. He grabbed the knife and started swinging with zero coordination and he accidentally slit her throat. So I took the weapon from him while he was distracted and stabbed him repeatedly until his body fell over and went still.”

As the words left my mouth, they sounded foreign to my own ears. I avoided eye contact with everyone else, the sound coming from me almost robotic.

Cheyanne was next. She was twenty years old, diagnosed with schizophrenia and anxiety. Her mom died of natural causes, but in her deluded state, she believed she was still alive so never called authorities. She continued speaking of her mom like she was really alive, thought she was feeding her, bathing her, and things of that nature. Her story was probably the saddest one of all.

As the rest of the patients continued telling their stories, a heat was searing into the side of my face and I had the most unsettling feeling as if I were being watched.

Chancing a glance around the room, my eyes locked with a pair of light blue ones similar to my own.

Archer.

His expression was unreadable, but it was intense. Even when our eyes locked, he didn’t bother looking away, staring at me as if he could see the inner workings of my mind.

Ripping my gaze away, I focused it on anything other than him. The lingering feeling of his stare had rattled me to my core, and I couldn’t shake it, still feeling his eyes on me.

After therapy, Ms. Gloria guided me back to my cell—I mean, room. She told me I was due for one-on-one therapy tomorrow morning after breakfast as if group hadn’t been enough. She seemed slightly warmer to me since group therapy, which was a bonus.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Luckily, Mom stashed me some books, so I spent the majority of my time reading and decided to go to bed early after dinner.

The first thing I did when I woke was shower even though I’d done that the night I’d arrived. This place just made me feel icky. Breakfast consisted of pancakes, two sausage links, and miniature hashbrowns with a cup of milk. Their food was far from the best I’d ever tasted, but it wasn’t utterly disgusting either.

Just as I was finishing up my food, the knock I’ve been expecting sounded against my door before it creaked open. Ms. Gloria smiled down at me since I was seated on my floor finishing up my sausage.

“You look better rested today.” She smiled.

I didn’t know why. Probably because I went to sleep earlier, so even though the nightmares taunted me, it was still more than I’d gotten the night before.

“A little,” I admitted, rising to my feet.

She opened the door wider to allow me through and I slipped on my shoes that were right by it. Instead of taking a right like we had done for group, we went straight and stopped by a door at the end of the hall.

A golden plaque was plastered to it with the wordsDr. Blakesprawled across the front in cursive lettering. Ms. Gloria brought her knuckles against the wood and waited, unlike the times she barged into my room soon after. Then again, I couldn’t open the door from the inside.

After a few moments, his voice sounded from inside the room, telling us to come in.

Gloria turned toward me. “I’ll wait right outside this door. When you’re finished, I’ll take you right back to your room.”

Joy.

---