Page 23 of Devoured
I pushed the memory away and focused on my oatmeal, drawing shapes in the gray mush. Across the cafeteria, Marion sat with a few other patients. She caught my eye and waved. Even from here, I could feel the restless energy radiating off her. I looked back down at my tray.
I had been avoiding her since that first day. Something about her was too much, too intense. But you couldn’t hide from people here. Not really.
Marion didn’t understand boundaries.
She came bouncing over like it was recess and we were kids. Her scrubs looked different on her than on the rest of us—tied at the waist with what looked like a shoelace. She had given herself another haircut, perhaps, because it looked shorter and more uneven than before. It made her look wild. Untamed.
“Two weeks and you’re still sitting alone,”she said, plopping into the seat across from me without asking. “That’s dedication to being miserable. I’m almost impressed.”
I didn’t respond. Just kept pushing the oatmeal around.
“Silent treatment? Really?”She leaned forward, studying my face with uncomfortable intensity. Her eyes were too bright today, pupils dilated despite the harsh lighting. Manic phase, probably. “You know what your problem is?”
I looked down. “I have several,”I muttered, still not meeting her eyes.
“Ha! She speaks!”Marion clapped her hands together—the sound sharp as a gunshot in the quiet cafeteria. Several people flinched. “But no, your specific problem is that you’re disappearing. Every day a little more invisible. Pretty soon you’ll just be an outline where a person used to be.”
“Maybe that’s what I want,”I replied, finally looking into her eyes.
Marion’s expression shifted. The playful spark in her eyes hardened.
“No. Fuck that. You don’t get to just fade away. Not on my watch.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Of course I know you, firestarter!”Marion’s voice rose. “I even gave you a nickname. I know what you did. Cut his dick off and burned the house down.”
She stood, shifting on her feet like a kid on a sugar rush.
“You’re just like me,”she said. “We kill bad men.”
“We’re not the same.”
“No?”Marion’s hand shook as she reached for her water cup. “The difference is, I’m not pretending it didn’t change me. I’m not sitting here acting like I’m still the person I was before.”
Before I could respond, she lunged across the table. Her fingers went straight for my mouth. I tried to pull back, but she was faster, shoving two fingers past my lips. They tasted like dirt and metal. I gagged, tried to bite down, tried to get away.
“What, too dirty for you?”Her face was inches from mine, eyes wild. But they weren’t angry. They were desperate. Pleading. “Too real? Too much?”
I jerked my head back hard, finally breaking free. I spat, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Before I could process what had happened, she slapped me. Hard. My head snapped to the side, jaw ringing. I tasted copper from where I’d bitten my tongue.
“There we go!”Marion laughed. “Color! Finally, some color in those cheeks.”
She hit me again—this time with her fist. I didn’t fight back. Couldn’t. I just sat there, blood trickling down my chin, staring at nothing.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”Her voice cracked, the manic edge giving way to something like desperation.
“Fight back! Scream!”She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. “Do something!”
She hit me again. Wild now. Uncoordinated. But I was already gone—retreating to that safe, gray place in my mind.
“She likes it!”Marion screamed, looking around at the audience that had gathered. “Look at her face! She fucking likes it! She wants to die!”
Orderlies came running. Marion fought them, kicking and scratching as they tried to pull her away. They had her arms pinned, dragging her backward. She twisted in their grip and spat. The glob hit my cheek.
“Spineless,”she hissed. “You’re fucking spineless.”
