Page 6 of Lunatic
“The doctors are coming. Get into bed!” she whisper-shouts, and I do what she says, because I don’t know what that means. Maybe we aren’t supposed to talk through the vents. Rushing to the bed, I sit and wait. After waiting, while nearly holding my breath, my door opens and Dr. Martin walks in. He’s been my psychiatrist for the last two years, before I ended up here, but his next words don’t match the man I’ve come to know.
“Hello, Bianca. Let’s see if I can fuck the lunatic out of you.”
This place is constructed like shit. It used to be a rundown factory, before MB Holding purchased it to make money off the insane. It underwent construction, but the facilities are notniceby any stretch of the word. You can tell it was, at one point, but the upkeep has been minimal. They don’t give a shit about their patients’ wellbeing, so why would they care about their living conditions? It’s never quiet here. Patients howl in pain at all hours of the day and night. If I didn’t know better, I’dthink the walls had ghosts trapped within them, begging to be released.
Normally it annoys me to hear the patients in the other rooms, but right now I’m pleased. There’s a new girl in 507, Bianca, I heard her say, while talking to crazy Heather. She questioned why I was staring at her. I like looking at her, but I don’t know why. She’s different from us. I don’t think she’s supposed to be here. After seeing her on the news, I heard the nurses talking about the media dubbing herLunatic. She killed her husband, who was abusing her, and apparently, he was some prominent pediatric heart surgeon so the community is losing their minds. Hearing Hazel and Annabelle talking about it, it was as if they forgot the part about him beating the shit out of her. Apparently, Sullivan Stanton has saved countless children, so he can do no wrong.
“Let’s see if I can fuck the lunatic out of you.”
I know the voice I hear is Dr. Death. He isn’t my psychiatrist, but I see and hear a lot of things other patients don’t, because I’m not locked up. They let me roam around freely, because being cooped up makes me crazy. Well, crazier than I already am. ‘Let me’ is probably not the right term. Every person that works here knows, if they try to lock me up, they die without the skin on their face.
“What?” Bianca says in obvious surprise.
“I’ve developed a treatment plan for you, and I think it’s going to help.”
“Please don’t,” she cries.
“You have taunted me for two fucking years. Your treatment is also your punishment, for being such a fucking tease. I just had to wait for a reason to get you alone like this. With no escape. Behave, or I’ll drug you, so you can’t move.”
Her cries turn to sobs, as his breathing becomes audible, along with the occasional grunt, and I know he’s fucking her.I shouldn’t care. It’s not my business. But the rage builds at the base of my spine, and travels through my body, with every whimper coming through the vent.
It should be me. I want to be the man hurting her, making her cry, causing the hitch in her breath, as the terror nearly consumes her. I decide then, it will be me.
I’m not the hero. There is zero chance of me saving her from him, but I won’t lie to myself. I feel something, as uneasiness creeps in, and her screams become increasingly louder, until they fade completely. He drugged her, I’m sure of it. Why is this bothering me so much? It takes several minutes, until the pieces slide into place.
It’s jealousy.
I could easily go in there right now and kill him. It’s tempting, but I don’t, because truthfully, he’s useful to me.
He is the person responsible for keeping my name out of the papers. I have four half brothers that would not be happy to find out about my existence. The fact that I look nearly identical to my brother, Reaper, the youngest of the Bonetti Crime Family, would make it obvious. Too fucking obvious. I can’t imagine they’d be happy to find out they have a brother locked in an insane asylum. For my sake, it’s better they don’t know I exist. It was also the last thing my father said to me.
‘They cannot know about you,Figlio. It would destroy an entire family.’
Every time he pops into my mind, so does his brother, Frank. Along with all the things he did to me. He’s the reason I kill. It’s not an excuse, just a fact.
One-hundred. Ninety-Nine. Ninety-Eight.I try to fight the flashback, but I can’t.
“You’re weak like your brother.”
Frank hits me on the back with a lead pipe, and I fall to my knees, hitting the concrete. I cry out in pain.
“The more you cry, the more you get hit. Fucking pussy.”
I try to control my sobs, but it’s no use, as he hits me again and again. The pain is too much.
“This is why you can’t ever be part of the family. We can’t have pathetic boys, that will turn into weak men, in our family. You’re a goddamn disgrace. You will never be a real Bonetti.”
Trying to forget about that sick asshole, and what’s going on in the room next door, I head to the main hall to get a snack. Patients are not allowed to come and go as they please. Starvation is one of the many ‘treatment methods’ here. I’ll see people eating one day, and then not see them for weeks at a time. They do normally reappear, their faces gaunt, clothing sagging off their shoulders.This isn’t your typical asylum focused on healing mental health issues. Every fucker that works here is as sick and twisted as I am. In some cases, more so.
I grab my chocolate pudding and take a seat in front of the TV, as the reporter, once again, discusses the woman they’ve dubbedLunatic. Her picture flashes on the screen, and she looks fucking gorgeous, even in a mugshot. Long dark hair that falls past her shoulders, deep, soulful brown eyes. The kind that display every emotion. I can already imagine the way they will widen in fear, once I have her to myself.
‘Nurse Ratched’ comes over and narrows her gaze at me.
“Snack time is over, Raven.”
The bitch grabs my pudding, and tosses it into the garbage can behind her. Nobody takes my fucking chocolate pudding.
“I must be seeing shit,” I say, as I jump up from my seat.
