Page 25 of Heart of a Killer

“Today, we are working on Rorschach paintings. A little fun therapy painting where it’s not so serious. When we finish, we can guess what we see in each other’s paintings,” the teacher states, clapping with excitement.

Skylar sits beside me, and I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She’s making a blob that looks sort of like a butterfly. When she turns toward me, I set my gaze back to my own glob of paint.

The teeth grinding and tension in my muscles have subsided after being around her all day. I use this moment to escape into the arts and crafts until a sharp gasp pierces my ears. The next thing I know, there’s a pressure and a dull ache in my hand, and Skylar is holding it up to her wide eyes.

“Who did this to you, Brie?”

Snatching my hand back from her, that crack in my heart breaks a little more.

“You did,” I seethe under my breath.

Her eyes are glassy as she looks at me with a pained expression.

“Why, Brie? Do you really hate me that much that a kiss would make you do this?”

She points at my hand, the one closest to her. I’m not sure she noticed that there are cuts and bruises on both.

“No, it’s the fact that I feel something for you.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me today? Why you won’t even look at me?”

“No.” My teeth grind again, and the muscles twitch in my jaw before I spit out, “It’s because I’m easily replaceable to you.”

Her eyebrows bunch before they smooth out, and light dawns in her expression. She knows what she did. But instead of the hurt or shocked appearance I wanted to see, her lips narrow at the corners and her eyes glare at me. She has some fight in her; I know she does. I saw it the first day I met her, and while I enjoyed seeing her flip a switch, this is not what I wanted.

“Oh, yeah, and what were you and Leland doing in the shower together this morning?”

My fists clench, and the sharp pain reminds me of why I’m upset. I could honestly kill Leland right now. This is exactly what he wanted to happen.

“That’s not the point.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Then what is the point, Brie?”

Skylar’s body relaxes, and her eyebrows pinch in confusion. I don’t say anything and go back to working on my project. The glob of paint has run to the edge of the paper. Amanda isn’t someone I want to talk about. Not now. Not ever. I’m being petty, I know, but I’m also hurt, and I want her to feel it too. I want her to understand without me having to explain it.

Once the class is over, we go through our usual routine without saying another word to each other. That night, I lie in bed, thinking about how idiotic I’m being over this whole situation. I know why Skylar did what she did, and I would have done the same. Those feelings of being rejected and seeking comfort from someone who would willingly give it without a second thought. Unlike me, who is holding back, I haven’t let myself open up to anyone else since Amanda. I have to change that.

11

Skylar

“Little butterfly, you bleed for me.” My blood coats him as he holds himself for me to see. He is looking down at me through hooded eyes. I’m still riding the high of fear and pleasure when he lies down next to me. His fingers run along my stomach with a mix of blood and cum. I look down at what he has drawn on my stomach and see my insides. The opening is cut into the shape of a butterfly, and my womb is gone...

Tears rundown my cheeks as I wake with a start from my silent wails. Gasping in deep breaths to ease the tightness in my chest. The memories of Alex play on repeat in my mind every time I sleep, along with ones from our dad. I can’t sleep here because all I can think about is the ocean that feels like an abyss in his eye. That lift on the side of his lips makes me crave his mouth. Behind my eyes, the darkness pulls me down into a place I’ve tried to forget about for weeks. Leland is nothing like Alex. It’s as if he’s a whole other person altogether. He is more at ease in his own skin, even with his mutilated face, and I wonder if it’s because of where we are. This place made him different. Made him better.

After today with Brie, I can’t stop wondering why she is so mad at me. She rejected me when I kissed her and then had sex with Leland in the showers. I did nothing wrong here.

The night drags as I stare up at the ceiling. I count the tiles almost like counting sheep but more lackluster. It helps most nights, but tonight it feels pointless. I can’t seem to turn my brain off.

The other patients’ screams echo in my brain, and sometimes they sound like baby wails, thanks to that old book I found. I tear pieces of foam from a hole in my mattress and stuff them in my ears to muffle the sounds, but they are seeded so deep within my cortex that even the make-shift plugs don’t shut them out. Their screams follow me into the recesses of my mind. I think I’m becoming worse here.

I’ve even shaved my toothbrush end down to a sharp point, like a knife. It took a while, but I used the brick wall that’s chipped and broken with sharp edges jutting out behind my bed. Reminds me of that scene in theShawshank Redemptionwhere the prisoner digs a hole in the concrete wall. The last patient to have this room before me must have started to dig into the wall, or this place is old and falling apart at the seams. Both could be true. Having the shiv gives me some comfort, and if anything, at least someone already started my way to escape.

The patients have a lot of free rein here, which only serves to heighten my apprehension. Control. Control is what I need and crave; without it, my anxiety crawls like a thief in the night, ready to steal my sanity. Even the smells here don’t help; it’s so clinical. The scent of bleach burns my throat and makes me think they are trying to cover up the rot of this place. What could they be hiding?

I pull at the strands of my hair. Tiny pinpricks of pain spring from my scalp.Get control of yourself.Releasing my hair, I hit the palm of my hand against my temple as another thought creeps in. One patient I saw when I first came in isn’t here anymore. Something happened to her, and someone is covering it up.That’s stupid, Sky. They probably got better and were discharged.Brie’s sweet lyrical voice flutters through my mind.You’re being paranoid; Is that why you’re here?After filling my lungs up with air, I let it out in a huff. I can’t sleep like this, with my thoughts running wild of patients disappearing and hiding dead bodies.

I’m moving to sit on the side of the bed, which causes the mattress to crinkle loudly beneath me. My shoulders instantly bunch up around my ears at the noise. In between the desperate cries, there are these long pauses of empty silence. Making a sound in those moments is like blaring the escape alarm. Letting the staff know you’re on the move. There are only so many of them, causing them to be lenient to an extent. They have to pick their battles, so to speak, but if they can prevent patients from wandering at night, they’ll damn well try.

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