Page 2 of Twisted Heathens
“That was nearly ten months ago. We aren’t progressing here, you need to be in a different environment. This place isn’t right for you. That’s why you need to seriously consider what we discussed yesterday.”
I scoff, an amused smile tugging at my lips. “I’m with the rest of the crazies, aren’t I? Exactly where I belong.”
“No. The people here will never leave, many won’t even get better. With the right treatment and management, you can still have a life. You’re only twenty-one.”
I finally meet his eyes. Brows furrowed, the wrinkles around his face are even more pronounced than usual. He’s tired. Weary. Fed up with our pointless therapy sessions.
“And what of my sentence?”
“If you complete three years at Blackwood and prove that you’re rehabilitated enough to pose no threat, then you’ll be free to go,” Zimmerman explains. “The order has already been signed off by the authorities. Do you understand the opportunity you’ve been given?”
Opportunity. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve anything, not even to live. If I take the transfer, I’ll finally be free from the weight of nurses watching me. It won’t be hard to find some rope, I know how to tie a noose. Or I’ll stash my pills, and without them checking under my tongue each day, it won’t take long to build up enough to overdose.
With a tempting plan forming, I attempt my best obedient voice, wiping away any trace of bitterness. He can’t know what I’m planning, not if I am going to succeed.
“What will I study there?” I ask, feigning interest.
That’s it, keep smiling. Nod your head.
Play the good girl and then you can die.
“Anything you want. Blackwood is the first of its kind, real cutting-edge experimental treatment blended with education. The recovery rate is phenomenal. You can live there comfortably, learn whatever takes your fancy. Build a life for yourself. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“Well, I would like to feel normal again,” I offer innocently.
Did I say that right? Convincing enough? I don’t know how to cooperate, I’ve never done it before. If he was a half decent doctor, he’d know that I’m lying anyway. I’ve never known normality. Not for a second. Why would I want it now?
“Exactly. I’m so pleased that you are interested. I really believe that you can thrive there.”
Zimmerman slides the clipboard over, uncapping his pen for me to take. Glancing over the paperwork, I take in the ornate crest in the upper-right corner. The words ‘Ex Malo Bonum’ are woven through the image in curling script.
“Just there,” he directs, pointing to the dotted line waiting for my signature.
I hover the pen over, considering. If I sign this, I’ll be transferred next week. That’s seven more days in this hellhole. Then, freedom. An image pops up in my brain, a memory that haunts my every moment. Blood spewing from his mouth as I slashed his throat, the knife I stabbed at his insistent fingers to release their crushing grip. My movements panicked, with pained sobs echoing around me, closing the walls in with the weight of my crimes.
Who knew that death was so loud and messy?
Finishing writing my name, I triumphantly place the pen down. My fate is signed away to this mysterious place, for now. The facilities and programs hold no appeal to me, I stuff the brochures in my pocket without looking. I don’t intend to stick around for long. I’ll end my pathetic existence the first chance I get.
“I’m proud that you’ve taken this step. You have a bright future ahead.” Zimmerman beams. “This is the start of a whole new journey for you.”
One
Brooklyn
Phobia by Nothing but Thieves
“Let’s get this show on the road, it’s a long drive to Wales.”
I tune out the guards’ voices, mindless chatter quickly replaced by the sputtering of the van’s engine. This piece of shit has been on its last legs since the day I arrived. Budget constraints prevent them from replacing it, I suppose. The government always has money for bombs and wars, but never for the places that actually need it.
As we pull away, I glance back through the rear window. Clearview Psychiatric Unit grows smaller in the distance, eventually disappearing into thick, London smog. I breathe a sigh of relief. Never thought I’d see the back of that place. Only way to leave is in a body bag, which despite my best efforts, never happened. After ten months of failure, it seems like the board has finally given up.
Now, I’m Blackwood’s problem.
Resting my head against the cool glass, I curl up into a more comfortable position. Bloody Nylah was screaming all night. When the nurses finally dragged her away, a round of applause sounded in the unit. She loves to make a scene, especially when they threaten the feeding tube. The rest of us just want to fucking sleep. Can’t say that I’ll miss her annoying, skinny ass.
I wonder what it’ll be like in this place. Zimmerman made it sound swanky, all privately funded and shit. This institute is the shining jewel of the psychiatric community. The words revolutionary and progressive have been tossed in my face all week. Why do I care what these people think they’re doing? It’s still a prison cell, no matter how it’s dressed up.