Insanity (11 page)

The man I’m screwing in this wet dream of mine gives one final thrust before heaping over on top of me. Our chests rise together as we steady our breathing. Something about everything that just happened makes me feel complete. Like somewhere deep down inside of me I get the gut feeling that I know this man and that maybe I was supposed to be making love to him.

But what about Damien?

I promised myself that I’d love him forever. That I’d let him keep my heart. I promised him no other man would ever make me feel the way he does. And here is this stranger, who has so many familiarities. A man I swear that I feel connected to somehow.

“I love you, Adelaide,” he murmurs as he picks himself up off me and smoothes my damp hair away from my forehead.

If he loves me, I must know him. For God’s sake I wish that the blurriness on his face would disappear. I involuntarily respond, “I love you too.” Then I clamp my hand over my mouth. It’s almost like I can’t control what I’m saying, feeling or doing around this man. Shock works its way through me as I sit up and watch my lover get dressed.

This man is not Damien, and I know this, but I feel like I have to clarify it with myself several times before the thoughts actually sink in.

So then I have to ask myself one question; If this man is not, Damien, then who the hell is he?

Terror, deep vibrating terror thunders in my chest and rips me from the land of dreams. My legs tremble. My heart pounds so hard, it nearly catapults out of its cavity. My breaths are clogged in my throat, bogged down from a raw feeling, and the thick, mucus-like saliva that coats the walls of my esophagus.

I go to clutch my chest, but I can’t. I twist my shoulders, but it’s like the whole upper portion of my body has been mummified. My eyes drift down my abdomen. Oh no. Panic begins to set in when I try to move, but really can’t, the white material from the straight jacket fades in and out of focus in my eyes and the jingling noise from the metal restraints echoes in my ears. My panic is replaced with fear because I can’t imagine what I might have done. Who I might have hurt. Or when and if the staff is having a meeting at this very moment, trying to decide what they’re going to do with me.

For a second I swear the light dangling above my head flickers. I swear tortured shrieks vibrate through the walls. I can already hear the electricity humming in my head. I can taste the cotton as it’s shoved into my mouth. I can feel the electricity as it zips through my cranium and fries my mind.

No.

Not the basement. I won’t let them take me there. I’ll never let them take me there.

I have to get out of here.

Standing, my eyes dart around the room. No two beds. Two dressers. No Aurora. Padded walls for days. I’ve been put back in solitary. One cot. One person. One barred window with a man standing next to it.

A man?

With chin-length black hair, blue blue eyes, and toasted almond skin.
Damien
.

“Damien?” I swallow hard. My voice is hoarse. “What are you doing here?” I wiggle beneath the restraints of my straightjacket. “Damien, can you help me get out of this thing?” He ignores me. I keep my eyes on him, watching as he lowers his hands to his sides, clenching them into fists. “Damien, please.”

He answers me, but doesn’t face me. “Where were you last night?” His voice is low, chilling, even menacing. He doesn’t sound like my, Damien. My Damien’s voice is always warm, loving, and kind. “Answer me, Addy.” He’s adamant and his voice goes up an octave. “Do you know I waited for hours?” His blue eyes stare back at me through the thick panes of glass. They’re cold. Lifeless. “You abandoned me. You never showed.”

My face pinches and I have to bite my lip to keep it from quivering. Doesn’t he remember carrying me away from the staff when they came for me with their precious needles? Doesn’t he remember riding in like a white knight on a stallion and coming to my rescue? “But… but you were there with me?” I stammer. “You held me.” I shake my head and struggle beneath the straightjacket. “Don’t you remember?”

I see Damien’s eyes narrow through the window, a scowl form on his lips, and his thick black eyebrows scrunch together. “Where?”

I cast my eyes downward at my hidden hands. “I don’t know where, but I could have sworn you were there, carrying me down the hall.”

Damien lets out a frustrated sigh, runs a shaky hand through his ebony locks and purses his lips. “No. I was in the utility closet, waiting for you.”

“Then who was the man carrying me down hall?

“Man?” Damien growls and slams his fist into the white padding on the wall. “What fucking man?”

“I don’t know. Damien, I thought he was you!”

Damien spins around facing me, blue eyes wild with fury, a flush on his toasted almond cheeks. “Do you have any idea what I had to do to come back to you?” There’s a rasp in his voice and it’s deadly. He lurches closer. I cower away from him, backing into a corner. “Do you know what I’ve given up for you?” He’s shouting now. “I love you so much it makes me crazy!” There’s a crazy, panicked look in his blue blue eyes. “I love you so much sometimes I feel like it’s suffocating me!” My back hits the padded wall with a thud and Damien looms over me and punches the wall next to my head. Tears free fall from my eyes and I close my eyelids for a second, trying to push some of them back, but it’s no use, there’s a river on my flushed cheeks. “And you…you… you do this,” Damien stutters. “I sacrificed everything for you,” he’s shouting again, “and you’re out parading around with another man!”

I suck back my tears and shake my head. “No, Damien! You don’t understand! It was only—!”

He cuts me off. “Save the bullshit for someone else, Addy!”

My mouth gapes. My lips quiver. Tears come out in torrents. I try to reach for him desperately with trembling fingers, but I forget I’m in a straightjacket. I struggle beneath it. I need to touch him. I need to feel that he’s real because somehow it feels like I’m having another nightmare.

Damien backs away from me, his hands in the air, eyes closed. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

I sink to the floor, hunched over screaming and sobbing hysterically. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. His words puncture a hole in my heart. Lifting my head slowly, my eyes instantly focus on Damien’s beautiful face. His eyes are closed, his lips in a straight line. When he opens his eyes wetness glistens in the corners. He blinks back the emotion, pinches the bridge of his nose, and starts for the door.

I’m on my feet, dashing after him. “Damien, please!” I beg. “It’s not what you think!”

“I said save it, Addy!” He pulls my door back. “Save it for someone who cares,” he mutters, pain in his voice, “because I’m done caring. I’m done being the one who comes to your rescue.”

“No!” I shriek and sink down to my knees, the air knocked out of my lungs. The room is spinning and spinning and spinning. “No!” I fall forward and my cheek rests against the cold tile floor. My whole body shakes and I can’t control the sobs and how they sound leaving my throat. For a moment, I think I sound like a crazy person. Like I belong here among the nut jobs.

Pain stabs at my side and runs its course through my insides. It’s not a sharp pain that’s only present for a minute or two then goes away. It’s a dull, throbbing pain that intensifies, deepening as the seconds dwindle by. Damien is still at my door. I gawk at the back of him, eyes drifting up his long lean body stopping at his sleek black locks. His hair is matted by his crown like someone stuck a piece of chewing gum there. I squint, thinking I notice something oozing from his scalp, but banish the thought. It’s nothing, just my mind playing tricks on me.

My gaze drops to his feet. I want to reach out and grab him, but forget that I can’t. The loudest shriek I’ve ever let out leaves my throat and I curl up into a fetal position on the floor. For the first time ever, I’m thankful for the straightjacket because I’m convinced it’s the only thing holding me together.

My door slams and I struggle to sit up. I rock back and forth on my tailbone, mumbling to myself. I stare at the closed door, waiting for Damien to come back. Hope floats through my bloodstream like a virus before it becomes full blown. He’ll come back, right? We just had a silly little fight. We’ve had them before and we always made up shortly after. This time will be like all the others. Damien will show up at any moment, we’ll apologize to each other and go back to being the loving, doting couple that we’ve been for the last year.

But Damien doesn’t come back.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here, could be seconds, minutes, hours, maybe even a full day. At one point, I swear I’m imagining hearing the sound of his glorious voice. I stumble to my feet, tripping, my body slamming against the metal door to my room. On my tiptoes, I press my shoulder into the door to keep myself steady. I look out the tiny square window at the top of the door out into the dimly lit hallway. Shadows dance along the tan plaster walls and the row of hanging lights flicker, but there’s no one there. Shaking my head I place my back flat against the door and crouch down, sitting.

Lowering my head, I stretch my legs out. What is happening to me? I let out a long ragged breath and bang my head lightly against my door. More tears pool in my eyes and as I close my eyes they roll down my cheeks. I’ll never forget that look on Damien’s face. He looked like I stabbed him in the chest, carved out his heart, and put it in a blender. The thought that I hurt him so deeply is killing me.

Softly.

Slowly.

Hunching over, I fall onto my side. White tiles fill up my distant gaze and burn my eyes. White and small droplets of red. Scooting closer, the white vanishes from the tile and all I can see is red.

Four tiny red droplets that seem much bigger than they really are.

Four tiny red droplets that burn my eyes and make my stomach clench.

Four tiny red droplets…

Of blood.

Chapter 12

~AFTER~

Someone is trying to kill me.

There’s a pillow over my face. Hands pressing down on it with force. I open my mouth, but can’t scream. I’m using up all of the precious oxygen in my lungs by trying to inhale. My arms flail and claw at the air. They connect with an arm and I dig my nails into their flesh and scratch, hard. I hear a muffled cry, “Fuck!”

The pillow is lifted off my face and I suck in lungfuls of air, bolting upright in my bed. Aurora clutches my pillow, fingers curled tightly around the edges.

I catch my breath and rise to my feet. “What the hell were you doing?” I stalk toward her and point my finger. “You could have killed me!”

She chucks my pillow into the corner of the room and folds her arms across her chest. “You could have killed yourself!” she snaps. “You were screaming again and I didn’t think a trip to the basement was on your agenda today.” An eye roll. “I tried to wake you up normally, but you sleep like a damn corpse.” We plop down on our cots at the same time. Aurora casts her eyes downward, glimpsing at the bloody scratch marks on her pale, freckled arm. She winces and her eyes meet mine. “Jesus, haven’t you ever heard of a file?”

“I’m sorry, okay,” I huff. “I thought you were trying to kill me.”

Aurora shakes her head and lets out a soft laugh. A genuine laugh. Not an ounce of crazy in it at all. “Nah. I’ll leave that to the staff.”

I laugh with her, not because it’s funny, but because sometimes when you’re in a harrowing situation like Aurora and I are, sometimes all you can do to make yourself feel better is laugh about something. Our laughter dies down and Aurora clears her throat. “So,” she raises an arched eyebrow, “who is that boy you’re always talking about in your sleep?”

“Boy?” I question her even though I know she’s referring to Damien.

“Or man.” Aurora shrugs. “His name begins with a D.”

“Damien,” I say and turn my head, looking out the barred window.

“Was he your beau or something?” She tucks her legs under her butt, getting more comfortable. “I know you told me before he was only a friend, but I find it odd that you’d call out for him the way you do if he was only a friend.” She pauses a beat. “I only ask because I worry about you. The way you scream every night and try to escape. You know it’s only a matter of time before they send you to the basement when you act like that.”

Her sincere words bring a smile to my lips and an overwhelming calm to my heart. I study her face for a moment. Her eyebrows are furrowed. There’s a frown on her lips. Not an angry frown or even a disappointed one. It’s a truly and utterly sad one. I don’t want to talk about what could happen to me because of my night terrors or midnight escape routes. It’s not something I want to think about either. So I tell myself that pretending my actions will never lead to the terrifying consequences adapted by this asylum is much better. Easier. It helps me wake up every morning. It helps me get through my day.

“He is my beau,” I tell Aurora, changing the subject. Hopefully this will keep her from talking about my wild shrieks in the night, and the possibility of subliminal torture because of the wild shrieks and rapid runs down the hall at midnight.

It does.

Aurora’s face lights up. She looks intrigued. And there’s a slight hue of pink in her cheeks. The involuntary bodily function tells me that
boyfriends
are not a topic of conversation she has too often. After a minute of silence, she fidgets, playing with her fingers, her eyes cast downward in a bashful way. “I had a beau once.” The tone in her voice is soft yet distant.

This surprises me. Not because Aurora isn’t lovely with her thick, curly red locks, flawless freckled complexion and petite yet curvaceous physique, but because she acts so childish most of the time. Then I have to remind myself that most of the time I’m around her, she’s an actress playing the biggest role of her career as a nut job. I scoot closer to the edge of the bed and she peers up at me through her long lashes, her cheeks now a deep shade of red. “Why don’t you tell me about him?” I mention. Then I reverse the question. “I have an idea. Why don’t you tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine?”