Falling for a Psycho

Chapter Thirteen

Thirteen: Marilyn’s P.O.V

I’m called mental Marilyn by the other residents here. Especially a group of boys. I don’t know their names, but I know their faces. I don’t like being told that I’m crazy and that I’ll die alone because I know that. I know that I will never be loved. Never. No one cares about me. No one at all. It hurts my feelings, and I do feel upset. I don’t cry but it does hurt. So, in response, I yell at them, fuck with their minds a little bit. A little threatening goes a long way. A good one could scar someone for life.

 Well, I know one of the boys. His name is Donovan Benson Watson and personally, I think he is handsome. He told me. He came into my cell, and I attacked him, explaining to him that I was truly the psychopath everyone makes me out to be. I bit him on the arm, breaking the skin, and he came back. He came back the next night. He didn’t leave me alone. I told him that I would kill him, and even told him how, and he didn’t leave. He just stood there, while I droned on and on about how psycho I am. It didn’t even seem to faze him. Then, he told me something that I had never heard in my life.

He told me he cared about me. Some random dude who I barely even know told me, Marilyn Wisteria Bender, the psycho girl, that he cared about me. That’s just…it’s…I don’t even know how to feel. So, I reacted the way I did to everything. I beat the fucking daylights out of him. I bit his shoulder, breaking his clavicle. The guards had to knock me out with a sedative so Donovan could get away.

After the sedative wore off, I really thought about what he had said. He did say he cared about me. No one has ever told me that.

Now, I’m sitting here, thinking about what Donovan told me.

“He doesn’t care about you, Marilyn. No one does,” The voice tells me. It’s been back to tell me the same thing over and over again since Donovan told me he cared. “I do. No one else does. Everyone thinks you’re a bad girl. I don’t.”

“Maybe he does,” I say. “You know, maybe he does care for me.”

“I’m the only one who cares about you, Marilyn. That boy is just trying to sleep with you,” The voice says. I look up at the ceiling and lie down on my back.

“Possibly. But he could care about me. I know no one does,” I reply. “Maybe he could.”

“Marilyn, stop being stupid. I know what’s best for you,” The voice scolds. I get angry, since I do have a temper. A bad one.

“I am not stupid! You are a fucking voice in my head! You know nothing! Just shut up!” I scream, scaring the guards outside of my door because they enter my cell, looking at me. I stare back at them, sitting up.

“What are you looking at? Shut the fucking door!” I scream at them. They do as I say, and I smile.

I was wrong about what I said earlier. It’s the voice who is persuading me that Donovan doesn’t care. Maybe I should give him a chance. Just maybe he does care. I’ll let him talk to me, and I won’t flip out like I did. I’ll try my best to stay calm.

Donovan doesn’t come back. It’s been three days. I scared him away. I should be happy. But, I’m not. I liked having someone to yell at. I liked the presence of another human being. When you’re locked up in a place like this, you love all company you get.

On the fourth day, I am having tests done. Another MRI and another reason for my claustrophobia to act up.

Just because I’m crazy doesn’t mean I have fears, like claustrophobia. I hate being in small spaces. That’s why the straitjacket really pisses me off. I hate that feeling, but I’ve gotten used to the straitjacket to an extent to which I tolerate it. MRIs and CT scans, however, are something I have not gotten used to.

The doctors like to take MRIs of my brain every so often and compare it to other people’s brains. I panic because of my claustrophobia, flip out while I’m in the MRI machine, and people get hurt. I’ve broken an MRI machine and killed a couple of nurses.

Today, they sedated me so I was fast asleep when they did the MRIs. I woke up in my straitjacket in my cell in the corner with the door wide open and the shackles on my ankles. Oh how fun. I’m about to cause a little trouble. If I can stand up.