Falling for a Psycho

Chapter Fourteen

Fourteen: Marilyn’s P.O.V

When I get to my feet, which take a few tries, I walk out the door. The guards are fast asleep drooling on each other. That’s not weird or anything. And, what idiots leave the door to a psychopath’s padded cell open? They’re really asking for it. They really are. They just want me to escape at this point. It gives those fat asses something to do. They’ll work off those doughnuts they just ate. It’s good for them. A little exercise never hurt anyone.

I run down the hall, and one of the fat ass guards wakes up and sees me. Uh oh. He wakes up the other one, and they chase after me, with little to no effort. I’m a very fast runner. That’s a good skill that I forgot I have. I haven’t walked in a while, and I’m relieved I can do that. I could’ve forgotten how, considering how long I’ve been in that cell. Oh wait. Silly me. I can’t forget anything.

 “Try to catch me now, losers!” I scream back at the guards, laughing. I could get out of this fucking hellhole. There’s a crowd cheering me on. I’m causing trouble. It’s what I do, besides being a bitch and killing things. Psychopaths need to have fun too. Sure, killing is the most fun I could have, but this is a close second.

I throw down some carts and chairs and even some people that are in my way, which diverts the guards while I run towards the double doors at the end of the hall to sweet freedom. Then I find out the doors are locked, finding out the hard way. I run into them, and yes, it does hurt. It doesn’t bother me, though. Pain doesn’t affect me. The guards catch up to me, out of breath. I smile innocently, and kick them right in the crotch. A doctor walks up behind me in the act of ruining the guard’s chances of ever reproducing or even attempting to ever again, and sticks a needle with a sedative in my upper arm. It’s a fast acting sedative.

Well, that was fun while it lasted. At least I’m not bored to death, and I can walk. I’m still a little dizzy and maybe a little loopy from the sedatives from before, and this one takes affect seconds later, and I fall into a deep sleep for what feels like six hours.

I wake up restrained to the wall by my ankle as well as with a straightjacket, shackles, and the booties on. Well, shit.

 I’m dizzy and tired. The sedatives I have been given haven’t worn completely off. The sedatives take a while to wear off. I’m given so many of them that I’m used to being poked in the ass with needles. They work on me. I’m given certain ones that just calm me down sometimes, but most of the time, it’s a tranquilizer that knocks me out cold. I used to be afraid of needles, but I’m not now, for obvious reasons. I lean against the wall, and try to sleep, attempting to pass the time. I can’t even roll around anymore. I had fun doing that. It’s fun. Okay. The sedatives have made me loopy. I’m being…weird. And happy. Two things I rarely am.

When I wake up at least ten hours later, I feel less nauseous. I can see very little through the window on the door, which has been fitted with a new lock now, but I know its morning. And, I’m bored as hell. Plus, it looks like the doctors forgot my breakfast. Again.

These people are very harsh. I didn’t even know doctors could restrain you to your padded cell wall. They can. That’s just…super. Today is getting better and better. I’m starving, I need to pee, and I’m not able to go anywhere.

As if my day couldn’t get any worse, it’s family visitation day. I know because I hear all of the joyful reunions of parents with their children out in the hall. I hate this day. First of all, I killed my parents so they aren’t here. Second of all, my grandparents hate me like the rest of my family does, and third, my brother, who I do like and care about just a little bit never comes. Sure, he’s only ten, but I’ve tried to establish a connection with him. I’m certainly upset. Everyone else gets someone here that they know, and I don’t. Sure, I don’t love my family and that’s okay because they hate me too so the feeling is mutual, but I’d like to see Timmy. I will admit that I…well…miss him. Of course he doesn’t come. He’s scared of me. He watched me murder our parents. He knows what I did and what a psychopath I am. I just wish that he’d come see me. Family visitation and Christmas are the two holidays I loathe. I hate Christmas for one reason and one reason only. No one gets mental Marilyn anything. The psychologists and the doctors and the nurses always try to make it a good Christmas for the other residents here. Not me. I’m always left out. I’m the one left out in the rain, figuratively speaking, of course. I haven’t felt rain in a really long time. I’m rejected and rejection hurts. Family visitation day makes me feel unwanted and hated, and Christmas makes me feel invisible and alone. Let’s just face it. I’m hated here.