Benji moans, and I suppress a grin. Violet has yet to mention her mother to me; Benji doesn’t know that though. Since the first time we met, Benji has always been agreeable toward me, enthusiastic to obey my words. Still, I need his full support when it comes to Violet, and there’s a chance this is the first time he’s truly connected with another person; thus, I need him to fully believe she’s incapable of existing outside of the asylum. Hints of incestuous necrophilia will seal her fate.
I gesture toward the door. “We will begin the successive testing phase soon. You may have a word with Violet before we begin.” I jot another note on the file in front of me about Benji’s subtle resistance in agreeing to the treatment. “After that, we don’t have a cafeteria, but there is a kitchen. Please make yourself useful there.”
He says a few more words questioning me; I dismiss him with my hand. The idiot leaves the room to discuss the diagnosis with his girlfriend.
His girlfriend…
For now.
Chapter 10
Violet
Before I learned about my mother’s death, I heard rumors about the Ambrose Asylum. People would whisper, saying they drove their cars faster whenever they saw those gates; how they held their breath, as if the faintest sigh could wake the most wretched evils within; how they knew people disappeared inside of its walls. It wasn’t a fear of the patients; it was the doctors, the staff, and the asylum itself that created this haunting aura. Sometimes, I would imagine long, dark buildings rising up from the fog, and ghosts, so many ghosts, wandering the grounds, spirits trapped in this existence long before they actually died.
When I saw the asylum in person for the first time, I realized it wasn’t a haunted house. It was like the rest of the world: a structure controlled by corruption. The asylum’s mission statement in an old newspaper claimed they want to help others, but the chain-link fences and barred windows tell a different story.
Now, with my arms restrained to an exam table, my spine tingles, and that discomfort spreads roots in the base of my neck, leashing me to this place. A cage. A collar. A lead. I’m not a pet here; I’m a creature to study, to mold, to manipulate, and it’s only going to get worse, because it’s not the asylum, the staff, or any doctor who is clutching my chains.
It’s Dr. Ambrose himself.
The assistant rests against the edge of the sink, completely engrossed in writing his notes. To him, I’m another part of the building, a piece of decaying furniture to be forgotten.
It’s better like this though. If I don’t exist to him, then he’ll leave me alone. Because when I did catch his attention, he restrained me for covering my breasts.
Her entire self will remain exposed, Dr. Ambrose had said. It’s time she accepts who she truly is.
This is not who I am.
I stare at the rotting tile, the stench of disinfectant, sulfur, and my drying arousal ripe in the air. Did my mother step foot in this exam room? Was the tile clean back then? What if I become like her? What if I die here too? What if being here, restrained in an exam room, is the last time I’m able to think for myself?
A desert storm blusters through my head, and I swallow a lump in my throat. I don’t know why that thought crossed my mind. Dr. Ambrose is probably trying to brainwash me, but I’m not going to give up my mind because of his stupid games.
I hate him.
My foster parents were neglectful at best. I survived, and they made it clear early on they would never love me, and in a way, it settled my expectations. My ex and Benji made me smile, but they didn’t move me like this.
This is the first time I’ve felt this strongly about anyone, and I can’t let that go. Not yet. Not completely. Not until Dr. Ambrose is dead.
And until then, I will suffer through everything he gives me. For my mother. It’s about her.
Right…
A dull ache rolls in the pit of my stomach. I twist my wrists against the restraints. I’m stuck against the exam table, and my palms are clammy. Sometimes, when I let my brain go into the darkest corners of my mind, I know being here is about more than my mother, her killer, revenge, or justice. I’m here because I want to endure what she endured: every pain, every pleasure, every messed-up thing leading to her death. I want a connection to her, or any semblance of one, because then I won’t be an outsider. A reject.
Because I don’t want to be alone anymore.
My ex’s words swish inside of me like bubbles going down the drain: Fucking freak.
Knuckles knock on the exam room door. I ball my fists. It’s time to face Dr. Ambrose for the last time. As soon as I have my hands free, I’ll kill him.
The assistant unlocks the exam room door, then opens it.
Benji enters.
My chest deflates, disappointment drooping my shoulders.
Benji is safe. He’s good.
