I like my dark thoughts and memories of all the lives I so easily took; they kept me company and reliving them in my mind’s eye was the only thing keeping me from going on a killing spree in here. They kept me isolated at first, in a steel room like a prison cell, with a bed and a crapper but nothing else. The four guards would accompany any staff and they loved getting rough if I gave them any backchat. I lived for those days in there but over time I was allowed to mix with other patients; most are so insane they’re not even human, and some are so far gone they try to kill other patients. Others are like me to a degree; born cold, vacant of empathy. My memories and tales of the crimes of the people in here kept me at bay for a long time, and it wasn’t until Melissa told me she saw Blake here once that I craved a new and old obsession to play with. I missed his gullibility and the affection he had for me. I was surprised how easily he wrote me off. Melody must have a golden pussy; she ensnared him with it and poisoned him with love. Fucking love is most men’s downfall, that and lust.
Melissa felt sorry for me and I used it against her. I told her about Blake and how much I missed him and had no one, one night when she was trying to “get to know me.” She had listened to me talk about him and soaked up every lie I poured on her, so when she saw his name on a sign out form she was eager to tell me how he obviously still cares and loves me.
Big brother couldn’t help his urges either, apparently, and came here to check up on me. It only took a few tears for her to agree to look up his address in the files, and a few more to get her to agree to go to said address and take some pictures for me.
“I miss him so much and would do anything to make things right between us,” I sobbed, and she ate it up.
They let these people work with the insane and they’re crazier than us. She was crazier than I will ever be. Humans’ need for comfort is so powerful, and so many people confuse lust with love that it makes them vulnerable to predators like me. Women like Melissa crave the touch and love of a man so badly they’ll accept it from any source. She convinced herself I was a victim to sate her own conscience. The stupid sick fucking cunt. If I’m the victim then her molesting a patient made her sicker than any of us. I used her weakness against her and laughed at her stupidity in my head whenever I told her I loved her, and she cried with joy.
When she came to me a week later with pictures of Blake kissing Melody on a porch, I nearly strangled her to death while I fucked her looking at the image.
Melody stayed with him? She disappointed me. Her role in my life played host to many fantasies in here. I went over the outcome of that night at her house and changed things in my head for different outcomes, but they all let her live; she was a fun toy after all, and went beyond the expectations I had for her. A week after Melissa brought me the first images, she handed me another that became my game changer.
I look down at the picture in my hands now; it’s the one she gave me seven years earlier of Cereus, my niece. How beautiful she was. I adapt to the circumstances laid out to me and this, just like with Melody, is fate. I need to know her and be in her presence, look into the green eyes she inherited from her mother and delve into her mind. So I decided to “get well.” It took longer than I’d hoped, but I’m here now. Unfortunately for poor gullible Melissa, she won’t get to see my release as she was beaten to death in an escape attempt by a mass murderer known in here as Mask; he used to cut his victims faces off with a scalpel and wear them.
“Are you ready?”
I look at the iron gates keeping me inside and nod my head. The cranking of the locks loosening and sliding open make a rare but real smile tilt my lips.
THEY TOLD ME I’D HAVE to stay in a hostel of sorts with other out patients, Grace Manor. It didn’t mean anything other than freedom back then, but now, looking around at the busy street, the noise almost deafening from the traffic rumbling the ground, and the filth on the floor of the lobby, it’s all displeasing.
The chatter and footfall from the people passing by is overwhelming to the senses. After being locked away for so many years, it’s all too loud.
My care worker, Annabel, is a forty-year-old hag; her face resembles a catfish. Her eyes devour my ass every time she thinks I’m not looking but there is nothing I can gain from her to warrant playing her for her lustful glances, thank the devil. I would have to be plastered and stabbing her with a blade as well as my cock to manage a hard on for her festering cunt. She has been placed in charge of bringing me to the halfway house, also known as a rehabilitation home. I will be staying here for the first three months of my “freedom.”