Mind Games Ch 6 Pool of Crimson

‘Aren’t you tired of being lonely?’ He asked. I took another shot of vodka, ignoring those crimson eyes that bored before me. There was a car wreck being shown on my television screen. “Four people were killed in the crash,” a sexy news reporter said, her red lip-stick glimmering from the lights.

‘Don’t you wish you were them?’

“Shut-up!” I shouted at Him, pouring myself another shot. The bitter taste didn’t even bother me anymore; I just wanted it all to stop. I grabbed my remote and changed the channel. Arnold Schwarzenegger said his famous line of all the Terminator Movies: “I’ll be back.”

I stumbled into the bathroom, taking a piss. I became woozy. The alcohol was definitely kicking in. Peering into the mirror, He was glaring at me from behind the shower curtain.

‘Just look at yourself,’ He growled, a smile parting his lips. ‘So pathetic…’ I looked at myself, hearing the others laughing harmoniously. ‘Do it…end it all…it’s not like anyone cares about you…everybody hates you now…even your own family.’

“Fine! As long as you’re quiet. I want to die peacefully, okay?!”

‘It’s a deal.’

I flew out of the bathroom and searched through the cabinets, finding a knife shining before me. I grabbed it and the metal file, sitting back on the couch. I lit a cigarette and began sharpening the knife, glancing up to find Him grinning back at me. I sharpened it furiously, wanting this to end, begging for it.

When the blade was nice and sharp, I scrambled back to the bathroom, in front of the mirror. He was right behind me, laughing. “SHUT-UP!” I screamed, running the knife across my throat. The blood splattered on the mirror, hiding that horrid face. I collapsed to my knees, choking on liquid, the taste of rust and sweet / saltiness on my tongue. Blood puddled around me. I felt I was being suffocated.

“JACOB!” Mrs. Ferrell screamed.

Everything blacked out.



“Jake? Could you share with us?” Simmon asked.

I blinked. “Share what?”

He rolled his eyes, sighing. “How Fawlden has helped you. LISTEN next time.”

“It hasn’t,” I blurted out, turning to find Mike seated next to me. “The medication, the therapy…it’s all a joke.”

“Really?” Simmon growled.

“REALLY,” I spat back at him, standing up. “I’m going to go back to my room now. This load of SHIT is cluttering my mind. Need some alone-time and all that jazz.” I walked out before Simmon could protest. I waved sarcastically back at all the nurses who stared. When I got to my room, I cried.

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“You need to stop walking out on group activities, man,” Mike mentioned as we grabbed our trays and headed to a table. Alyssa wasn’t with us this time. It made me wonder if she got sent to the upper ward.

“Why?” I asked, stirring beef stew with my spoon. I grimaced at the mush, sipping on my glass of water. “All that group therapy and game-time is all crap. It’s not making us any better.”

“Simmon’s bitching. So is Anita and all the other nurses,” he slurped on his stew. “Word’s going around that if you keep it up, you’re going to stay here for longer, or even worse, get sent to the upstairs ward.”

“I guess you’re right. Just tired of it,” I dunked a piece of wheat bread in the stew and forced myself to eat. “Where’s Alyssa, by the way?”

“You must’ve not heard Simmon at all during group,” he said, eyes wide. “Shit, you WERE awful quiet during most of the session. Anyways, she was the topic of the night.”

I took a few more bites. “Why?”

“Why, why, why,” Mike teased. “Anyways, she died.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah…heart failure. Apparently she kept purging.” He drank half of his water. “So now the nurses are being EXTRA cautious. Which means YOU need to quit fucking around and try to take their stupid shit seriously.”

I was still in awe. “She really died? Just like that?”

“Yep,” Mike muttered, going back to slurping his food.

Memories of her hit me…when the first time I met her, she pushed me out of her way and told me to “fuck off”…hearing her bitch constantly during vitals and meals… In a way, I was going to miss that skeleton bitch. I threw my hood over my face, crying once again. I forced myself to eat the rest of my stew and chug down the rest of my water.

“Are you alright?” Mike finally asked.

“I wish everyone would stop asking,” I whispered, tears dripping into my empty bowl. Mike told me about how it was okay to cry, that even he cried when he heard the news. “But it’s not… I thought she was annoying as heck. This is the second time today—keep having flash-backs,” I sobbed, tugging my hood down even lower and pulling the strings tight so no one could witness the tears.

A nurse announced that dinner was over. Everyone went quiet as we walked up the stairs. I kept thinking that Alyssa was following behind us, bitching about how many calories she ate, but there was no sound. Instead, the thought of death consumed me. Suddenly, I felt better about being stuck in here instead of a grave. At least they feel hatred now, instead of guilt and remorse.