Mind Games Ch 7 Stool on the Wall

“How are you feeling?” Dawn asked. Today was the most gorgeous I had ever seen her. She had a glow to her creamy skin and she didn’t have make-up caked on her face like she usually did. Her wavy, dark hair fell about on her shoulders and she was wearing a purple, fitted mini-dress this time. Her legs looked just like I had imaged; curvy, deliciously toned thighs, muscular calves. I had to look away because her dress was low-cut, showing off flawless, perky breasts. It was the first time in months that I actually thought about having sex and I felt wrong day-dreaming about doing her doggy-style.

“Been having flash-backs lately,” I murmured, staring at my hands so I wouldn’t stare at her tits. “Been crying a lot… Plus that anorexic girl died, which doesn’t help anything.”

“Are you talking about Alyssa Reed?”

I nodded, biting my nails. “She was my entertainment during breakfast, lunch, and dinner…and now POOF! She’s gone.”

“It could happen to anyone,” Dawn noted. “That’s why it’s important to face your past instead of neglecting it.”

“Look,” I said, turning to her, avoiding her perfect breasts. “I know all of this is confidential…but what happened to her? What made her…you know? It’s really bothering me. Made me think of my own suicide.”

“She was a victim of rape…that’s all I can tell you,” she said, tears of her own standing in her vibrant eyes. “It’s very sad that none of us could help her.” She fluttered her lashes, her expression going back to normal. “Enough about Ms. Reed. What flash-backs have you had?”

I chomped on my nail. “My suicide attempt.”

“Could you share?”

I let out a long breath, forcing myself to remember. “How He wouldn’t stop…so I made a deal with Him that if he’d stop talking, I’d do it for Him… I sharpened my knife, shut myself in my bathroom so I could look at myself in front of the mirror. There was a lot of blood.”

“Is that when you slashed your throat?”

Nausea hit me. I swallowed it down, squeezing my eyes shut. “Yeah. He was laughing…I just wanted it to stop, that’s all. I wanted it to go away, you know?”

“You symbolically wanted all of your feelings of guilt, of grief, to go away?” she asked, clicking her pen.

I turned to her again, looking into sad, worried eyes. I winced and looked behind her, at the retarded oil painting. “Do you want me to do a drawing so you could replace that?” I asked, changing the subject.

She whirled around in her chair, studying the art. “Sure,” she said, playing along with me. She turned back, a smile on her face. “Actually, I’d like you to do many if you can. Just ask one of the nurses for art supplies; there should be plenty stocked in the closet in the game room.”

“What would you like me to draw? Do they have oil pastels?”

“Anything. In fact, I’d love you to draw what you’re feeling, or even Him so I can get a better idea of what he looked like. And they might have pastels.”

Of course she brings up Him. “Okay…but could we stop talking about Him? I would hate it if He came back again; remember last time?”

“Yes, I apologize.” She frowned. “What would you like to talk about?”

I shrugged.

“Your family?” she blurted.

“Do you think they’d listen if I wrote them a letter?” My heart pounded in my ears. Kenneth never brought up these uncomfortable subjects…kind of miss that asshole…

“It’s worth a shot,” she said, peering down at her watch. “It seems our time is up.”

I practically rocketed out of my chair.

“Your homework is to draw.” She winked at me. “Can you do that for me?”

I opened the door. “Anything to replace that shitty painting. Every time I look at it, it gives me a splitting head-ache.” I heard her laugh as I disappeared down the hall. I decided to go into the game room, finding out it was movie night. Everyone was piled on the couches, styro-foam bowls of popcorn in their hands. They were watching Julia Robert’s ‘Step Mom’. Decent movie, so I took a seat, realizing I was sitting next to Liz.

“This movie’s funny as hell when that old bitch dies from cancer,” she whispered into my ear, crunching on her popcorn.

I kept my eyes glued to the television.

“FRUIT-CAKES!” Cheryl screamed when the camera cut to Roberts. Liz laughed shortly afterwards. Suddenly, she groped my crotch.

“What the hell?” I snapped.

“I’m horny, been a while…what about you?” she whispered into my ear.

I got up. “Leave me the heck alone.” I began walking away when she flipped out and threw the TV, it smashing into pieces on the wall. She grabbed me, spun me around and sucker-punched me in the face.

“DICK!” she yelled, eyes wide and twitching. Anita grabbed her and tugged her out of the room. We could hear her from down the hall, screaming about “men” and how they’re “womanizing, perverted ass-holes”.

Anita came stomping back in. “Did you grab her crotch?” she asked me.

I shook my head.

“Thought so,” she muttered, stomping out the door.

“What the heck was that all about?” Mike asked, tugging on my sleeve. “Did she really just do that?”

I touched my eye. It was swollen and there was a little blood. “Yeah,” I moaned, the pain suddenly pulsing in my face. “That bitch just threw the TV and socked me in the fucking eye.”