𝐍𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘, 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 - kiara carrera²

𝒙𝒗𝒊𝒊. 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆

TWENTY FOUR HOURS LATER, and Tatum was already sick of being trapped inside a psych ward. People could be heard screaming through the hallways and it made her want to join in. She couldn't do anything other than lay in bed and sleep. Showers and toilet breaks were monitored and supervised, and the food portions were small. The only thing keeping her going were the extremely strong drugs they had her on. They made her feel fucking great.

But other than that, everything was shit. She wasn't allowed visitors for another three days, which meant she'd have to wait another forty eight hours to find out what happened to John B and his trial. And she wasn't allowed to shave. She would be here, probably for the rest of her life, and never be allowed to shave. She would end up looking like a freaking gorilla! Not like it was matter - she wasn't going to be allowed to have sex with anyone anytime soon, anyway.

Dr.Milburn wasn't her therapist, either. Tatum's therapist was a man named Dr.Clarke, whom she loathed with every part of her body, and 'joked' about slashing his daughter's throat while she was asleep. She had learned some things, though. Most people with bipolar go through their cycle of rapid mood swings over the course of weeks and months. However, because of her ADHD, she went through her cycles in the space of days and hours. And apparently sociopaths could fall in love; it was just more extreme and obsessive than a usual person's perspective of it. Which made sense, she guessed. She couldn't survive with out Kiara - fact. She went crazy without Kiara - fact. She would definitely murder people for Kiara - fact. She had thoughts about murdering Kiara's family for the way they treat her - fact. She even had visions of murdering Pope because of him and Kiara - sickening fact.

Still, even though she was face-to-face with the consequence of her actions, Tatum Quinn still felt no remorse or regret for her crimes. That was probably her largest sociopathic trait, according to Dr.Clarke.

She'd never really seen herself as manipulative or a liar before, but according to the doctor, each person suffers through their disorder differently. Some people could be very much of one symptom, and not very much of another, but that didn't change anything because they still struggled with their illness. Plus, her high level of ADHD made everything else go smaller than it was supposed to be.

Someone came to check up on her every ten minutes, and there were at least six guards stationed outside her room at all times. In her eyes, it was pretty stupid; if twenty guards couldn't stop her, then how could five? It wasn't like she could ever escape this room, anyway. Prisons should be made with the kind of security as psych wards.

Though it had only been a day, Tatum felt like she had been stuck in the ward forever. On the mood draining meds they forced down her throat, time went by very slowly, like she was trapped inside one of those movie scenes where they stare at the clock for minutes, but nothing changes. They made her feel good, yes, but that didn't mean they weren't completely draining at the same time.

She had a lot of time to think, though. About the visitations. Heyward promised he and the baby would come and see her the moment he could, JJ would probably come too, but Kiara and Pope...she had no idea. But she didn't care about them. They could go and fuck themselves. They could go and get hit by a bus, for all she cared. She hoped. She hoped she would be the one driving.

Nope. No, no, no, no.

She wasn't allowed to have thoughts like that anymore.

Calm. She had to be calm.

How the fuck was she supposed to do that?

Her morning meds were beginning to wear off, clearly, because now her thoughts were racing each other, she could see herself murdering strangers, and her energy was way too high.

Pulling at her hair, Tatum shook her head, throwing herself onto the small, springy mattress in the corner of the square room.

She didn't belong here. She wasn't as crazy as the other patients. All she did was kill, like, forty people. Nothing wrong with that. She just had a few bad days, that was all.

Yeah. Exactly. Just like that one girl that shot up a school because she didn't like Mondays.

She shut her eyes and brought herself back into her happy place, like Dr.Clarke had told her. She was lying on the beach, a beautiful engagement ring on her left hand. Beside her was the girl of her dreams. Her dark hair gravitating against the wind, her tanned skin bouncing off the moonlight.

Tatum groaned.

Fucking Kiara.

She slapped herself. Did it again. Again and again and again, until Kie was gone from her mind.

But she wouldn't go away. She wouldn't leave. And it made Tate want to scream.

Machinery clicked behind the door, and in walked six guards by the company of Dr.Clarke. The well-dressed man stepped forward to hand the dangerous girl a small, paper cup of pills.

She looked down at the smelly, sickly sweetening cup, then turned her head up to look the doctor in the eye. She looked half-dead. Obediently, she poured the cup into her mouth, swirling the dry, disgusting meds around with her saliva.

Then she spat them out.

On his face.

"I'm not crazy," she told him with a deadly look. "I don't belong here."

"It's either here or an electric chair," Dr.Clarke shrugged, wiping the powdery pills off of his face, his patience not being tested in the slightest.

Tatum rolled her eyes. Grabbed him by the shirt, put all the guards on their guards. "Fry me then," she spoke in a soft, threatening tone, her eyes wild.

The man sighed, and nodded to the group of men he had surrounding him once again.

One by one, each of the six grabbed a piece of Tatum's body, pinning her to the wall in a hard force she couldn't fight against if she tried her hardest. And she did try. She thrashed, she screamed, she bit, but these men did not move. They seriously needed security like this in prison.

Dr.Clarke stepped forward. Another step. He was inches away from the teenage sociopath, but he wasn't scared. He dedicated his life to helping patients like this, and he would give them the help they needed.

And what Tatum Quinn needed right now was her drugs.

So he forced them down her throat himself, sticking his fingers into her mouth so that the pills were pushed all the way to the back, where the was no possibility of her being able to spit them back out.

The girl choked. The six men let go. She swallowed. She cringed. Her eyes drooped almost instantly. Back to being a medicated zombie it was.

"We've got a visitor here to see you," the man spoke finally, a satisfied smile upon his face.

"I thought I wasn't allowed visitors for another two days?"

"This one's special - she owns 50% of this building."

Tatum shrugged, not really caring for whoever this woman was. She wasn't about to become a freak show to entertain their guests.

But when the man stepped to the side, revealing the woman in the doorway, her whole body froze.

"Mom?"