If These Walls Could Talk (American Horror Story Asylum FanFic)

Chapter 2

"Do these potatoes taste chalky to you? I don't think I put enough milk in them."

The look in his eyes went against every word written about the savageness of the murders he committed. That asylum is drowning in lies.

I absentmindedly took another bite of the mashed potatoes in front of me.

"Freya? Freya!"

The sound of my girlfriend's raised voice interrupted my thoughts and I shook my head, and then set down my fork beside my plate.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

She looked at me and I could sense an argument starting. "Your mind is always somewhere else! I never get your attention the first time and I have to yell just to get you to look at me!"

She huffed and abruptly rose from her seat, the sound of the chair scratching across the floor making me wince. Lifting her plate up from the table, she walked over to the garbage and threw out the scoop of potato she had on her plate.

"I'm sorry that I made you feel that way." I quietly say.

The house was quiet for a minute before she spoke. "Make me." Her tear filled eyes looked up from the garbage and into mine. "You've been making me feel that way lately."

Sighing, she set her plate in the sink and walked out of the room, leaving me alone at the table, my plate of food slowly cooling before me.

***

I avoided Annabelle for the rest of the evening, thinking that I would be the last person she wished to see and having no clue what I would even say to her.

Instead, I chain smoked cigarette after cigarette while I went over my notes from the asylum earlier that day.

"What's your story?" I whispered to myself, holding up a picture of Kit Walker, who was allegedly labeled as Bloody Face.

My eyes started to burn from staring at the picture for so long, the small black and white dots that made up the picture beginning to swirl together in a giant blur. I set it down and pinched the bridge of my nose and leaned back onto the couch. Without realizing it, I fell asleep.

A short time later, my burnt down cigarette got to where my fingers held it and I yelped in pain, immediately putting it in my ashtray and sweeping up the few ashes that had fallen onto the couch. I sat back, my heart racing and fingers throbbing.

Any longer and this couch would've been set on fire, me along with it.

I got up and retrieved a small bag of peas from the freezer and held it around my sore fingers that were slowly turning dark pink. I looked up to the cat clock on the wall and my eyes widened in surprise.

"One thirty already! How long was I sitting on that damn couch??"

I made my way to the bedroom, careful to open the door slowly so I didn't wake up Annabelle. The moonlight from the window illuminated her sleeping form and I sighed, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. In that moment I made up my mind. I was going to find out what was really going on at Briarcliff, but under the cover of night.

Once I wrote this story everything would be better. We could finally have time for ourselves.

"I love you and...I'm sorry." I whispered to her.

Then I closed the door and walked back down the hall.

The bag of peas went back into the freezer and I quickly wrapped my fingers with some gauze. My notes on Briarcliff went into my purse and I turned the living room light off before grabbing my coat out of the hallway closet and heading out the door.

I made sure that the headlights on my car were off and started the drive to the asylum, my nerves on edge.