Sinful Desires

Psychiatrist or Prey?

Isaiah's pov:

I locked eyes with the woman in front of me as I spoke. Her expression shifted from horrified to disturbed. A twisted smile crept onto my face at the sight. There's something satisfying about seeing someone terrified just by being in the same room as a murderer. Robinson exchanged a few words with her before stepping out, leaving her alone with the armed guards. "Why the hell are you here? Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm Isamai—"

"Never mind," I interrupted. "I don't care who you are or what you want." A sinister chuckle escaped my lips as I made my way to the bed. I noticed the torn pillow on the floor and grabbed it, shredding it further with my nails. I could feel her gaze burning into me, and I hated it. I hated how people always stared at me for no reason. It made my skin crawl. My thoughts turned dark, imagining grabbing her face, tearing her eyes from their sockets, and stomping on them.

I've done this before. One of the therapists I killed back in the cell wouldn't stop staring at me, even after I told them to look away. In a flash of rage, I grabbed them by the throat with my left hand, squeezing until they choked, while my right hand yanked their eyes out. The screams they let out were intense, almost unbearable, but I found them fascinating. Every shriek stirred something darker inside me. Once their eyes lay on the ground, I stepped on them, feeling the blood spill out beneath my foot.

"Hello?"

My thoughts were interrupted by the woman's voice. I turned to look at her again. Her eyes were wide and shiny, and I could see the size of her dilated pupils clearly through those hazel eyes. "Like I said before you interrupted me, I'm Isamaila, and I'm going to be your psychiatrist," she said, her voice steady but clearly strained. I stared at her blankly. How the hell do you even pronounce her name?

"Nice joke," I chuckled darkly, tossing the ripped pillow into the sink. Isamaila glanced at the sink, then at the mirror, her expression unreadable. The mirror was already cracked, the result of my knuckles colliding with it. The scars on my hands were still fresh, the flesh raw and irritated. Isamaila's gaze flickered to them, but she didn't comment. "It's not a joke, Isaiah. I am your new psychiatrist, this time with actual armed bodyguards," she said, her voice firm but edged with tension.

I smirked. "It's kind of hilarious how you think you're going to last in this facility." I stood up and moved toward her, the sound of my shoes echoing in the silence. The bodyguards immediately stepped in front of her, guns drawn. I didn't flinch; I didn't step back. The cold steel of their weapons didn't phase me.

I was only inches away from her now, close enough to scrutinize every detail. Despite the fear that was evident in her dilated pupils, I couldn't help but take in her features. She had small freckles scattered across her nose, a birthmark on her right cheek, and straight white teeth. Her lips were full and pink, her collarbone visible beneath her blouse, and her shoulders, though tense, were slightly relaxed.

I stepped back, breaking the moment of silence. "Where's Robinson? I need to talk to his bitch ass," I growled, my voice cold. "I don't want a psychiatrist, and you shouldn't be bold enough to claim you're going to help me unless you want to end up like those therapists." I turned away from her, walking back to my bed.

Robinson came back, looking annoyed. "Why the hell do I need a damn psychiatrist? It's like you're setting this woman up to fail. Do you even know she's already on death row? Imagine her here alone without these guards." "You need help, and you're going to get it. Those therapists didn't work out because you killed them, but I'm hoping Isamaila can tame you, like the wild animal you are," Robinson said. I scoffed, shaking my head. "You think I need help? You're just putting her in harm's way. The last therapists didn't last long, did they? Guess they didn't cut it."

"And if she doesn't? What if she doesn't make it out of here alive? Whose fault is it going to be?" I chuckled. "Yours." "No, yours because you murdered her," Robinson snapped. "But who kept insisting on finding someone to 'tame' me? Who keeps setting up these poor, worthless people to help a crazy inmate?" Robinson fell silent. I could see his veins pulse in his shoulders, the anger radiating from him. He was seething, and I couldn't help but take satisfaction in watching him lose control.

SMACK!

My head was roughly jerked to the right. I could taste the blood trickling from the side of my lip and nose. I glanced at Robinson and saw his fists still clenched. "Listen up, you worthless son of a bitch. This woman is your new psychiatrist, and you'd better start preparing to change. Every day, she'll report on your behavior. If I don't see any improvements, you'll end up just like those therapists you murdered," Robinson said.

"So be it," I muttered, wiping my lips. I glanced at my skin, watching the blood smear off. Then, I turned my gaze to Isamaila, noticing the shocked expression on her face. A sinister smile slowly crept onto my lips. "When does she start?" I asked. Robinson turned to face Isamaila, waiting for her response. "Tomorrow," Isamaila replied. Robinson's expression shifted, surprise flickering across his face. He gave a nod and then looked back at me.

"Starting tomorrow," Robinson said. "I'll look forward to not changing," I replied, leaning back against the wall. Robinson, Isamaila, and the bodyguards then left the room. I walked to the sink, grabbed the shredded pillow, and poured water on it. I cleaned the blood from my nose and lips, washing it away. After discarding the shredded pillow, I laid back down on my bed. Tomorrow was going to be entertaining. I had no intention of changing my behavior, much less letting a woman tell me what to do.

This isn't preschool, so why do I need a behavioral report? Robinson thrives on making my life more miserable. He should've just taken me to the electric chair the first time and executed me then. Yet, he's willing to put Isamaila at risk by putting her in the same room as me? We'll see how it goes tomorrow.