MADMAN'S DEMISE

1

FOUR MONTHS LATER

One year.

I couldn't believe I had been working at this place for one year already. The time had passed me by quicker than ever, still, it felt like a lifetime ago since I stepped inside the big, barbed wire gates for the very first time.

Not only had I been forced to witness indelibly horrific occasions, I was also forced into a proximity I never would have believed existed at all. No part of me regretted that I accepted him into my care. No part of me regretted that I stepped inside cellar 401 on that day in August, only to be brought into a haze of love.

Not once did my body get tired of his nearness. I could be with him all the time without ever wanting a break even if we were trapped inside the same, white-painted room every time. There was always something new to happen or find out about him. The excitement just never seemed to ease in his company, which kept my heart beating in rapid motion and my veins filled with addictive adrenaline.

Since Brandon was moved to Ward 3 back in February, his room was now slightly bigger and brighter than his previous one. It was something new, something refreshing and different. The days in cellar 401 were over. And every fair situation, every shared word and touch in there, was now only a gathering of beautiful memories. Now a new future awaited. Inside the walls of Ward 3 and Cellar 292...

Inside cellar 292, the sunlight could reach through the window and kiss his skin with the natural vitamins he was in need of. In cellar 292, he could bring books and keep his brain in motion of intelligence. In cellar 292, we could enjoy each other's company without a guard standing tightly outside the door every minute of my visit. Everything was so much easier now. And so much better for Brandon. As much as himself, I noticed the people around the hospital were not as scared of him anymore. Not the nurses. Not the patients. Although some of them still kept a distance from him, there were now people who dared speaking with him, saying hello to him in the gathering room, and looking at him without terror capturing their whole existence.

In Ward 3, I was even allowed to step inside his room all by myself. No longer did I have to convince or mute Frank, and hide to Dorothy that I was seeing Brandon alone. And that satisfied me a lot.

Our scheduled session hours were still the same. Just as many and as long. The only difference now was that Brandon was allowed in the common room much more often. He could attend all the open hours if he wished, which only gave us more time to see each other. Even in there, in the assembly, he remained seated close to me, watching over me like he was protecting me with all his life. Darting his eyes around my whole existence like he was my personal guardsman. He made me feel safe. Only his closeness was enough for me to feel protected even if I knew there was no one around to threaten me anymore.

I told Brandon about Donald's death already the day after the visit of the two policemen, and his reaction was, as usual, nothing of what I expected. I didn't know what I expected at all since there was not much I could forecast with Brandon. But a whiff out his nostrils along with a pleased grin covering his face was a lot less of the reaction I actually managed to ideate.

He was happy that Donald was gone. Truly gone this time. Yet, he was pissed he didn't get to finish him himself. I told him it was okay. That somebody just helped him finish it, like a favor. That's when Brandon let go of the fury, and finally smiled about the dead man again.

He spoke with vulgar words through his bad leer as he held me tight in his bed, talking about how much he deserved it and that he could no longer hurt me.

Brandon's offensive speech about a dead, defenseless person first made me uncomfortable, but after a dozen reminders about whose arms I was embraced by, I allowed myself to agree even in front of him.

I already admitted to myself that I thought he deserved every painful, blistering stab into his evil flesh, and that inhumane confession was only for Brandon to hear and nobody else.

We made love that morning. Intensively and passionately. It was almost like we were celebrating. The whole moment was beautiful, raw, and bounding. Filled with comfort and joy. It felt like the start of something new. The way we both smiled as we looked into each other's eyes and connected our nude bodies, the way Brandon whispered in my ear that everything was okay now and that I was finally free, the way tears rolled down my cheeks in relief and happiness as my body ground against him. It was all overwhelming, and absolutely committed.

Brandon spoke to me afterward in a wise, almost teaching way. He told me it was okay to feel relief and alleviation. He told me it was okay to smile about it.

He told me it was okay to feel good about bad things.

And that's when the bad conscience over my feelings about Donald's death left me forever.