Stitched

Chapter 3. It's Time, Mila

Content warnings: Very brief mention of a suicidal thought at the end. And ahem... Just descriptions of gore, nothing exciting :D

"Gum?"

Tearing my gaze away from the lone fly perched on the pristine white wall, I look at the woman sitting in front of me. She balances the notepad on her knees as she holds out a white strip, the strong mint unpleasantly tickling my nostrils. Her poker face stares at me with a raised eyebrow. Yet, I can spot the flicker of disturbance rippling in her green eyes.

Besides, her energy levels reek of it.

I blink at her. Once. Twice. Three times. "Are you suggesting my breath smells like a garbage chute?"

The top of her nose twitches. "More so, like rotting meat that has been stored in a warm container for over a week." She shoves the gum toward me. "Now, please do us both a favor and take it."

With a sigh and roll of my eyes, I take the white thing and fold it in half before popping it in my mouth. The mint's potency stings my nose as the strong taste overpowers my taste buds. Fucking hell, what is this made from, bleach?

Chewing on the vile mush, I exhale loudly and readjust myself on the tough couch. They could have at least made the cushions here soft. Would be a nice change from cold, hard floors and metal bedding.

"Satisfied?" I ask with a smirk.

The woman sighs and grasps the black-gold pen, the whites of her fingertips noticeable as they press against the metallic body.

“Do you have any regrets?”

Straightening my posture, I stop chewing and stare at her. Nothing but the hum of the generator and the occasional scream and hysterical laughter echoing through the halls outside this little room penetrate the deathly stillness in the air.

"What?" I ask, my voice barely audible.

"Regrets, Mila." She taps the end of the pen against the paper, the sound testing my nerves. "Have you experienced any regrets for murdering your friends?"

I take a shaky deep breath. “What do you think?” my voice cracks at the end. “I… I killed my boyfriend,” I whisper, the edges of my eyes filling with hot moisture. “I… fucking killed him and his two friends.” Tears begin to stream down my cheeks. “Do you think I would have turned myself in if I didn't have any regrets? I..."

I burst into sobs, burying my wet face into my hands. My body trembles uncontrollably, shoulders shaking up and down as salt and snot creep into my mouth.

The couch before me shifts slightly. “I've worked here as the psychiatrist for over five years, and this might be the best performance I've witnessed by far.”

“What?” I choke out, glancing at her through blurry vision. “You … you actually think I'm lying?”

She raises an eyebrow. “People who actually have regrets don't try to convince a person by saying ‘Would I have done this or that if I wasn't’, more so in situations such as these.”

Blinking away my tears, I stare back at her in disbelief. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across my face. “I see you're good at your job.” A laugh rumbles out of me, echoing through the empty room.

Her face remains unmoving as she tucks a few strands of chestnut hair behind her ear. “The police found your boyfriend's body torn apart into unrecognizable pieces, some of him missing. You told them that coyotes had feasted on it, and you even managed to have one or two at the site when the bodies were discovered. How did you manage to achieve that?”