The Man Who Lost His Soul

Chapter III - Hazel Laverne, before - Part I

Initial notes: Hi hi hunters, how are you?

In this chapter you will finally meet my protagonist, Hazel Laverne ♥

To those who judged her in previous chapters, here you will have answers to many things and understand her side.

I NEEDED to separate Hazel's "before" into two parts, otherwise the chapter would be gigantic.

For those who are curious, I always make a cast for my characters as it is not possible to create a "face from scratch", so I imagine Hazel's appearance as the actress Mackenzie Foy (she was well known for playing Reneesme in twilight and Clara in Nutcracker, but check her out on Pinterest so you can get a better idea). That's it, good reading ♥

TRIGGER ALERT – Sensitive topics will be addressed

I'm right where

You left me

You left me with no choice but to stay here forever. — Right where you left me, Taylor Swift.

And there is no remedy for memory

Your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me

And telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead—Dark Paradise, Lana Del Rey.

Hazel Laverne's point of view.

-Before-

Bellevue Hospital, Manhattan, New York – December 11, 2001.

I have been silent for over a fortnight, ever since I was admitted to Bellevue Hospital against my will. I kept my voice deep in my throat after what happened.

I think I realized how useless it is to try to talk, since no one seems to listen to me.

Or believe me.

I am enveloped by a gray blanket, while the snow covers the city with violence and the cold sneaks up inside the walls. The psychiatrist, Dr. Plath, has been staring at me silently for about half an hour.

I look down, static, feeling an immense emptiness inside my chest.

Everything that happened in October resonates in my mind in a deafening way.

—How's your arm? – The doctor tries to bring up the topic, in an almost whispered voice. I shudder a little when I hear his question, because every time I remember the burns that spread across the skin of my arm, it's as if my body acted reflexively in fear of fire, a fire that no longer exists. There's nothing left of the fire except ash and my burns, but that doesn't seem to matter. Fear is a strange thing sometimes. I look at him and shrug – Is it healing? – He tries again.

I nod, uninterested.

A fly lands on the back of my hand, and I end up remembering the last scene in the book "Psycho", when a fly lands on Norman Bates' hand and he chooses not to shake it away. In his mind, if the doctors were watching him, they would consider him harmless for this.

The famous saying "It wouldn't hurt a fly", in its most direct illustration.

I laugh an ironic laugh at that because I really am harmless, in my case. So much so that it's pathetic.

—What's funny, Hazel? – The doctor asks, noticing the small smile that discreetly grows on my lips, and I shrug again. After another moment of silence, he leans forward, taking his glasses off his face and rubbing his temples – Can I make you an offer?