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

Chapter 13

It was hard for me to get up and walk out of that room like nothing happened but I had to if I wanted nobody to question if something was wrong with me.

I went straight to my room so I could go write down what I just heard but when I opened the door I found someone sitting on my bed. They must have heard me walk in because they turned to face the door and that's when I saw that it was Dr. Thredson who was sitting on my bed.

"Freya." He smiled and patted the spot beside him, beckoning me to sit down.

I hesitantly walked over and sat down, looking up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"You know that I'm only here to treat Kit Walker but I sense something in you. I've decided that I will take you on as a patient as well. There's something called conversion therapy and if you go through with it you might be discharged from this place."

The only word my mind registered was discharged. "I could leave here? Really?"

"Yes, but only if you finish the therapy sessions successfully. I care about you, Freya. I want you to leave this place."

"You do?"

"Of course. I can tell that you don't belong here and I want to help."

"Thank you, Dr. Thredson."

He smiled. "Call me Oliver."

"Oliver."

***

The therapy sessions started the next day, bright and early in the morning.

The sun was shining and I could hear lots of birds outside chirping, which I took as a positive sign.

Soon enough I can leave this place behind and then get it shut down for good.

I smiled to myself and practically skipped down the halls on the way to the common room, where Dr. Thredson had told me to meet him.

To get to the common room I had to pass the main entryway, where the large statue of Mary stood watching everyone come and go. Standing underneath the statue was Dr. Arden, along with two police officers. My mind began to race and I slowed down, attempting to stroll by casually as I listened in on what the officers were saying.

"The woman you hired last night came to us and said you had Nazi memorabilia in your bedroom." The first officer said.

The other one looked at his notes before speaking up. "Many of those items were labeled with the name Hans Gruper. Does this name mean anything to you?"

"That's nonsense! You're going to trust what a whore has to say?!"

"Sir. We will handcuff you if you insist on having more outbursts."

Dr. Arden sighed. "I enjoy collecting things. World War Two memorabilia is just one of the things that I like to collect. This Hans Gruper must have been one of the people who used to own some of the items I acquired. Does this answer your question?"

"That answers one of them, yes. The woman also claimed that you hit her?"

"That is an outright lie! She must have run into a pole and decided to try and blame it on me. Probably hoping she'll get some money out of it. Are we done here? I've got patients to check on."

The officers stared up at Dr. Arden, both of their brows furrowed. "We're done. For now."

"Fine. Have a good day gentlemen."

Arden stalked off down the hallway I had just come from.

I looked back to the officers but they had already left the asylum.

My feet stayed glued to the floor, my mind going over everything that the men said.

Kit did say he heard Arden speaking German. Could he be Hans Gruper? Does this connect with the experiments he's been doing?

"Freya!"

My eyes focused on Dr. Thredson walking towards me.

"Dr-I mean, Oliver. Hi."

"Are you ready to start the therapy?"

"Yes. I am."

"Great. Come with me to my office. I hope you had a good night's sleep. These treatments can really take a toll on a person."

***

"Here, take these."

Oliver handed me two large pills and a glass of water, along with a metal bucket.

"What are these for?" I asked him.

"It's part of the conversion therapy."

He turned around and wheeled a stand with a white sheet attached to it. Then he walked back to his desk and set up a photo viewer, projecting it onto the white sheet.

"The pills take a few minutes to kick into effect so I think we will start with a warm up."

I downed the pills and sat back in my chair, holding the bucket on my lap.

He flicked on the machine and the image of a woman wearing lingerie was projected onto the screen. She was looking over her shoulder like she had a secret she knew you were desperate to find out about.

The next image was a woman on a bed, her hands clutching at the sheets and a look of ecstasy on her face. I shifted in my seat, not sure what should be happening to me right now.

Another image. She was the best looking out of the three, with long dark hair that went down to her waist. Her arms were crossed behind her head, with her breasts prominently on display.

I cleared my throat, feeling guilty about my feelings of arousal because of what could have happened with Annabelle. I should be thinking about her.

A new woman was shown bending over, wearing nothing but a small apron that barely covered her naked body. She was pulling a turkey out of the oven, a coy smile on her face.

I bit my lip, beginning to feel nauseous.

Another one. She was standing tall, staring straight into the camera. Her robe was open, revealing the fact that she was wearing nothing underneath it. Her fingers were touching the space between her breasts.

My hands grasped at the bucket and I felt sweat began to form on my forehead, rolling down my face.

Another image appeared. The nameless woman was lying back on a couch, one hand grabbing at her breast and the other one hidden underneath her underwear.

I gagged and threw up into the bucket, going until I was left dry heaving.

"What...what did you give me?"

I struggled to stay sitting up, the feeling of queasiness overtaking me.

"I gave you emetic pills, which induce vomiting. The way conversion therapy works is that the patient is given these pills and then shown images of the thing that we are trying to cure. In your case, you are being shown pornographic images of women to cure you of your homosexuality."

"You can't just...cure that."

"That's the thing. If you want to get out of this place, you have to be cured. That's the very reason why you were admitted, your sexual preferences." He answered.

It hurt to breathe. My throat felt scratchy and my eyes could barely stay open. I felt myself sway a few times before I fell off the chair and fainted, taking the bucket with me.