American Saint (H.S)

A.S. 3: Why Are You Here?

American Saint: 3

*Previously on American Saint.*

"What is your name?" I ask loud mouth with a sarcastic tone. "Gensa." She tells me, answering my selected thoughts, but does not look up from her now folded hands.

"What the fūck kinda name is that?" I ask of her.

"My name you assholē." She retaliates as a low chuckle leaves her pink lips and the green of her eyesight meets mine.
_

Harold's Thoughts:
I am one to put a great deal of pressure on myself. If I begin to believe that something is not good enough, I will not stop until I feel like I have made it. I am never satisfied with the final result of ones achievements unless they have been longed hard for. The mind and the body are inextricably entwined, and rarely are their inseparability clearer than when we are under some form of mental pressure. The moment we start to try to learn a new skill, make a decision or otherwise think on our feet, our nervous system starts to react - with an accelerated pulse rate it an increased respiration and sweating is lastly resulted..

"So..." The girl says with opening eyes, making me discard of the thoughts of myself. "Why are you here?"

"This is my room." I give her the answer and she quietly laughs, rolling her green eyes. What a colour that too closely resembles my own. "No, no." The dark blonde hair surrounding her head falls to her face as she fidgets in the chair, she aimlessly pushes the silky texture away from her view and smiles to me again. I do not show expression towards the human. "Why are you here, in this house?" She details the question.

"I kïlled my girlfriend." I say bluntly and the girls eyes blink rapidly to my voice. She does not say much after those last words. "Why would you do something like that?" Her eyes search sympathy in my own.

I shrug, loosely tossing the shredded piece of burned paper to the ground, clearing of the table. "She annoyed me with questions." I raise my eyebrows to her fixed stare. "Oh," Is all she responds with, looking away.

"I am assuming you are new here." I tell her noticing her choice of outfit and she nods quickly before I finish the words with no given contact. "You do not have to be afraid." I reassure her of the safety ward.

"I am not afraid of you." The intensity in her eyes satisfies my craving. The way her dilated vision, changed to the sound of my voice heats my blood. "I never referred to myself." I point it out to her. "It was a general statement."

"It was implied." She remarks, sarcastically. "You are more alike to me then I would have guessed." Her voice carries over in a gentle whisper just above the pitched tone.

"Nothing is ever implied in this house unless it is actually said. And I am nothing like you." I bite back. Gensa smiles, licking the dryness of her lips. "Yes, we are. Very alike." She repeats, giving me an awkward head nod.

"I do not like you." I say out loud. She frowns to herself for a moment but returns her facial expression to the hideous smirk that rests on her face, idle. "That is one thing we have in common."

The room holds silence for minutes on end as I stare at the girl who is seated across of me. She holds her fingers close to her body as if she is afraid of losing the connected limbs. With her forehead creased to the top and the way she is bitting on her stained lips gives me the impression she is fighting herself. "Why are you here?" I ask her when the silence begins suffocating.

"My stepsister accused me of kïlling her mother." She bites her lip, fighting the urge of badmouthing the unpresent human. "Well, did you?"

She shakes her head to the side resulting of her answer and I do not believe it. Her body figure says otherwise along with the constant eye twitch. "Did she deserve to die?" I ask Gensa to calm her tempted thoughts. The girl shrugs and looks to me for another conversation but I do not bring it to the table.

When she does not respond to my second question I gather my papers and stand to my feet. She looks to me with uncertainty and stands to her feet as well. "Where are you going?"

"Therapy." I respond and walk the distance over to the door.

"It was nice meeting you..."

"Harold." I tell her and she smirks, waving to me. I flick her a head nod and exit my room leaving the imagine of her in there.