The Life of a Psychopath

Chapter 7

Six Months Later

    One. Two. Three. Four. When I first got here, there was just one crack in the ceiling. Now, three other cracks branch out from the original crack. I squint my eyes and try to see the cracks as a tree. A dead tree, of course, but a tree nonetheless. after a few minutes of squinting and trying to imagine that I am surrounded by trees, I hear my door slide open quietly, then close again with a soft, metallic click. After a few seconds, a corner of my mattress tips with the weight of someone sitting on it. I already know exactly who it is. I've made quite a few "friends" here, but there is only one I'm close enough to that I would allow him into my room.
    "Are you gonna come eat, Alex?" He asks me. Denzel is his name. He's thirteen. Suffers from schizophrenia. He went on a killing spree at his middle school and was admitted to the hospital one month before me. He has light green eyes, pale skin, and dark brown, shaggy hair that hangs in his eyes seventy percent of the time. He's also taller than me, which I don't like very much.
    "I don't feel like eating, honestly." I respond, rolling onto my side. I hear him sigh. I haven't eaten in a day and a half. 
    "Alright. Fine. Wanna go to the basement and cause some trouble?" He asks, looking at me and smiling. His smile is a nice one, with perfect white teeth and dimples. He doesn't smile around anyone else but me, though.
I shake my head. "No. I don't wanna get in trouble again..." I say quietly. Denzel gets up and walks over to my bedside. He leans over so he can look me in the eye and whispers, "What's wrong Alex? This isn't like you. You always wanna get out and cause trouble. You've been in your room for two days. You keep refusing food. And every time I try to get you out of here, you find some way to reject me! Did the do something to you? Did they add some kind of new drug to your happy-cocktail that totally dopes you out?"
I roll my eyes and sit up. He stands up straight and tilts his head to one side, waiting for me to answer his slew of questions.
    "I want to get out of here. I... I have to get out of here. And it's not for a good reason. I want to kill, Denzel. I want to hurt people. But I also want to be outside. Free." I sigh and look up at the cracks in the ceiling again. Denzel squints his eyes and crosses his arms, processing what I just said. Finally, after a few minutes in silence, he speaks.
   "I feel the same way. The killing part and all. We're not sane, Alex. But I think that's okay. We have to get out of here. Give me a week... We'll be free by then. I promise." He briskly turns around and walks out, letting the door fall shut behind him with a loud slam. I stare blankly at a wall and think about his promise. A week. I might be out of here in a week. I fall onto my back and close my eyes. I haven't taken one step outside since I've got here. I have been locked up in the bad part of the mental hospital; where they put all the genociders and absolute psychopaths. Honestly, I loved it at first. The other crazies and I got along just fine-- still do, even. We are allowed out of our rooms to eat and chill in this little lounge they have for us. Well, some of us. Either way, it gets boring. After six months of being here, one starts to feel stir-crazy. My birthday passed a few weeks ago. I think that's when it really hit me how badly I wanted to be out of here.
   It was just like any other day. I strolled around the halls, hung out with Denzel and all the other people I know here, ate food, took my medicine... it was completely normal. Then, just after lights out, Denzel slipped into my room. He sat on my bed and wished me a happy birthday, then slipped me a piece of chocolate that he stole from the upstairs cafeteria (I'm still not sure how he actually got it).
    "How did you know?" I asked him. He shrugged.
    "May have peeked into your file a bit after you showed up." He replied, taking a bite of my cake. We talked back and forth until an orderly came and scolded us, then grabbed him and took him back to his room. In that moment, I realized how much I missed having a life. And how much I didn't want a normal life. I also wanted to keep killing.
    I wonder what time it is. I sigh and roll onto my side. There is no clock in here. We could use the arms of the clock to kill ourselves or other people. They tried digital clocks once, but I guess a nurse got her head bashed in by someone. So we only know the time when they announce morning, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and lights-out.
    I sit up after a bit of squirming around. I'm not tired at all. Maybe I should ask for a sedative or something. I feel super squirrelly. My leg bounces up and down without me noticing. My heart beat speeds up. I wipe my hand- which is insanely sweaty- against my sheets. What is going on? I glance at the wall, then look up at the ceiling, then at the floor. Suddenly, someone bursts into my room.
    Denzel.
    "Are we getting out tonight?" I ask him. My voice sounds soft. Almost inaudible. Denzel is in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. He is trying to look into my eyes, and he's also trying to say something, but he sounds really far away. Like he's in a cave. I start to giggle at the image of Denzel as a caveman. I feel myself swaying side to side, and Denzel gets a very panicked look in his eyes. He starts shouting something, running to the door and shouting it again.
    "Deeeenzel...people are trying to sleeeeeep..." I tell him. He runs back to me and grabs my shoulders again, shaking me and yelling frantically. What the hell is his problem? He looks over at the doorway and starts yelling again. I try to look over at the doorway to, but it feels like it takes a million years just to move my head. Finally, I see a large mass of white standing in my doorway. Another million years pass and I am looking at Denzel again. He gets really close to my face and starts screaming stuff. Two white blobs come and pull him off of me. He screams. I laugh and sway sideways. I topple off of the bed and crack my head against the cold, hard tile flooring. The last thing I hear are the desperate screams of Denzel.

((A/N: I haven't edited this yet. Too tired to. So there may be some misspellings or odd sentences until sometimes tomorrow when I fix it. Thanks guys~))