American Saint (H.S)

A.S. 8: Breathe

American Saint: 8

Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I do not know the answer, I know only that I can not do the same.

_

Harolds' Thoughts:

I finish getting dressed to hear a knock at my door. I turn around to let the faceless person in, however, they have already opened the barrier themselves. No, other than Gensa.

"Morning." She smiles, sipping on orange juice through a clear glass container.

"Hello." I finish buttoning up the remainder of the shirt. Gensa comes in front of me, moving my hands from closing the rest of the gap.

Her eyes meet mine and I look away from her suffocating greens. I look again just to make sure she has looked otherwise. She has not. She is still staring at me.

"Quit staring at me please," I ask nicely. I do not like to be the center of her attention.

"Quit noticing." Her response is rude, as ever. She finishes off the last button.

"I always assumed the clothing would be like jail clothes. I had no idea we could wear what we want." She defines her thoughts. I nod. "It is not jail. We are not criminals."

She scoffs. "You killed your girlfriend." Her voice makes the memory seem bad.

"I am crazy. Not a criminal." I tap her nose with my index finger. She rolls her eyes. "Why did you kill her? Did she annoy you?"

Her question intrigues me. Her curiosity poisons me.

"No." She never shuts up. "Then?" We walk out of my room. I lock the door. "Then nothing. It was an accident."

"How the hell do you kill someone by accident?" Her gaze gathers in a hurry, but there is not sympathy in them. Of course not. Neither do mine perform.

"You just do." I shrug, discarding the memory of the brown eyed human. "Some people are just bad people," I tell her. She does not say anything. "Even when they do not mean to be." I finish my thought.

She is still quite. I assumed she would be asking questions out of her ass. But she is not. She is only silent as we walk through the hallway and past the corridor where I had punched the heck out of that wall.

"No one is physically bad Harold." Gensa finally speaks as we take our seats in the home theater. It is movie day today. Oh, the mother fūcking luxury.

"People are just chemically imbalanced." She points to her head then looks away to the projected screen.

"No one is born evil Gensa," I shake my head. "We are learned to be the way we are."

"I do not agree with you." She switches to her side, now facing me from her seat. "People are born defective."

"Your opinion, over mine," I say as the movie begins to start. Everyone settles down. The projector starts and Gensas' mouth shuts off. Thank god.

"We should cut your hair." Gensa speaks abruptly. Interrupting the movie scene. I am not interested in either one of these conversations.

I do not respond to her. "Harold?" She whispers again. I sigh. "What?!" I harshly retaliate back to the annoying sound of her hushed voice.