American Saint (H.S)

A.S. 9: Psycho & Drunk

American Saint: 9

"People always mean well. They click their tongues and shake their heads and suggest oh, so very delicately..."

_

I sit by the rusted window silk with the bottle of old wine I found in the contemptuous hall. It is after hours and I can not form sleep. My head hurts. I unscrew the cap holding on the glass material, throwing the wooden croc to the ground. I take the first sip and the unfamiliar taste of acid unclogs my throat.

I wish I was dead.

I do not even know why I continue on. There is nothing coming out of me being here.

I am dead weight. I do not do any good to anyone. My life is pretty much useless at this point. I do not even know why I have put up with this for so long. I should have been beaten to death by one of the fucking guards long ago. What is keeping me from going crazy?

I hear some mild laughter growing around the corridor. I do not turn around when two sets of feet approach the room. One in which I have heard before. I was hoping for someone of power to come and tell me to get lost, however it is not. My need for wanting to get in trouble is growing tiresome.

"I will catch up with you later." The voice of the girl speaks, inclosing her departure from their late walk

There is no response for a moment before a voice speaks up at last. "You should head back to your room, it is after hour anyway."

Gensa laughs. Her sarcastic voice follows. "It's not like I get in any sort of trouble. No one here seems to care Louis."

Idiot.

"Well, I will check on you later." He says.

"Goodnight." She responds back to him before I feel her presence besides me on the window.

"Hey." The skin on her hand brushes down my arm.

I nod to her acknowledgment. "Why are you sitting all alone?" She asks me in a hushed tone.

"Because you all annoy me." I laugh to her face and she rolls her identical coloured eyes at me.

Her freshly groomed hair strikes the air blowing into the window. The scent of flowers enlightens  the shadowed room. "Tell me something," She says, looking down to my hands. She frowns, bitting on her lip.

"I wanted to be a doctor for children or an actor." She scoffs at my response.

She moves from her spot besides me to the opposed window. "Those two have nothing to do with one another."

"Well, I always thought I could play a fantastic psychopath. I would have liked to play a psycho." I shrug, take a sip of the bottle. "With a heart, you know. Perhaps a caring lunatic."

"I do not believe there is such a thing Harold." Gensa unfolds, her fingers squeezing between mine to grasp the glass flask. I push her hands away.

"Yes, there is. Actors do it all the time. They play a role. My dream role would probably be a psycho killer, because that is what I love about movies, you get to do things you could never do in real life, and that would be my way of vicariously experiencing being a psycho killer." I tell her, in descriptively.