Bliss

Chapter 2: Walter.

Chapter 2: Walter

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I stomp over there so hard, that my feet hurt from the impact. I'm not sure really what to do. Usually I would throw myself to the floor in a fit of emotion and thrash about, but The Bitch has been trying to teach my how to resolve my problems in other ways.

I'm not good with confrontation. Not at all. If I was normal, I'd probably go over there and tell him to move because that's my seat.

But I'm not normal, and neither is he, apparently, considering he's here.

And he's sitting in my seat.

I come to a halt behind him, breathing heavily, my nostrils flare with such a ferocity that they ache and I clench and unclench my fists.

Margery, who looks positively stunned is just staring at the intruder, absolute shock expressed over her features, which is saying something, because Margery rarely shows any hint of emotion.

Her eyes flick up to me, and she frowns slightly, knowing that this unusual situation is only going to get weirder. And louder.

The stranger stops blabbering on, once realising Margery isn't even looking at him anymore, following her gaze, he turns to see me.

Utter confusion replaces my anger as I stare upon his face. His hot face.

Not as in the temperature, of course, I mean as in the physical attraction type of hot. And, oh boy, he sure is attractive.

I'm completely dumbfounded. Where did he come from? Who is he?

I look around to notice literally everyone else is staring at him also, and they have good reason.

I mean, he doesn't even look insane. Not really. He hasn't got that dishevelled look to him, he hasn't got a weird twitch and he's not muttering under his breath.

The stranger has dark hair that brushes over the top of his eyes, a strong jaw, perfect teeth and these amazingly blue eyes. The eyes, they're really the only tell-tale sign, and it's a sign that can only really be spotted by other mentally unstable people.

It's that wild craze to them, they're too bright too hyper. Too perfect.

He's just too perfect, with his nice T-shirt and his expensive jeans and good smelling cologne.

And yet, here he is sitting right in front of me, a sexy half smile on his face, in a mental institution.

It's like a dream. Only not really, because I often find my dreams aren't of things I wish for, or could ever possible happen.

I once dreamed of a giant duck taking over the town and eating all the smaller ducks, and when he shit them back out, they had razor sharp, killer teeth.

Although that's an event I usually keep to myself, as it won't help my case of pleading sanity.

Ha, yeah, like I'm ever going to win that one.

"Hello," I didn't know voices could be so appealing. As far from Dez The Screamers voice as you can get.

I think I may swoon, but I don't. One of the Suicidal's will most likely use the distraction, as a chance to stab themselves in the groin with their spork.

I will not have someone's death on my hands. I may be insane, but I still have a conscience. And the voices.

I'm joking. I don't hear voices. I do, however, sometimes imagine Simon Cowell singing opera in my head.