Demented (short story)

Demented

Stuck. Many people claim to be "stuck" but only a few really mean it or know the true meaning of the word. The inability to change or to move. Stuck.

I wonder if she feels the same way. Is she stuck on some psychotic path that has little chance of dissipation or escape? But then again, it's not her fault. No, it can't be. It's impossible for such a beautiful mosaic to be this broken on the inside without some outside force hammering away at her.

But I should hate her, shouldn't I? She's my best friend's killer. She tried to murder my mother. But then again, it's not her fault. No. She has lost control. Something became unhinged when she was away from the outside world. When she was secluded and treated like a monster that she is. After all, she is a monstrous girl. Right? But still beautiful. Still caring. Even when she hates it out of pure love. Even when she kills, she loves.

Wait. Is she getting to me? Have I been infected with her cunning madness? Has she drawn a path of dementia and insanity through my very brain?

Does it matter? No, perhaps not. Whether I am as psychotic as she is or not, I am still the one allowing her to hold me tenderly. And I am mad enough to wrap my arms around her. To touch her cold, pale skin carefully as if she were my lover.

Is she? She would say that she is. But would I agree? No, I wouldn't. Only a demented person would agree. But if someone threatened her, I would protect her. If someone tied to take her from me, I would battle to win her back. If someone said they loved her, I would try to reveal to her the falsehood.

I am demented.