Evan Peters Imagines

Writing Prompt 11

Writing Prompt: "I want to know you're side. Your story."

"There isn't much to tell."

Summary: You were put into Briarcliff and meet Kit. You knew about the accusations against him, but you wanted the whole story.

"You know, Y/N, this would go much faster if you talked," Dr. Thredson sighed. He's obviously frustrated, his thick eyebrows knitted together. "To fix yourself, you have to let me in."

"I don't need you inside my head," you snapped, crossing your arms. He jotted something down, watching your every move. You squinted at him, my vision blurring. He's hiding something behind those cold, dead eyes; you could sense it.

"Staring at me won't ease the tension," He sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes.You heavily considered running from the room, the negative consequence would be a longer sentence in Briarcliff.

You were sent here after an outburst against your now ex-boyfriend. He was abusive and you were fed up with it, sick and tired of the arguments. Six months after he guilt tripped you into moving in, the beatings started. You were covered in bruises. Society at the time accepted his behavior. On your final night at home, you faked being ill. Your ex rolled his eyes and took off to the bar with his friend.

With the night providing an ample cover, you took a bat to his precious car. The red, freshly painted body was soon covered in dents. The glass stuck itself in your arms and legs. You didn't feel the pain. The emotions came apart, spilling onto your face. A neighbor called the police, not realizing it was just you. The shady cops tossed you into a holding cell for less than an hour. Little did you know that you weren't bailed out.

Arriving at Briarcliff was worse than you ever imagined. The 'nurses' stripped you down and checked every crevice for anything against the regulations set for the 'fine institution'. Bullshit.

Your mind wandered back to the counseling session. This was where you learned exactly what your boyfriend had told the police. He claimed that you were plotting to kill him, that you were criminally insane. Dr. Thredson sat parallel to you, his hands resting easily on the table. "Y/N, you attacked your boyfriend. We have to talk this out so we can find a good treatment option for you."

"Stuff it," you muttered.

Thredson leaned back. "Y/N, this really does not look good for you. The less you say, the less they have to go on in court. What you say in here can make your case for you."

You leaned forward, leaning over the table. "I'm not going to tell you sh-"

The clang of teh door cut you off. An orderly came in with a man clad in the black and white cop uniform. The three men forgot about you and began talking amongst themselves. You began picking at your cuticles, uninterested until they mentioned the famed Bloodyface.

You read about the serial killer last week, everyone did. You perked up, knocking your wrist on the table.

"Get her outta here, willya?" the officer spat at the orderly. The male nurse nodded and gave you a dirty look, unable to listen to the gossip because he had to take you to the day room.

"Y/N, we'll have to finish this at a later time, something has come up," Thredson smiled politely, standing up. The nurse grabbed your elbow, leading you from the room. You took your elbow back and shuffled slowly just to tick the man off. The screams of the tortured echoes through the long, cold hallways. Sometimes, it was easy to ignore them. This was no one of those moments.

When you first arrived, Sister Jude assured you that this was a safe place free of judgement and pain. She painted a pretty picture that was definitely not true. You often wondered if she was a liar, delusional, just plain stupid, or maybe even a mix of all three.

At the bottom of the long, spiraling staircase, Kit Walker, the accused Bloodyface, stood. His arms were tied to his waist, his ankles chained together. There were two guard on either side of him and another set behind him. You looked at them, ignoring the orderly pulling you in the opposite direction. His eyes flickered to you.

Time slowed to a stop. Kit's eyes were full of confusion, fear, and pleading, like he wanted you to help him out of the shackles. Instead of feeling hatred towards him like the rest of the world did, you felt pity. Pity on a killer, who knew?

The orderly shoved you into the day room. Pepper instantly pulled you to the couch. "Play!" She grinned, holding up a makeshift doll.

You smiled sadly. "Not now, Pepper. Later."

The familiar cigarette smoke reminded you of the life you lived outside of the institution. You worked at the corner store before coming home to cook dinner for that dick. You often wondered if you'd have been able to leave him. The thoughts and the not knowing often made you feel crazier. All you wanted as to go home, but rumor is that once you step foot into Briarcliff, you never walk about out.

The clanging of chains knocked you out of your thoughts. Kit was pushed into the room roughly. Even Doll, the woman who refused to let go of her stuffed doll, backed away. Pepper sensed the hostility towards the man and cowered away, going to sit behind the couch.

Kit walked through the room slowly, looking at everyone. He looked at you for a second before sitting on the opposite couch. "You don't look like you belong here," he mumbled, lighting a cigarette.

"Because I don't," you snapped. "And you don't look like a serial killer."

Kit looked down, wincing at the accusation. You apologized quickly. He brushed it off. "I get it. The papers, the radio. They all say I'm a monster."

You apologized again. "I know how it feels to be accused of something you're not."

The two of you sat in silence. Well, not exact silence. The stupid record played on a continuous loop twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. The grunts and whines of the other patients plagued your mind. Pepper walked back in, dandelions in her hands. She proceeded to hand them out to everyone with a big smile.

"Flower. For you," She grinned at you, opening her arms for a hug.

You thanked and hugged the girl. Staring at the flower, you rolled it between your fingers. The sticky sap from the stem only served to remind you of the outdoors. The only view you had was through the painted and barred windows.

"Are you okay?" Kit was crouching in front of you, concerned at the tears you didn't even know were on your cheeks.

You wiped your cheeks off. "Uh, yeah. I just really want to go home."

Kit sat beside you. "I know exactly what you mean.

The two of sat in silence again. "I want to know your side," you said bluntly, "your story."

"There isn't much to tell."

You frowned, "There's always two sides to a story."

Kit let out a sigh, settling into the couch. He began telling you everything from the beginning. The white room. The bright lights shining in his eyes. The death of his wife. You squeezed his hand in reassurance. He seemed to be thankful for the simple action and you understood. You finally figured out the glimmer in his eyes. It was his innocence. I am a much better therapist than Thredson.

Kit took your silence as a bad sign and backed away to the other end of the couch. "I get if you think I really am insane."

"You're not. I know it."