PRISONERS

Chapter 1

• Chapter 1 •

Wednesday 20th November 2019

Ι played with the short ends of my hair carelessly as boredom had occured me. Logan, the head FBI agent, was late and the typical conversation about my psychological health once a month isn't my favorite thing to do. The room is quite cold and my orange uniform isn't thick enough to keep me warm.

I remember the first time I was put in this room for my first psychological test. Cane, my therapist, was very hesitant and careful when he met me. He was scared of me, he had heard about my two murders in four hours I had managed to do and I could tell he wasn't very excited to be in the same room as me. His hands would tremble slightly and he would nervously push his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose every once in a while. As the years passed through, he finally realized that my actions were reasoned and I was hurt deeply. Or at least that's what he told me.

Truth is, I have been isolated for four years. In my own cell, with no roommates, just four guards watching me every day, bringing me food and water, my therapist checking up on my mental health and officer Logan, who was in charge for me. He has been very protective and strict with anything that has to do with me from the moment I was put in here.

As the days passed, I calmed down. It was difficult to adjust in the darkness and isolation of my cell, with curious and hateful eyes burning holes to my head from each corner, but I slowly got used to it. At first, I shut down to myself. I wouldn't speak to anyone, how much eat. I was encouranged to eat however, when Cane told me I'm too pretty to do this to myself and lose weight.

Pretty pretty pretty girl.

Kayn’s voice never really let my head. Whenever someone called me pretty, my mood flew to the ceiling, but his voice brought anger and hate to my heart. I ended up hurting myself by punching my head whenever I tried to ignore his voice, only for Logan to order to get my hands and legs tied down to my bed for a week. Whenever Kayn’s voice visited my mind, I would scream and shake in my bed, furiously trying to get him out of my head.

Until I gave up and accepted him. His voice isn't really bothering me anymore. The word ‘pretty’ just reminded me of him and the short song I had written especially for his murder. I chuckle to myself as the memory of his horrified expression when I sang to him while grazing his neck with my knife slowly.

Pretty pretty pretty
Kiss so soft, lips so wrong—

The door opened and Cane walked in, eyeing me sternly with a brow raised. Logan followed, his green eyes serious and upset. “Hello Rosie,” Cane greeted, walking over to his chair and taking a seat, Logan copying him.

“Hello.” I smiled up at both of them, happy to see them. I really like these guys, they obviously think of me as a terrible psychotic monster, but they aren't wrong, so I can't be offended.

I am crazy, I know I am.

“You were singing that sick song again, weren't you?” Logan said bitterly, obviously negative about me singing a murder song.

I innocently shrugged my shoulders, tilting my head to the side slightly. “Maybe.” I smirked, him pursing his lips flat in disapproval.

“Maybe you should write another song, I know you love to sing,” Cane suggested, settling his file down on the table in front of him. “It's a great way to express yourself.” he added on, adjusting his glasses.

I looked up at him excitedly, “Can I sing it in my cell?” I asked, Logan holding my gaze as he thought about it. His features and expressions have been softer at me the past year, I don't know why, maybe because he got used to my face and has accepted the fact that he has to see me everyday and be responsible for me. But, he was still very strict.