•°•A Place For Insane•°•

1. Organ Psycho

"Emma Grace?" A voice calls. I get up from the hard chair. Its hard to get up with my hands bound to my chest in a white shirt, but with the help of a man in a white coat, I manage to get up without complications. I wouldn't need the assistance if I had any sleep in the past three days. But I really haven't had any of it. I just kept on staring at the ceiling of my cell that the doctors call 'room'. How can one call this hell hole a room?

The man in the white coat leads me inside the office of the psychiatrist, and sits me down on the chair thats directly in front of the psychiatrist. The man ties my feet tight onto the chair legs with wires that always leave marks in the end. I don't mind the pain, really. So I say nothing.

The doctor turns around on his rolling arm chair and looks over at me with a smile. I haven't seen this one before. He motions for everyone to walk out of the office and leave him alone.

"Ah, Miss Grace." He says and clasps his hands together once there's nobody else in the room aside from the two of us. My eyes widen at his voice. I frown. The voice absolutely doesn't suit him."Pleasure to meet you." He states. I don't respond. The man has white hair, his eyes light blue, and very soft facial features that almost make me want to trust him. However his voice feels out of place, as though it doesn't really belong to him. But that's impossible, right? I eye him suspiciously. Why would someone with such gentle face features and the lightest blue eyes have a voice like that? I'm still frowning, and not saying anything. "Well, let's see..." he looks down at what I guess might be my profile. "How old are you?" He asks. Even if my profile was not in front of him in this moment, I know that he definitely has it, so he must know everything about me. But I decide to answer anyway to avoid consequences.

"I'm seventeen." I answer quietly.

"Still very young, I see." He smiles and I flinch. I want to move away, to shut my ears or even damage my ear drums so I don't hear that voice again. Suddenly I understand why I'm always tied up. What the hell is going on? I shift uncomfortably in my seat, but the movement goes unnoticed. "So, Emma, do you know the cause of your parents' death?" He asks. I huff in discomfort.

"Yes." I whisper.

"Can you tell me?" He asks and tries to meet my eyes. I shut them to avoid looking at him. I can't look at those lightest of blue pearls. Those eyes are a lie. His soft, old man face is a lie. Everything is a lie. He is a fraud.

A fraud. A fraud. A fraud. A fraud.

"No." I force out quietly.

"Why not?" He asks, but I don't respond. Then, he gets up and sits on another chair, closer to me. He puts his hand on mine. "Emma, please, tell me what you know, I'm only trying to help you."

I shake my head, eyes still shut and my head facing down. I feel my brown hair tickle my cheeks as it hangs like curtains, shielding most of my face. The only thing protecting me from this fraud.

I rock myself lightly in the chair, as far as my tied down body allows me to move, my hair moving along with my slight movements, tickling me even more.

"Emma, make smart decisions, please." He says.

Please, please stop talking. Go away, please just go away.

"You saw that their mouths were sewn, right?" He continues.

Go away. Please, go away.

"Did you sew their mouths, Emma? Hm?" He asks. At that, I stop rocking in my chair, and my eyes open. Slowly, my eyes move up to meet his, but my head is still face to face with my cut up thighs. "Did you...kill them?" He asks, but I don't respond. He knows. He already knows everything. And yet he knows absolutely nothing.