Page 108 of Twisted Heathens

“What medication am I on?”

The needle slips beneath my skin, icy fluid rapidly spreading as Lazlo watches my reaction. “Experimental anti-psychotics, dear. Blackwood is a pioneering institution in the psychiatric community. You are all forwarding the progression of science. Isn’t that good?”

Lazlo retakes his seat behind the desk, shuffling back through my heavy file. If only I could get down here and burn it to shreds before I depart. A final farewell to the bastards that have plagued the last twelve months of my life. And the rest.

“Last time we were discussing your diagnoses and you mentioned your family. Mind if we discuss that a little further?” He peeks at his notes quickly. “Your mother, specifically.”

“I told you there’s nothing to discuss,” I snap.

“It’s important to acknowledge the past. These things don’t stay quiet in their tidy little boxes. What have you been carrying around with you, Brooklyn?”

Bereavement.

Drugs.

Assault.

Murder.

“Nothing,” I state coldly.

“How old were you when they died? Ten?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my fingers into my eyelids until I see stars. Anything to avoid the familiar faces that swim to the surface, despite being buried deep and rotten to the core. My original wound, ancient yet still tragically present.

“Your mother was a paranoid schizophrenic,” he presses.

“She was sick and loved her imaginary children more than me,” I blurt out, hands fisting in Eli’s soft hoodie to hide the tremble. “She lost her fucking mind and died, that’s it.”

“What makes you think that she loved her hallucinations?”

I cross my legs and swallow hard.

“You acknowledge that she was sick,” Lazlo points out, tapping his pen.

“But she didn’t fight it. She just gave up and was consumed by her insanity. That’s what took them from me,” I choke up, voice wavering. “She didn’t want to live but couldn’t leave us behind.”

We’re going for a drive, Brooke. You, me and Daddy.

A nice long drive together.

“Are you ‘fighting it’, Brooklyn? Unlike her?”

Lazlo looks at me, calm as anything, while I feel like a tornado is ripping me apart. What gives this dickhead the right to ask me that? I’ve spent every damn day since that car wreck fighting it. Since my mother lost her battle and tried to kill us all, just to appease the monsters in her mind.

“Yes,” I mutter, my cheeks flaming. It’s a fucking lie.

I’m done fighting. Utterly, inarguably done.

“What would happen if you were to just give in?” Lazlo muses, chin resting on folded hands. He cocks his head, beady eyes far too big behind his thick glasses.

“What… What do you mean?” I gulp.

“You tell me. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

He holds his pen poised, ready for my answer.

“Nothing. I will just… disappear. Like ashes in the wind.”

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