Page 54 of Madness

“Wait. Was it thee Alice that he killed?” I question.

“We don’t know, but if it was, would it not make sense? Thee Alice was mad, mad enough to name her son after her. Maybe he inherited her illness as well as her name.” Bander says, picking at his nails.

“Well, shit.”

Desmond grasps my wrist, dragging me into the shower with him. Now, the room is filled with steam, and he helps wash me down.

Bander never takes his eye off us, watching Desmond’s movements like a predator tracking its prey.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” I chuckle.

“I like seeing you like this,” Bander comments.

“What naked?”

“Happy Atropa. It’s not often I get to see you like this in this place unless my cock or Jameson is inside of you.”

I roll my eyes at his dramatics, but he isn’t wrong.

The longer I’ve been here, the harder it’s been for me to find happiness unless I’m with one of my men.

Harry can barely stand to be around me nowadays, preferring to spend his time with his animals, and I can’t keep hiding how much it hurts when we used to be so close when we were both first admitted.

Al is a reminder of the innocence we all held when we first walked through those doors, with no clue what waited for us on the inside.

Dusty is part of Desmond, and we share similar interests in art, even though we don’t talk much. But there is no Desmond without Dus and no Dusty without Des.

I thought I would get out of here eventually, that my parents would see that I was not suicidal and that I was just a little sad.

It got more challenging to get out of bed each day, and I guess White managed to convince them that I wasn’t stable enough to be at home.

“Go to therapy, Atropa. Jameson wants you in his office afterwards,” he smirks at me, knowing what’s waiting for me when I get there.

“Will you be visiting?” I slyly ask.

“You’ll be just down the hall. I’ll be able to use you whenever I like, baby. Now, let Desmond finish washing you and get to therapy. I’ll see you later.” He pops his head through the shower door, kisses me softly on the lips, and then leaves.

“Shall we?” Desmond wiggles his eyebrows, the soapy washcloth in his hand.

“We shall.” I laugh at him, stepping back into his embrace.

Abe gives us a curious look when we arrive together, and the others are already there.

I’m always late, and I really thought he would be used to it by now, but alas, apparently not.

“Are you ready?” Abe quirks his bushy brow at us all once we’ve taken our seats, and we all murmur our agreements – not like we have a choice.

He stands from his seat and strides over to the teapot in the corner of the room, which is now whistling on the small hotplate he keeps here for his more eccentric sessions.

He fills five cups halfway with the brown liquid, steam floats up into the air, curling aroundhis face like the smoke from his pipe, and he hands one to each of us.

Al eyes his warily, almost as if he’s waiting for it to come to life and jump from the cup.

“Drink.” Abe orders.

We do, and the tea glides smoothly down my throat. The fruity but earthy taste sticks to my tastebuds, but it’s not terrible, so I quickly finish the rest.

The others grimace as they do the same, and I have to resist the urge to laugh as their faces scrunch up in distaste.

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