Asylum By Mary C. Paul Jerricaangel@yahoo.com My name is Veronica, and I'm crazy. I don't remember exactly when I fell off my high horse and hit the ground, but I remember I went to school one day naked as a strip croquet victim. I went to my art class and started chopping off my hair with a pair of scissors. Other than that, there isn't much to say. All I know is I was suckered in by this cool guy who made me feel like I was a goddess. How could I have known that was because he intended to play God? How would I have been able to tell that the life I had was a gift I couldn't keep? I can stop fucking kidding myself, because I knew I was going to hell from the beginning. Now here I am, and my fucking psycho of a boyfriend is chunks of dead flesh and ashes, and he's in hell right now laughing his ass off at me here, committed to a mental institution. To me that's worse than any fucking irony, it's the definition of fucked. That was how I introduced myself at the first group session. After that, they yanked me from the group and I was thrown into private sessions. They didn't realize how bad I was. They probably just thought I was depressed. This was beyond their comprehension. The term "shrinks" actually refers to their brain mass and ability to understand people. It has nothing to do with them being able to reduce you to the size of a thumbtack as you sit listening to the lies they bury you in, making a pathetic attempt to tell you what's really wrong with you. I laughed every time one of them took a stab at what was inside my head. I never told them about my part in anything at Westerberg, never mentioned JD more than in passing, never let Freud slip me up so he could stamp Cain's mark on my forehead. That information would die with me, and this fucking asylum would probably be my grave. I was sitting in the rec room watching "The Wizard of Oz" for the hundredth time. I wanted to click my heels together and magically wake up at home in my bed before the whole fucking thing ever started. I'd go to school that day and avoid the Jesse James Dean like the black plague, and never let that dark cloud hover over me, never give him a chance to infect me with his warped fucking idea of rebellion. I could go on every day pretending to be happy, ignoring everyone whose opinion really didn't matter. I could let it all slide, just knowing that I was not an accessory to murder, that I hadn't killed my best friend and two star athletes. Fuck it! They could all live, it didn't matter if we'd never live in peace. That was never going to happen anyway. I deluded myself the whole time I was with JD and this is the cost of disillusionment. The price I paid was my freedom, my sanity, my conscience. If I could wake up at home in my bed that morning, I'd make the conscious decision to not get backed into that corner, leave the dark horse to run, and none of this would ever happen. I wouldn't be in this pill-popping candyland with a secret burden to bear, the cross JD built on my back and then took himself out of the fucking equation. This was a Barnum and Bailey's for the mentally and socially inept, and I was the tragedy attraction of the hour. Everyone knew about poor Veronica. First her best friend killed herself, then two football players she knew killed themselves, and finally her boyfriend strapped a fucking bomb to his chest, and she watched helplessly as he killed himself right on the front steps of the school. Yes, poor little Veronica. Sometimes I felt like spitting it out at them like a slap in the face, like shouting, "Hey, you think you've got fucking problems! Well, I served my best friend a wake-up cup full of liquid drainer, then forged a suicide note so it would look like she killed herself..." I could make them shrink back from me, like psychosis was as contagious as leprosy. The temptation ate away at my insides when they carried on about how nobody loves them, or why they wanted to kill themselves. I wanted them to know I was Dr. Death for people who didn't want a prescription, then see how fucking pale their so-called complications seemed after I'd spewed my sins out on to the floor in front of them for all to see. I never did though. I wanted to shock them. I wanted to shock my therapist. I wanted to shock myself, and then maybe if there was one other person who knew, I wouldn't feel so guilty. I never said anything, because I knew it wouldn't change anything. I'd spend the rest of my life locked up either way, so I'd rather it were somewhere no one had to know anything I didn't want them to know. That gave me the power. That gave me control. If I lost control, my head would grow back in JD's place, and at the same time needing that power and control made me just as scared I'd turn into him. If I was going to do it, I was in the right place. Hold back, lose it-it didn't make a difference here, not in my case. I sat and stared at the television most of the day, and what little time I didn't spend being a passive-aggressive shell in the rec room, I spent being a passive-aggressive shell in my bed curled up in a fetal position. This day was like any other day-me sitting in front of the television, one arm wrapped around my legs, the other resting on my knees, reaching for my hair, finding the long length of it gone, then proceeding to twirl the few inches of hair I had left on my head after that day with the scissors. It surprised me I never thought of jamming them into my fucking skull while I was cutting. When I thought about it, I had never even tried to put myself out of my misery. I didn't want to end up like JD, and I didn't want to join him either. I was going to win, and not give him the satisfaction-Jesus! I'm fighting with a fucking ghost! You belong here, Veronica! Then one of the nurses called out from down the hall. "Veronica Sawyer, you have a visitor." I hated having to leave the rec room. I didn't really enjoy my visitations. It was always my parents, then on occasion, Betty Finn came to see how I was doing. It was nice to think I had one actual friend, but at the same time I knew if I ever told her the truth about what I'd done, she'd never come back. My parents just loved to stop by and ask if I was getting any better, and what my therapists were saying, and talk about all the great things I was missing, and ask when I was going to be able to come home. I was never fucking going home. If JD didn't eventually haunt me into finally slitting my wrists, I'd keep myself here if it meant faking a psychotic episode. I walked out to the nurse and with the most listless expression and mindless tone, I asked, "Where are they?" "They're going to meet you in the visiting center." That was odd. Usually, they were allowed to just come right in, make themselves at home, like they were guests of the psycho ward. The visitation room was like the caf at school, only smaller. It was just a bunch of tables with those round little extensions held up on metal legs for seats. It just reinforced the fact that this was a mental institution. The walls were all painted white so as not to excite anyone or stimulate outpourings of emotion, and there were no separate chairs that could be used as weapons or become objects of abuse. The whole thing was a fucking depressing sight in and of itself. The nurse walked me downstairs to the completely deserted visiting room, and sat me down at the table in the far right corner to wait for my visitor even though the whole place was empty. I put my head down on the table, and buried my face in my arms. I let myself get lost in the silent abyss that was this fucking ugly room. I didn't hear a sound, not the squeak of a door opening, not the thud of a door closing, not a single footfall, and it was beautiful being that alone for just a few minutes, but then rasp and gravel. "Greetings and Salutations." I froze. My heart caught on the barbed wire strings of the Devil's harp, snagged by its painfully familiar chord. I mustered the courage and slowly picked my head up off the table. My eyes were as wide open as they could be, eliminating the possibility I was dreaming. My mouth formed a perfect little circle, and my breath came out of it so delicate, and very gradually I started breathing heavier, like I'd hyperventilate in slow motion. It was him. JD was sitting right in front of me, rigth across the fucking table from me flashing me that fucking omnipotent grin that screamed the joke was on me, and bending those eyebrows like hooks knowing he had me. I managed to get words to come, full of breath and whispers. "You're not dead." He had his hands folded in front of him like a mafia choirboy and when he spoke he opened his fingers. "You noticed. You're quick. I always liked that about you." His voice seemed so loud, reverberating slightly in a room with no echo, and I couldn't raise mine a single decibel. "Why aren't you dead?" "Now THAT is a good question! It's a GREAT fucking question! Too bad you weren't armed with that artillery the day we met. It would've made great material-you know, instead of that lotto-Ed McMahon shit question. Since you've got such a brilliant question for me, Veronica, I have one equally as amazing for you. It's a real doozy. You wanna hear it?" He was bursting with life and enthusiasm, and I was wishing he'd just burst-like I thought he had already. I sat and stared at him in the mindless way I did the television so often. The only difference was the incredulous twist and shock in my eyes, but even that was fading, like my facial expression was going numb. I answered him with the same hushed voice that I couldn't inject with any strength. I thought if that would just happen, I might be able to exhibit some of that power he saw in me once, because he sure as hell didn't see it now. "What's your fucking question?" "Who's the fucking psycho now, huh?" He scoffed, chuckled a little bit, mocked me with his squinting, scornful eyes. "I mean, think about what this says. I'm walking around out there, while you're rotting away in here. It hurts to look at me, doesn't it. Well, forgive me, darlin', but I'm feeling VERY fucking superior right now. You can't imagine the sheer thrill of hearing you were hauled away to the nut house, and you know me-I just couldn't resist the temptation! Here's a fifty-cent word for you-serendipity. Remember that one next time you're taking a vocab test with safety pencils and a circle of paper!" I wanted to find the strength to kill him with my bare hands. Even though he was finding himself infinitely amusing in that demonic JD way, he restrained himself from going into hysterics right there and then. He lashed out at me without blinking an eye, cold, controlled, the trenchcoat centerfold. I didn't even have time to feel a wound before he hit me again, everything he did letting me know he'd save his boisterous laughter for when he rode off on his Harley, certain I was breaking down in tears as he sped away from this shit hole. I was becoming desperate to make it clear that wasn't going to happen. I wanted to get him to stop, which was all I had ever wanted since the second I'd seen him start. He knew he had enough ammunition to take me, break me, then forsake me. I was powerless against him, because I didn't have the big guns to whip out like he did-NO! That wasn't true, and if I could just have played this angle right, I blast him to bits with it. I'd blow the lid off his whole fucking complacent, self-righteous deal! Suddenly, I got the balls to make my stand, because I had a trick up my sleeve he couldn't trip me on. My voice regained that strength and I was firm enough to make that smug little smile melt off his fucking face. "Laugh it up, JD. Laugh it up, because you won't be laughing very fucking long. You blew it big time, asshole. Now that I know you're alive, I can tell everyone the truth. I'll tell them about Heather, Kurt and Ram, and what the real story was behind your sick fucking petition. I don't care if I go down, because you're going to break my fall!" I was resonant, and shot him back a wicked little smirk. I thought how well I had showed him he wasn't the only one ready to play. He built up a laughing riot and every time he glanced back to me, he erupted into hysterics again, as though my seriousness and attempt to be threatening was too funny to ignore. I sat patiently waiting for the hyena-jackal hybrid to quit howling at the moon, and try to dodge this silver bullet. "You are a stupid bitch, you know that. You had me fooled thinking you were smart for a while, but I was right about you from the beginning." His laughter died out, and he leaned in closer to me, glaring directly into my eyes with that same predatory cunning. "Look at where you are! Do you honestly think anyone's going to believe one fucking word you say? Jason Dean is dead. I'm a figment of your fucked-up, tormented imagination. I'm nothing more than a hallucination brought on by a guilty conscience. You're credibility is stillborn at this point, my dear." I was crushed. He squashed all my hope with one blow, and that's the end of this entire war I've been deceiving myself into thinking I was winning. Poof, just like that I was defeated. I shrank right there in front of him without budging. I wanted him as far away from me as possible. I wanted to scream for him to leave, but all I could say was, "Why are you here?" "What's that, darlin'?" "I said why are you here? You can go. You've won. You must be pretty full of yourself right about now. You said it yourself, I'm in here, and you're out there. So why are you still here?" "Ah, the direct approach. Another thing I always liked about you. You don't beat around the bush. I never have to wonder what you're thinking, because you just tell me, even if I didn't ask for your opinion." On the outside, I just looked like I was sulking, but every word he said made my blood boil and it scalded me to have to listen. "I can get you out of here." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was making it worse, compounding everything he hated about me upon everything I hated about him, then suddenly waving a blood-stained flag as a peace offering in the interest of self- gratification. "You have to be kidding." "No, Veronica, my love, I kid you not." Something softened in his face, but it wasn't his callous glare. He seemed more relaxed, like I was expected to trust him and he could get comfortable. "Why?" "You see, Sherwood is just too fucking boring, and in the past year, I haven't been able to get cozy anywhere for more than a few months. I'm moving on to greener pastures. Just passing through really. I thought I'd look you up maybe, but when I heard about your predicament, I decided I wasn't going to pass up an opportunity as unique as this one, and for two reasons. One-because I needed a good laugh today, and this is something I'm going to remember for the rest of my life. Two-I thought I'd throw caution to the wind, let the chips fall where they may, and make you an offer. I'll get you out of here, if you come with me." He was out of his fucking mind! After all this time, after all this shit, after all his insults and trying to kill me! What really burned me up was that I was seriously considering taking him up on it. "I've always had a soft spot for you, Veronica. I like having you around, and believe it or not, I miss having you around." I was fuming, but more than that I was conflicted. I felt that same way, but I could never in reality stay with him as nice as the fantasy is. Life with JD isn't the way I think of it sometimes. I can fantasize all I want, and while I'm pretending he and I get along like Bonnie and Clyde, I might as well pretend Heather, Ram and Kurt are still alive too. It's a beautiful fantasy, but the reality and truth of it was that life with JD was a fucking nightmare, and here he was, the Devil with his contract making it sound so simple. "You could walk out of here with me today!" His words were so enticing, and for a moment he was full of passion and sounded excited at the thought of the two of us carrying on like we were a hell of a team, him the Devil and me his concubine. "You can come with me and have a second chance at the door I tried to open to you a year ago. Of course, you can always stay here and die the mature adult you always wanted to be. Either way, it's no skin off my back. I like you, Veronica, but I don't need you. As much as I might miss you at times, I can live very easily without you. I would like having you around again though. Things are always interesting with you. You're a luxury item, a novel concept, you follow me? So, what do you say?" I watched him wait impatiently for my response or my retaliation. I think he knew deep down I would never agree to that, and that I would never go with him. I think he made the offer just in case I faltered, just in case I might cave or have a moment of weakness he could use to his advantage, and I'm sure he made the offer to double as a taunt. The lure of freedom-his kind of freedom- dangled in front of me, not only to be cruel, but to see if I might take the bait. The tease was merely an added bonus to him. "Fuck you! I'm not going anywhere with you. We are over! I thought you were fucking psychotic then, and I think you're fucking psychotic now." "Yes, that may be true, but I'm not going to be the one to die in a fucking asylum, am I." He leaned in closer to let his eyes burn holes into my soul. "And you have it all wrong, my dear. You're the one who's fucked here, not me." I couldn't stand his tone or his expression anymore. I wanted to rip that fucking smile right off his face, and I reached across the table and grabbed the collar of his jacket. He was strong and he'd fought me off before, but he didn't once lift a finger to defend himself against my physical attack. I shook him, I climbed on top of the table to really get at him, and then I realized why he wasn't fighting back. I felt two of the male orderlies grab my arms and pull me off him and start dragging me away from the table into the corner kicking and screaming like a fucking mental patient. "Needless to say, my offer has expired. Nice seeing you again, Veronica! Have a wonderful life. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, et cetera." My eyes stayed fixed on him, but his voice was being drowned out and my vision got fuzzy, and as he walked out the door, I was being rendered unconscious by the injection they shot into me to subdue me. I woke up the next morning safe and sound in the security of my room on the third floor, curled up on my bed, like any other night I would have crawled into it on my own. When my eyes opened a little wider, I saw the earliest light of the morning peeking through the window, and noticed the curtains were billowing in the breeze. I sat up when I realized the window was wide open. That was when I saw the folded piece of purple cloth on my pillow. I unfolded it carefully, and jumped back off the bed and stood up against the wall disgusted and repulsed. The stench of decay and formaldehyde and God knows what other preservatives filled the air. It was JD's middle finger. By: Mary C. Paul Copyright March 2001