Young Writers Society

"So, Crystallo Josephine Realiza, correct?" the therapist asked Crystal, glancing down at his clipboard. Crystal thought that his name was Dr. Peter Dalsia--a tall, olive-skinned man with brown hair and blue eyes who was evidently a player.

"Call me Your True Leader," Crystal said, not looking up from her nails that she was pretending to study in distaste. She didn't like this man, especially since he was forty, married, and having an affair with a twenty-seven-year-old woman.

"I believe that you already told the nurses to call you Crystal, so that's what I'm going to call you," the therapist said. This American-Christian asshole.

"Now, that's just disrespectful," Crystal blandly answered. "You should call me what I told you to call me, not what I told other people to call me."

"So, Crystal, do you know why you're here?" the therapist asked her, ignoring the sass that bombarded out of Crystal's mouth. His face sported a frown starring furrowed eyebrows. Crystal wondered how he managed to get a twenty-seven-year-old woman to sleep with him, with a face like that.

"If I didn't know why I was here, I would have asked already," Crystal replied bluntly, looking up from her nails. She leaned back and kicked her feet up onto the arm of the couch, placing her hands behind her head.

"I would like you to explain your side in detail, Crystal." Dalsia rubbed his prosthetic leg absentmindedly, a habit that, so Crystal observed, that he did when nervous or annoyed.

"Do you want me to explain in technical terms or to dumb it down to your level?" Crystal shot back.

"Whichever you prefer, Crystal," the therapist answered, his blue eyes flashing with annoyance.

Crystal mocked him under her breath. "Basically, man tries to have the sex with me. I don't like the sex. I stab him. He dies. Oops. The end. Did you understand that or do I have to dumb it down further?"

The therapist ignored her. "I have a few other questions for you, Crystal, and you'll be let go." He scribbled something down on his clipboard.

"I have a question for you. Do you always use the name that I asked you not to call me inside of all of your sentences? Like, when you're having sex or something and you cry out Ciara's name, instead of that, do you cry out 'Crystal!'?" she asked him, imitating a gasp.

"That is not an appropriate question to ask here, Crystal."

"The question that you asked about my life wasn't appropriate either. I'm a traumatized woman! I was almost raped!" Crystal pretended to almost cry. "Please, officer, let me go."

"Crystal, the more you cooperate the faster you'll get out of here," the therapist said. Crystal could tell that he was saying it more for himself than for her. "So please answer them seriously and quickly."

"If you ask the questions, it'll go faster too," Crystal pointed out.

He sighed. "Where did you get that eye-patch, Crystal?" He pointed in the general direction of her face, where an eye-patch was covering her left eye. There were some strings attached to the square thing that looped around both of her ears.

"From the hospital. It is a medical eyepatch, after all. It might even be the same place where you got that leg," Crystal suggested. She was really enjoying this. She hadn't sassed an annoying man in a very long time.

"Thank you for the information, Crystal, but I was wondering how you got it," the therapist said.

"The nurse gave it to me. She said that I needed it, since I don't have a goddamn eye," Crystal snapped. She didn't like to discuss how she lost it, and she especially didn't want to tell the story to this asshole.

"So, Crystal, how did you lost the eye?" he asked. Dalsia was sure that she would answer with a straight answer this time, much to Crystal's irritation.

"Tell me how you lost your leg first," Crystal answered, even though she knew perfectly well how he lost it.

"No, Crystal, I expect you to answer my question. Was it in an accident?" Dalsia asked her.

"Yes, it was, so stop aggrivating me," Crystal snapped at him.The therapist was obviously exhasperated by now. "Crystal, do you understand your mental state?"

"We already went over this. I am aware that I have anti-social personality disorder and, before that broad term that we use nowadays, I would classify as a psychopath. I know." Crystal turned from wanting to annoy Dalsia to wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. She didn't want to be in the room with the therapist any longer than she had to. "I know all of that; I'm not stupid. Can I leave now?"

The psychologist was more than happy to oblige. "Please, do," he said. Crystal jumped up and ran out of the room, glancing at the certificate that read: "Dr. Peter Dalsia, PhD." PhD, my ass, Crystal thought. No one with that much horribleness stuffed inside of their soul can have a true PhD.

She skidded in front of the nurse and asked to go back to her room. The nurse nodded, and led the redhead into the room and shut the door.

Crystal jumped onto her bed and grinned, hoping that her client was going to come soon. She didn't want to stay inside of this place any longer.

--

In fact, the things that woke Thomas up were his own groggy thoughts repeating things in his head. My name is Thomas. I am 17 years old. My name is Thomas. I am 17 years old. My nameis Thomas. Iam 17years old. Mynameis Thom as . I am sevente en yearsold. Myname isThom as. Iam17y ears old. Myna mei s Tho masI amseven teenyea rsold. 17thomas my thomas 17 nameis MynameisThomasIam17yearsold my nameis 17 i am thomasyearsold my nameis thomas-

He didn't want to open his eyes and let Toffee know that he was awake. No, sir, he didn't want Toffee to stick more needles in him to make him go to sleep again to experiment some more. Thomas, still stuck in the darkness, strained his ears for anything to tell him where he was.The air was crisper, that's for sure, than the air that he was used to down at the lab. He remembered that Toffee said something about the lab being underground. There was no way that the air could be changed that easily, unless Toffee had put Thomas under for about a month. Thomas took a deep breath, happy that he wasn't gasping for once.

Something--a television?--was playing, talking about a boy who was found in an abandoned building in some place called Medford. This sounded oddly familiar to Thomas, though he was sure that he had never heard of Medford before. There was a beeping to the right of him, most likely from a machine to scan his vitals to tell Toffee when Thomas was ready to be experimented on. From the steady beeping, Thomas could tell that Toffee was going to come back any minute and play with his innards like he always did on Thursdays.

Is it a Thursday? I'm notsure.

He could feel something on his finger, but he wasn't sure what it was. He also felt something warm that was thrown on top of him. Was it a blanket? It's been years and years since Thomas had a blanket on him.It didn't feel like cloth, however. It was more... plasticky.

He slowly opened his eyes and tried to look around, but his head didn't want to move. Neither did his hands and legs. All he could see were the tiles on the ceiling, peppered with small marks. In his peripheral vision, he could see the beige walls. Barely, at the top of his vision, he could see various equipment. Something was attached to his finger. There was something around his mouth.

Something around his mouth. thE reiSsomEthIN Gar ouNDmym OUth idon'tlikeit nottoffee i don'tlikeit no no nono

The teenager began to shake and shiver, his stomach beginning to churn and make him feel nauseus. Why did Toffee move me to another room? His hands began to lash out, knocking one of the machines out of the way. Whywhywhywhy whatdoes he wantto d o Emotions and dread overwhelmed him, but they felt... detached, almost, like he was out of his body. Toffeeithurtstoffeeno s top Thomas's heart was beating out of his chest as he started to sweat all over the place. plEAse He could see nurses, but everything was disoriented--the sides were all stretched out, like a fisheye lens, and the voices were discombobulated. Why are your nurses weird and new now what did you do to the old ones whatdidyoudo Flushes and chills filled up his whole body. Whereamitoffee His throat and lungs began to feel like they were closing up and he began to force his head to thrash back and forth, trying to shake the dizziness out of his head. What are the things on mewhereisthemetal He began to cry as the pins and needles ran up and down his body. You're sticking nEEDLES IN MY BODY againagain a gain His hoarse voice started to scream, which were only interrupted by him vomiting blood and liquid all over the place, even projectiling at some points. whatdIDY OUDOTO ME His stomach was still churning even when there was nothing left, and his mouth and throat were dry from it all. toffeeto ffeetoffeetoffe etoffe enon onononononono

Thomas felt something, barely something, pinch his arm.

Black.