Page 14 of Asylum
Patients never leave.
If we can’t control them, we dispose of them, the manner in which that happens is of no importance. It’s truly survival of the fittest here, and if you’re weak, you’ll be euthanized, and I’ll collect a hefty amount of compensation for your organs.
Simple.
But deep down, I know my little doll is a survivor, and I have every intention of proving it. I’ll teach her how to survive in this hell, though I’ll be the devil in her story. The villain she’ll come to despise, the man she’ll need above all else.
Wellard Asylum is an unsanctioned hospital, meaning there’s no government agencies or programs overseeing it. It’s privately owned, therefore Dr. Halstead can run the place however he sees fit.
I’ve heard many rumors about him since I came here. Some of the whispers lingering in the halls say he was a patient at Wellard during his teenage years after killing his entire family. They claim he changed his name, earned a degree, and took over as the main psychiatric doctor immediately after Dr. Ravine died. I find it hard to believe a previous patient would be in charge of this facility, but stranger things have happened in the few years I’ve been here. While those particular statements may be rumors, there are things I’ve seen with my own eyes, things I took part in. Participating because it interested me or simply to earn his trust.
Halstead has a hidden basement inside the asylum; one he uses for his own research in new treatment options for the criminally insane. He subjects patients to sensory deprivation, lobotomies, and my personal favorite, electroconvulsive therapy. I’ve been present, looking on as he performs transorbital lobotomies, a truly fascinating approach to altering the way a brain processes emotion.
I find sensory deprivation to be effective, but it takes a while for most patients to react. I’m a fan of instant gratification, so this method doesn’t appeal to me as much as electroconvulsive therapy. It’s instant stimulation used to subdue the person’s brain functions. It has certain side effects if performed often, but used sparingly, it will help the patient with their mental illness.
Knowing Olivia will require certain treatments has a bolt of excitement shooting through me. The plan I’ve come up with has me thinking outside the box, and a little deprivation might just be what my little doll needs.
I’m so fucking confused.
I’ve come to depend on him for comfort and support, yet he’s left me alone in this fucking hole, like I’m nothing.
“Stupid fucking girl.”The voice in my head screams as I realize I’ve once again put my trust in someone who doesn’t deserve it. He toyed with me and got what he wanted. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he does the same thing with all the other female patients.I have a migraine from all the back and forth in my head. I make excuses for him, then I tell myselfI’m nothing more than a plaything, a warm hole to stick his dick in.
Why do I keep doing this to myself? What happened with my family should’ve taught me a hard lesson, but for some reason, I refuse to learn.
You can’t trust anyone but yourself.
“You seem agitated today.” His voice breaks through my thoughts.
He had Nurse Carter bring me into his office fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t bother looking up from his paperwork, only pointing to the couch for me to sit.
Bastard.
“You’re keeping me in the isolation ward. At least in gen pop I could talk to people.”
“You make it sound like you’re in prison.”
My jaw clenches. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was a play date.”
“Olivia, you know I don’t care for sarcasm.”
“Respectfully Dr. Stone, fuck you.” Damn. I’m on a roll today.
His dark eyes meet my gaze, his jaw clenching so tightly, I’m surprised his teeth don’t shatter. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
I know I should take it back, smooth things over, but I’m not in the mood today. Uncrossing my legs, I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, enunciating each word slowly, adding volume to my voice. “I. Said. Fuck. You.”
He opens the top drawer of his desk, removing something I can’t see. Rising from his chair, he makes his way towards me, a sadistic grin on his smug face.
My eyes dart to his right hand, a syringe dangling from his fingers. “Atlas, no!” I scream, jumping from the couch.
His devious grin widens, his perfect, white teeth gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the window. My stomach churns, bile teasing the back of my throat.
One.
Two.
Three.