Page 1 of Asylum (The Wellard Asylum #9)

“ Y our son has fucking raped me for months!” I scream at the top of my lungs, my hate and disgust igniting the fuse connected to the ticking time bomb inside my head.

“You’ve corrupted my baby with your whore ways!” My stepmother seethes, and I laugh hysterically, wondering what fucking universe she lives in.

This bitch is delusional, and I feel my control unraveling. “He took my virginity, you psycho cunt! He held me down, ripped my clothes off, and violated my body against my fucking will.”

“Lies!” She screeches, the high-pitched sound snapping the invisible link tethering logic to my sanity.

White hot rage simmers beneath my skin, a pulsing sensation taking root in the center of my forehead.

My chest tightens uncomfortably, heat flushing my entire upper body.

She knows I have anger issues, yet she continues to push me.

I’ve told her repeatedly to back the fuck off, I can’t control my emotions once they hit their peak.

Does she listen? No.

She won’t stop defending her demon spawn long enough to heed the warning signs.

“I’ll say this one last time,” I grit out. “Keep your fucking son away from me.”

He stole my innocence while I fought him tooth and nail. Swinging my fists, kicking my legs, sinking my teeth into any part of his body I could reach.

It did nothing.

He slammed his fist into the side of my head, knocking me out cold.

I came to as he sprayed my chest with his cum, saying over and over how beautiful my blood looked on his cock.

He left shortly after, and I spent an hour in the shower, alternating between puking my guts up, and scrubbing my skin raw.

She knows the truth, but she’ll deny it until the day she dies. Which may be tonight if she doesn’t walk away now .

“You little bitch!” She screams, backhanding me across the face.

My head whips to the side, momentarily stunned until my eyes land on the fire poker sitting in the rack. The pulsing in my forehead quickly morphs into piercing, throbbing pain, engulfing my entire skull as it roars to life. My vision dims at the corners of my eyes, sweat beading above my brows.

“Do it!” A voice penetrates through the ringing in my ears, a sudden wave of calm taking over. “Do it!”

My hand shoots out, wrapping my fingers around the iron poker, a sense of rightness blanketing me as I pull it from the black, metal stand.

Spinning around, shock registers on my stepmother’s face as I plunge it into her abdomen, the hook of the poker disappearing inside her belly.

Tearing through tissue and muscles, I don’t stop pushing until I hear the popping of her skin, the rod protruding from her back.

A putrid smell permeates the air in the room but I don’t acknowledge the waste spilling from her intestines, poisoning her body as I watch her face contort in anguish, her suffering bringing me satisfaction.

She screams in agony, and I smile, meeting resistance as I attempt to pull the poker from her stomach. The iron tip reappears after some effort, her intestines dangling from the hook.

I feel like I’ve gone fishing.

My father bellows from the other side of the living room as she falls to her knees, her usually tan skin ghostly pale. She gasps for air as he runs to her side, falling to his knees, screaming her name. “Linda! Linda!”

“Shut the fuck up, Dad!” I cackle, jerking the poker back and forth until her insides plop on the floor beside him, the sickly moist sound almost as atrocious as the foul odor depletes the oxygen from the room.

My father turns his head, locking his gaze on me, pure hatred in his eyes.

He stayed in the kitchen this entire time, allowing his new wife to scream and assault his own flesh and blood.

His only child. He didn’t say a word or come to my defense.

I don’t know why I expected more from the man who raised me.

There was a time in my life when I looked up to him.

He was caring, helpful, and present. Since meeting the cunt currently bleeding out on the floor, he’s become angry, resentful, and quick to knock me to the ground.

I knew I didn’t matter anymore the day he announced their engagement.

I begged him not to marry her, told him what Scott was doing to me.

As soon as the words left my mouth, he backhanded me, demanding I stop making up stories just because I don’t like them.

That was the day I realized I was on my own, abandoned by the man meant to protect me.

I vowed to myself as soon as I turn eighteen, I’d leave this hell hole.

He rises to his feet, taking a menacing step towards me. My fingers tighten around the poker, readying myself to kill the man who helped create me.

“You little bitch,” he grits out, taking another step forward.

“Come any closer, and you’ll be dead before you hit the floor.”

“I made your mother leave when she beat the shit out of you. I should’ve let her fucking kill you.”

His words should sting, but I feel nothing.

My biological mother was an addict. He didn’t make her leave because she was physically abusing me.

He got rid of her because she was draining him financially, and we never heard from her again.

The loving father I knew as a little girl is gone, replaced by the pathetic man standing in front of me now. He chose his new family over me.

He didn’t protect me from the monster in the room across from mine. He knew, and did absolutely nothing to stop it. “And I wish she would’ve fucked anyone other than you, but here we are, old man.” I grin, noticing Linda’s chest has stopped moving in my peripheral vision.

His face darkens to a crimson as if his head is about to blow off his shoulders. His fists clench at his sides, his stance widening, readying himself for a fight.

Please. Fucking. Do. It.

My wish is granted when he lunges forward, both his hands flying to my throat.

My reflexes are catlike as I jump back, raising the fire poker with lightning speed, swinging it like a batter going for the season’s record home run.

It connects with his temple, the hook sinking into his skull with a squelch.

He falls to the floor with a thud, into a heap beside his beloved, dead wife.

Blood gushes from his head, seeping into the rug beneath him.

I watch with fascination as the crimson liquid stains the cream material, the area growing larger until it meets Linda’s.

He rocks from side to side, cradling his head, whimpering.

“Please. I’m your father,” he whines, pleading for mercy.

Moving to stand over him, I plant my feet on either side of his neck. “You’re nothing to me.” Positioning the poker at his throat, I slam it into his jugular, blood spraying my lower body and the floor around us.

His hands fly to his throat, gasping for the oxygen just out of reach. Pulling the poker from his neck, my skin prickles as I watch him suffer, the adrenaline in my veins pumping harder than ever before.

His eyes widen comically before slowly drooping as his breaths become shallow, slower, a satisfying death rattle vibrating his chest. Wetness blooms between his legs, the smell of his urine mixing with the smell of her shit.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat, and I fall to my knees beside his dying body, bending down to whisper into his ear. “Rot in hell, cunt.” His chest deflates for the final time, and I fall back onto my ass.

Fuck, that felt good.

My body trembles, the urge to kill still in the forefront of my mind. I struggle to calm my racing heart, my fingers tapping away on my knees. I have to stop this. I need to get out of here.

“There’s one left!” The voice in my head argues, and I begin counting to snap myself out of this murderous prison.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

With every number I speak, my fingers connect with the skin over my kneecap. My mind is spiraling, and I continue counting until my body stops trembling all together.

I’ve never reached this level of insanity before, the counting usually bringing me back before things get out of hand.

It’s only happened a few times before, at school, always triggered by some little cunt running her mouth.

Dad was pissed when I put the last girl in the hospital, the bruises from the beating marring my skin for two weeks.

He punished me for something I can’t control, something I hardly remembered.

It was like a switch flipped, and I was a different person.

Sometimes it feels like there’s another being living inside me. I’m in a constant battle with the stranger in my head, and when it comes to my emotions being heightened, it always wins.

Glancing at the two dead bodies beside me, reality sets in along with the gravity of what I’ve done. My chest tightens, terrified of the consequences of my actions. Just as the panic threatens to cripple me, the voice returns. “I’ve got you.”

My body relaxes, a floating sensation making the air around me lighter, more comforting. The smells disappear along with any guilt or worry I felt only a few moments ago.

Two less assholes in the world.

One more to go.

The front door creaks open, snapping me back to my present situation. When I look up, my eyes clash with my tormentor, my stepbrother. His jaw drops as he takes in the scene, his gaze lingering on his mother for a few short moments. He steps further into the room, my skin buzzing with awareness.

Danger.

He’s only seventeen, but his large, imposing form and evil demeanor has me second guessing my ability to overpower him. I’m strong as hell when my anger takes over, but he could easily subdue me without much effort.