Page 17 of Lethal (Wellard Asylum #1)

T hey dragged me out forcefully, putting their brutish, dirty hands on me.

She made them, my pretty, fragile porcelain doll .

Her betrayal and sharp words hurt my ears, and make my heart beat too quickly.

I don’t like it, in fact, I hate it, maybe I even hate her.

She needs to die… we should kill her. Her dark brown eyes, tasty chestnuts that I crave to consume, wouldn’t even spare me a glance.

Jealousy courses through me, the type I haven’t felt for a long time.

Rough hands, voices dull and commanding, filled with sinister malice, blurred faces.

Noise... so much noise. The voices are all screaming inside my head.

Waves of pain, never-ending pain, hit me all at once, as sour bile rises up the back of my throat.

“ Stop, please, stop. Give me a moment to concentrate,” I beg, but they all ignore me, and the guard pushes me forward, along the dusty, decrepit corridor.

The chains rattle at my ankles, wrists, and around my waist. The metallic sound provokes my teeth to grind, until pain radiates from my jaw.

Too tight! They hurt! We are a prisoner, the voices scream.

Freedom, they demand loudly, causing me to wince from the force of their screeching voices vibrating through my skull.

The desire to bang my head against the stone walls almost overtakes me, but I hold strong, stumbling along, wanting to make Bash proud of me.

Yes, my brother, who loves me, is the only one who does, yet he stayed with her, and let her banish me.

My soles catch on the cracked threshold, and I laugh as I fall to my knees.

The hit of pain through my limbs is a welcome sensation, momentarily giving me a respite from the chaos in my throbbing head.

“Get up, psycho, we don’t have all night!

“ The guard growls, before the toe of his boot connects with my ribs.

“I’ll kill... you... rip your... throat out,” I rasp as I scramble to my feet, biting down on my tongue, tasting blood, and forcing myself to stop the words that will get me another kick when I can’t defend myself.

“Sure you will, weirdo. You and all your voices,” the guard dismisses me as if I’m weak.

We are not weak, kill him! The old woman demands forcefully.

A door loudly rattles behind us, and it brings a smile to my lips, widening them so deeply that it reminds me of the beautiful clown’s lips I used to paint in blood red on my face.

How I miss the smell of the white makeup that adorned my complexion.

My disguise from this world that’s always hated me.

They’re locking the door, Wren, the young voice yells with fear.

Locking her in, the stern woman’s voice says with excitement.

With him, the gruff, angry male comments.

“With Bash,” I utter out loud.

He always gets the sweet ones, the old woman snarls.

He always gets the final bite, the clown calls.

“Fucking psycho,” the guard whispers under his breath, as he shoves me down the stairs and out an old steel door, into the cracked stone of the courtyard.

The cold night air hits me, causing a shiver to race down my limbs, and the hairs on my arms to stand on end.

“Move it, asshole, I don’t want to be around your psycho ass a moment longer than I have to,” the guard grumbles with irritation, as he pushes me once more and slams the door shut behind me.

Deafening outdoor silence greets me, and immediately has my anxiety rising.

Thump, thump, thump , my heart rattles painfully against my chest. A hummingbird trapped in its deadly cage.

I turn round and round, looking for somewhere to hide.

Too open, it’s too wide here! They left me all alone out here, cuffed, a prisoner of the malevolent, dark sky overhead like a dead eye.

Staring, watching, brooding, and scrutinizing my fate.

The moon, its wicked partner, a white blister waiting to burst, and poison me with its rot, glares too brightly.

It all seems to wish to punish me for my grievous sins, the ones I don’t regret committing even now, even as a prisoner inside this place.

Inside the oppressive, evil-stained concrete walls, behind all the hidden decay, Bash is speaking to her.

Alone. He is tasting her voice, watching her break, destroying her without me.

“Not fair,” I mutter out loud to the muted night, my teeth grinding in frustration. “Not fair, not fair, not fair…”

She should’ve picked you. You smile prettier, the young voice hums.

He lies better. That’s why they love him, the old man points out in vehemence .

She doesn’t love. She studies. She’s dissecting your brother with her eyes, the stern woman laughs.

Bash has the prettier eyes, they see through her lies , the clown utters.

“ MY eyes see just as well. I’m special too!“ I shout, my arms yanking brutally at the restraints. The cuffs hold, of course they do, they’re always holding me back. Holding me under, causing me pain and misery. Impenetrable. Diminishing. Forceful. Hateful.

“You’ll never amount to anything, boy, you’ll always be someone’s punching bag, someone’s hole to use. You might as well get used to it,” the voice of my dead father slithers through my mind, and forces me to my knees.

Bash is the star. The good brother. The one everyone has always liked. I’m the shadow. The forgotten one. The one people go out of their way to avoid, because I’m weird, and make them uncomfortable.

“Stay away from me, freak!” “What’s wrong with you?

” “No one likes you, Wren, why are you even here?” I bring my hands up to my ears, attempting to silence the malicious voices from my past. “You can’t hurt me now, but I can hurt you.

Stop saying mean things to me, or I’ll rip your heart out and eat it! ”

Everyone was so mean to me, to us , especially when we were children.

But it wasn’t only the other kids that made life a living hell for the Norwood twins, no, the worst ones were the adults.

The ones that were supposed to love and protect us.

The people who shared our blood, and our name, who should have defended us against the others who hurt us.

Instead, they encouraged them, even bartering us as goods, to fill those monsters’ sick, sexual needs.

They were the worst offenders against Bash and me.

Unspeakable things. Evil things. Hateful things.

They used to lock us in the dark, in damp, cramped places, and play merciless games with us.

Mother would whisper, “Which one do I hurt today, hmmm?”

Father would grin, and slap his thigh with his large, calloused hand and say, “The one who bleeds the best, the screamer.”

Bash always bled quietly. Beautifully. Silent. Enduring. Strong.

Me? I screamed. I screamed until my voice cracked, and I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs.

I screamed until my mind would short-circuit, and cause me to black out.

I screamed until the voices started to appear, one by one, to soothe and keep me company in my tears.

That’s why they always hated me. It’s why they always chose him.

He was everything, while I was less than nothing.

“Always him. Always the favored twin,” I whisper to the bright stars in the dark sky, and they agree with me.

You’re the fun one, Wren, the teenage boy exclaims with enthusiasm.

Yes, you’re the fire, Wren, Bash is just the knife, the older woman calls.

You made them laugh before they screamed. You gave them happiness before their end, the clown chuckles.

A smile breaks across my lips until it hurts my cheeks, as I remember.

Not her, not the sexy Doctor, no, another her .

The one with pretty caramel freckles across her nose, and bright emerald-green eyes.

The one who loved red balloons and happy faces.

The girl I met in the tent when the voices were the loudest, on a night much like tonight.

She came to the circus all alone, filled with such courage.

I watched her from the ring with my painted smile, spinning fire and juggling blades, while Bash distracted the crowds of families with all his talents.

Her eyes watched me, not him. Her smile was all mine, and that’s how I knew she belonged to me.

I found her in the shadows, hidden, watching, and looking for a fright.

She chortled at my attempts to woo her. I wasn’t as great at flirting as Bash was.

He would use a few lines, and the girls would drop their panties, and spread their legs for him, despite the fact that we had the same face, and voice.

Instead, I told her riddles that made her smile, and put her at ease.

Her laughter sounded like music, bells chiming, and angels crying.

I knew in that moment I had to have her, that I would love her until she breathed her last breath.

“I have teeth but never bite, I light the dark but fear the night. What am I, pretty girl?” She giggled, scrunching up her little nose as if she found my riddle silly.

“A match,” she replied, her fingers tangling self-consciously in her long brown hair, as she attempted to tuck it behind her ear.

She’s so beautiful, like a porcelain doll I once saw in a shop window.

One I had desperately wanted, but could never afford, so I had to leave it behind, and still it invades my thoughts, and I feel its loss.

“Close,” I replied as I stared down at her petite stature, and firm curves, from my six-foot-one height, and wondered what she would taste like, as my cock swelled inside of my costume.

Would her blood be sweet like a ripe cherry, or dark and heavy like red wine?

Would her meat be tender, like the rarest of Wagyu steaks, or tough, like the cheap roast one of my foster mothers used to serve?

Questions, so many questions, and I needed to find the answers.