Page 5 of Sour (The Wellard Asylum #10)

“Koven Carter?” I faintly heard my name as the voice repeated it again and again, but I didn’t respond.

At least, not verbally. Somewhere in the abyss of my mind, I thought I did.

“Koven Carter?” The loud shout made me jump.

My eyes locked with those of the old nurse before me.

“Koven, I’m assuming?” I nodded with a dead expression and an exaggerated glance as she placed a tiny white paper cup of pills in front of me with an audible groan.

“Ah. Another daily cocktail of drugs to fuck with my brain,” I teased in a low snarky tone.

The nurse didn’t find my remarks funny. Instead, she grimaced. “Hurry up now and swallow.”

That’s what he said.

I smiled at my internal joke. The nurse’s frown only dropped further. God, I wished I could just slap that miserable look from her old wrinkled face.

“Bottoms up.” I pretended to clink my paper cup, as if it were a shot of something more fun. The nurse still wasn’t amused.

With a gentle sigh, I shot the pills back and swallowed them without water.

An odd skill I had mastered in my time here.

The nurse watched me closely and motioned to my mouth.

“Open.” I slammed the tiny paper cup down and opened my mouth, extending my tongue as the nurse ensured I’d swallowed every pill.

“Good, now get the hell out of here. Next!”

I shuffled past and walked from the assembly line of people into the dayroom.

Patients of every variation of crazy were sitting around.

They were keeping their feeble minds busy with ridiculous picture puzzles, pointless conversation, or the endless static-ridden TV that played nothing but retro, black and white sitcoms nonstop during socializing hours.

It was a depressing sight to behold, not to mention the state of the room itself.

The walls were peeling, exposing the ancient lead-filled paint underneath. ‘Cause that was healthy.

I walked past an elderly patient in a wheelchair, listening as he mumbled to himself, jacking off in plain view.

Truthfully, it was more impressive than disgusting to see such an old fucker pumping one out.

The sound of his dog tags around his neck jingled as he moved, giving him away.

A nearby female nurse noticed what he was doing and rushed over.

The nurse was a bit too late, and the old man came, flinging his cum all over the female nurse.

She shouted in horror, causing a scene as other nurses gathered around to help her.

“Fucking Jingles,” I muttered to myself, trying not to smile.

The electricity buzzed and pulsated, flickering for a moment as I stopped and watched the lightbulbs along the ceiling. Fuck, this place was old. The electricity steadied, and I noticed a few cracks in the ceiling.

Huh.

Every day I felt like I noticed some new, ancient detail inside the asylum.

It felt like a set taken out of a horror film.

Everything was broken, moldy, or just forgotten.

All except the dayroom. Unlike the rest of this shithole, it had an odd hint of warmth to it.

I wasn’t sure if it was the large, barred windows facing out, or the fact that patients from other wings got to dally around here.

As for the rest of Wellard Asylum, well, it was a nightmare you couldn’t escape.

The patients were a rainbow of crazy, each more terrifying than the last. The rules applied only to us, whereas the staff had free rein and little consequences.

A hunched over female patient ran by, shouting something about vampires. I shook my head, brushing aside the insane shouts.

Hard to blame the woman. Wellard had all the gothic details and old infrastructure that you’d see in a vampire film.

Hell, throw in the lack of maintenance and no sunlight, and you’ve created this perfect, weird time capsule that sucked you in and left you questioning what day it was.

Or better yet, what decade. It was no wonder people were mad here.

Hell, I even caught myself feeling crazy at times.

Nonetheless, Wellard Asylum kept your mind busy, and anything that kept my brain from falling into the dark memories of my past was a gift. Even this crowded psycho-filled hell.

I shuffled through the large room until I planted myself at an empty table and prepared to drift away with the effects of my drugs.

A ride I had ridden daily since being admitted.

The drugs I was forced to take daily were meant to suppress my manic depressive thoughts and suicidal desires, but they didn’t.

They only made me numb, keeping my appearance on the outside more like a zombie, whereas internally, I was constantly tortured and tormented with every negative feeling and emotion I’d ever felt.

An endless cycle of self-imprisonment within the asylum. How poetic.

My eyes glanced around the oddly bright dayroom as I stared at the faces of the other patients.

It is always an odd mix of patients thrown together.

We got the chance to mingle with crazies from a few of the other wings during the day.

It was the staff's way of rewarding our obedient behavior.

. Our daily dose of social interaction. It made the asylum feel palatable, like a trick played on the patients to make us feel more human-like than we were.

Like a mask, hiding the dark truth of what this place really was.

The other patients seemed happy enough, in their drug induced states, but it always made me wonder if the other wings were as hellish as ours at night.

Were they haunted by the same demons who came to prey once the doors locked?

I exhaled.

Wellard Asylum was a forgotten shithole meant to house the clinically insane, but over time it also became the dumping ground for people like myself.

People with no place left in this fucked world.

A home for all the sick and crazy freaks society hated so much.

And the staff was sicker than the patients, using us to live out their own dark fantasies.

I wonder if when we die, do our corpses remain in play? Does death even stop the staff’s abuse?

My fingers grazed the thick scar along my neck.

The taste of death still lingered on my tongue, that feeling of being at peace, even just for a moment, still lingering in my dreams. I tried not to flinch at the still healing and sensitive wound, but the pain was a constant reminder.

A reminder that you can trust no one in this world.

Eventually, everyone turns their back on you.

The only way to survive is to rely on yourself.

Anyone who says otherwise is nothing but a fucking liar.

Feelings of his sour betrayal bubbled beneath my skin.

Every person is a selfish prick at heart.

Even those who claim to love you. They speak sweet lies filled with sweetness and light.

They feed your starving desire to be loved, making you believe every word they say, until there is no other option but to fall head over heels for them.

You feel wanted and accepted and think this person will never hurt or harm you.

They’d walk through fire and face hell for you.

But, when the time comes to face the truth of our human nature, they do the very thing they swore they never would. They abandon you.

I tried to swallow my pain.

In the end, they will always choose themselves. Just like he did.

A dark cloud of emotions formed around my temples as I began to drift down a depressing rabbit hole. Falling endlessly into the anger and betrayal I had felt for so long.

“Ooo. Someone looks like they could use a second dose of happy pills.” The word ‘happy’ alone triggered a reactive snarl from me.

“Jeez. Someone’s extra moody today.” I lifted my head, breaking from the depressive storm clouds to see who was bothering me.

A familiar white-haired woman sat down across from me and smiled as she wiggled her slender fingers.

“Dream,” I mumbled. “It's a bit early to be so enthusiastic, don’t you think?” Despite her dark past and fragile mental state, the young woman was sickly beautiful and oddly positive.

She had the body of a porn star and the face of a model.

Not to mention her striking hair that only made her stand out more.

Hell, Dream could even pass as a normal person outside these walls.

She didn’t look crazy, but as soon as she opened her fucking mouth, you knew just how fucked up she really was.

Especially when she had those odd, brief moments where you see her smile slip away as the reality of whatever trauma or sickness that haunted her crept back into view.

It was frightening to watch. Whatever she experienced prior to being thrown in here really fucking broke her.

It left her regressed in this sick, overly sexualized yet innocent mindset.

Not to mention, she had an odd fixation on touching things.

I wasn’t sure if that was part of her trauma or if she was just really that fucking weird.