Summermount – April 20th, 2013
I’m alive, and yet, I can’t feel anything. A brick wall encapsulates the heart that was shattered, twisted, and corrupted. It bleeds, and yet, I don’t know why.
I don’t know anything.
But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Whether this is a dream or reality, I feel awake, and all that matters is that I’m free.
Leaves rustle across the path I walk. I lift my hand and touch the branches of the trees along the way, swaying them back and forth as I saunter past them. The scent of blooming flowers fills my nose, so good. In the garden next to me, there are a couple of kids kicking a ball. I smile when I see them. My cheeks feel strange when I do.
It feels odd to be among ‘normal’ people again. Where I come from, there is no normal, only chaos. Nothing comes close to the serenity I feel when I’m outside like this. There are people on a bench up ahead, having lunch, and one of them flicks away a wasp that flies too close. I laugh, and it almost makes me cry. It’s the first time since forever that a tear manages to trickle down my cheek.
Being here almost makes me feel like I’m just like them. That I could be like them again, one day—normal, without a horrible past.
Birds chirp as they fly above my head, rushing toward their next destination. Just like me. Freedom feels good. It’s the first time in months I’ve felt this elated about something so simple. And even though it’s not entirely without regrets, I’m happy I chose to leave that wretched place I call hell; the institution that kept me as a prisoner against my will.
Being in there was for my own good.
Escaping was not for my own good.
I knew when I left that I could never return there without being shackled to a bed. I knew that it was either going to be the last time I saw that building, my room, my friends … or that I was never getting out of there again.
The choice was simple. However, the consequence is not.
I’m running away from help, from the only people who can make me better. But I don’t want to be better anymore. All I want is to be with him.
And now that I’m out, I hope he’ll accept me.
I need to see him. I need to speak with him. I need to feel him, body against body. I want his hands on my hips and his mouth on my neck. I want him to whisper sweet words into my ear as he takes me into his world. I want to drift away with him. I want him to take me away and never return.
I am obsessed with him. Crazy about him. Madly in love with him.
And yet, I don’t even know who he really is. What he does for a living. What his house looks like. If he has a dog. Kids. A wife. If he’s single or not.
If he wants me.
No, I know he wants me. I felt his touch, his lips, his magnetizing eyes that bore into me as he made love to me. Nobody can tell me this love isn’t real. I am not a liar. He needs me, and I need him.
A stinging feeling nags at me, but I ignore it. I don’t want to think about the fact that all I know about him is his name and address. I’m not sure of anything, but I’ll take this chance. I will see him soon, and when I do, our love will burn brighter than the thousands of stars I looked at every night when I was still in the institution.
I don’t know a lot, but I do know this: I won’t give up looking for him until I’m in his arms again.
If he really exists, that is.
Summermount Psychiatric Hospital – April 19th, 2013
In a frenzy, my hands clench the cold, metal bed, but it instantly feels warm under my touch. A fire courses through my body as Sebastian kisses my hipbone. My pussy is dripping again, and I struggle to hide the urge to moan in pleasure. I want his love. I want his touch. I want to feel. Everything.
Only he can give it to me.
His fingers crawl up my belly, slipping under my bra. My breath catches in my throat as he cups my breast in his hand.
“Fuck, those are some nice tits. More than a handful, Lillith.” He squeezes them softly, his eyes darting up to meet mine. “Let me kiss you. Everywhere. I want to give you everything I have.” He plants a kiss right above my clit, making me squirm. “But you have to keep quiet.”
“I want you, Mister Brand,” I whisper. “Please, I need this.”
“I know. Shh … let me make you feel good … let me make you come again.”
In a moment of bliss and hushed moans, I let myself go. I need this, I tell myself. To feel.
And so I let him take control of my body, inch by inch.