Psycho Hot (BoyxBoy)

NINETEEN

     I've been staring at 317's file for ten minutes now. My fingers shakily fumble with the corner of it, deciding back and forth if my eyes should read it.

Of course, I want to know. I need to know. However, I'm not sure if I'm mentally ready to process what I'm about to find out. This information could change my future here at Holmes Chapel. Can I handle the truth?

I've been working here for a few months now, but it feels as though it's been years. I guess time moves fast when you're working in the loony bin.

After going back and forth, I finally muster up the courage to look inside the folder. The first page is nothing shocking, just the usual patient information: Lennon Taylor, female, age thirty.

I scan through the basics and then move on to the next page. This is where the action begins. Her diagnosis comes first- a mild case of psychosis. Nothing out of the ordinary, but what comes next disturbs me.

Incident Report - July 6, 1962
"Lennon Taylor was attending her monthly psychiatric session but seemed to be in a bit of distress. Unexpectedly, Taylor lashed out at Dr. Peterson. The guards were unable to gain control of Taylor. The patient acquired a knife, resulting in the fatality of Peterson. Symptoms seem to be related to a psychotic outbreak. Taylor has been sent to the long-term isolation ward until further notice."

     This doesn't make sense. There's no way that the guards couldn't have stopped this woman from killing an employee. The rest of her patient history is clean. There weren't any signs that Lennon would commit such a tragedy. Maybe some of the records were hidden? This just can't be the entire story.

My theories are short-lived as Darren and a guard storm through the door. I almost forgot that it was time for his session.

I nod as the guard informs me that there is a 45-minute time limit. When he leaves us for privacy, my boyfriend saunters over to me.

"Hi baby," he whispers in my ear, his arms wrapping around my neck from behind.

"Hi," I sigh.

Normally, my heart would be racing, wondering what's coming next. Though, now, I can't stop contemplating what went on on the sixth of July. It's not adding up.

"What's wrong, Ken?" Darren asks with his chin resting on my right shoulder.

"This..." I say as I hand up the file.

Darren stands upright and flips through the papers, scanning each one carefully. I watch him; his pupils dilate once. I assume the incident report is the cause.

Finally, he asks, "Who is this?"

"Patient 317. She's the answer to figuring out how we're going to get you out of here," I explain.

"How did you-"

"It doesn't make sense, Darren." I run my hands through my hair. "I mean, they wouldn't just let a patient kill the psychologist that easily."

"You seem stressed, darling." He throws the file back onto my desk then adds, "Take a breath."

"I'm doing this for you," I defend.

"I appreciate it, okay? I appreciate you, but there's no reason for you to fret over some inmate. It's not that important," Darren clarifies.

His hands travel to my shoulders, where he begins to massage tiny circles into the area. Slowly, his thumbs travel down to my upper back. The sudden release of pressure makes me tilt my head back.

"It's important to me, you know?" My eyelids shut. "I think about what our future could be when I doze off at night. I want to make those fantasies our reality."