asylum [kai parker] editing/rewriting

Thirty-Nine

S I M O N E
Friday. It's the day everyone looks forward to. The best day of the week. It's the end of an old week and the start of a new weekend. The following day, Saturday, is the day where you can have fun, but in the end, you know Sunday awaits. Sunday is the worst day of the week, the day where you know the week is next to come.

Even though I should be embracing the fact that it is Friday, I can't possibly enjoy the day where I'll be locked in a prison.

The house is hectic. Everyone in it is doing their best to ignore the surrounding situation. But I can't, and neither can Nick. All day he has been going out of his way to help me with small things. Making me breakfast, grabbing my jacket, or doing anything to calm me. It isn't working, though. I can't get any calmer than I am right now.

"We need to be there at eleven. Get ready." Dad says sternly as he passes me.

"Then would you like me to put on my orange jumpsuit and grab Nick's handcuffs, father?" I mutter, ignoring Nick's glare.

Dad ignores me, heading upstairs to his room. Nick just stares at me, standing only a couple feet in front of me. His look of disappointment causes me to roll my eyes. "Really?" He asks.

"What?"

"You could at least act like you care, for his sake. For my sake." Nick points in the direction Dad went.

"Fine." I sigh, cursing under my breath. I can act.

Nick nods. His eyes dart to something in the furthest corner of the room. "Oh, that's right. Something came in the mail yesterday." He squints, walking over and grabbing a small letter from the counter. "It's for you."

Never have I gotten mail. It's been so rare that I no longer even get the mail. I have no relatives that wanted to keep in touch with me after the fire. But there's something written on the letter that catches my eye as Nick hands it to me.

My name is written neatly in the middle. In the top right corner, lays an unfamiliar one.

Quickly, before Dad can come downstairs, I rip open the letter. There aren't many words written on the page inside, but it's something.

Dear Simone Alexander,
The people you are trying to reach are either dead or gone. So I advise you don't write again. However, just so you know. Malachai Parker was a monster since birth, Mystic Falls was relieved when he left. Good luck.
Sincerely, Damon Salvatore.

I squint, reading over the letter one more time. Suddenly I feel like crying again. For Kai, of course. I'm not entirely sure who Alaric Saltzman was, and I have no clue who Damon is, either. Questions rise, but they're ones I don't have time for right now. Kai's whereabouts before Oregon aren't my business anymore. I just need to work on getting through today.

Dad makes his way back downstairs, just as I head up. He doesn't look in my direction, which somehow sets me off. Anger bubbles just below the surface, begging me to do something about the odd look everyone keeps giving me.

Once I'm into my room, I quickly locked the door and headed to my closet. On the way I then closed the laptop sitting atop my bed. For the last twenty hours I've been looking up on plenty of topics. Sociopaths being the main one.

Psychopaths are born. Sociopaths are made. I don't know where I stand, and I don't think I ever will. I'm not going to spend my whole life trying to find myself. There are plenty of elements that play into who I am. Some of those elements are influenced by Kai himself, but others have been there since I was born.

"Thirty minutes, Simone!" Dad yells from downstairs. His voice puts an end to my current thoughts.

My hands shake slightly as I finger through the clothes inside my closet. What does one wear to court? Is it like church?