MEnAce (peterick)

2 - Patrick

"Did you know Tyler and Josh well?" The police officer asks calmly, notepad in hand, tip of the pen between his teeth.

Sitting opposite the uniformed man across the table, I scoff. "You mean were they friends of mine? Fuck no. They were bullies."

"And you think they deserved to die?"

"They attacked me, and I acted in self-defence. I didn't think I would actually kill them. What should I care, anyhow? They're dead. They can't hurt me anymore."

The officer nods and glances down at his notepad. "I understand."

"Yeah. Right."

"It was involuntary manslaughter. A murder that was completely unplanned and, in a sense, utterly accidental."

"I could still go to prison for that, right?"

"Correct."

"I'm not going to prison for this."

"No, you're not, Patrick," he assures me.

Another man, standing awkwardly in the corner of the room, hands the police officer a clear pouch. In this pouch is my razor blade, rusted with old blood. "Your professor knows about this," he continues. "Would you mind rolling up your sleeves for me?"

My knuckles turn ghostly white, my fingernails drawing blood into my palms. Timidly, I shake my head.  An obvious indication of self-harm without proof of the scars laddering my forearms.

"I apologize," the officer says. Yeah, right. "I've spoken to your professor, who has also spoken to your parents. We understand how this has happened, and we've come to the conclusion that this isn't your fault."

Oh, the nerve of this guy!  "Who gave you the right to talk to anybody?" I snap.

"Until you turn 18, I'm afraid you don't have the rights to consent who I am allowed and not allowed to speak to."

I jerk in my chair, disbelieved. "That is just pathetic."

"I have been informed that you suffer with manic depression-"

"Mania."

"Actually, mania is another term for... obsession."

"Which is exactly what I am," I start, rising slowly from my seat. "I'm obsessed. Obsessed with pain. I force myself to feel depressed for the sake of making myself bleed. My mood swings are compulsive. I enjoy mixed feelings. At least I have fucking feelings."

I am now standing, as tall as my small frame can stand. "Every ounce of agony I inflict, every tear that falls... it's a satisfaction. The only way I can truly be happy is to first feel miserable. Manic depression is one way to describe it. But would you believe this, officer, that I have never suffered despair tragic enough to stimulate misery?"

Power boils within me, sickening me to my stomach. I can feel the tingle behind my half-closed eyelids. "It is a mania, simply because I was born with it. I've lived with this obsession my whole life.  And I shall continue living that life."

"Patrick," the officer states calmly, but his lip is quivering. "We have considered a placement for you at the mental institution in Camden."

Purple flames consume. My contact lenses melt away to reveal the horrors stirring beneath.