Vendetta

21: Puppy

       "No, no, no- that can't be correct... That must be a mistake, what are you talking about... IQ's like that are nearly impossible... I know that the results are on paper, but near-perfect IQ? That's not plausible... We need to get to the bottom of this... Call him, we need to see if this was part of the program..."

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       When I was little, I liked to start fires. I'm aware that it sounds completely insane, but it's true. I just liked to start fires. When my parents weren't home, I would take pieces of paper and burn them over the sink. I liked to see what once was a palpable material turn to ash and dust. It was fun, and I never let myself get caught. Never.

       I still continue to have the reoccurring dream about Pete and Zara. I don't have a problem with Pete being in my dreams, but I have a large problem with Zara being in my dreams. She's not meant to be there. In fact, people that I don't enjoy the company of should not even be in my mind. What a prick- thinking that she has the right to be in my dreams- like no, fuck you. She'll get what she deserves while she rots in Hell for what she did.

       You know what's crazy? The fact that I haven't had my straightjacket put on in a while. It now just resides in the corner of my room, folded neatly. I thought that I'd have to live in that thing for my entire stay here. Luckily, that's not the case. Thank God that Pete forgot to put it back on me that one time, or else I'd probably still be in it; because after that time, it kind of just transitioned out. Not even Zeke puts me in it anymore. In fact, I could dare say that Zeke and I are acquainted. Which is an extremely far stretch for me, since I don't make friends.

       Why don't I make friends, you may ask? Well, they hold you back. They want you to do shit for them, even though it interferes with your plans. I just don't have the time for people interfering with what I'm doing, because it's of the highest importance— to me, at the very least. Friends always think that they can give you smart advice, as if they know you or your life whatsoever. Nobody thinks what I think. Nobody knows what I know. Nobody knows my mind. Nobody knows my brain. And I don't plan on telling anybody about it.

       Though sometimes I ponder what people would think if they were to take a look into my mind. What would they see? Metaphorically of course— I would know exactly what they would see if this were literally speaking. Would they see me as some sort of 'American Psycho'? Or maybe they'd see an 'emotionless robot', as they said that I was supposed to be when they murdered Zara? Or would they see a perfectly normal, functioning person with feelings and a heart of gold? I seriously doubt the last one- I feel more like an 'American Psycho' or an 'emotionless robot' than a normal person nowadays. Which is saying something, because I really wish that I were normal right now, so that I wouldn't be in this white, padded prison that I've been trapped in for so long.

       I keep thinking about why I'm here, as well. I've just seemed to be thinking more and more about everything as time progresses. I mean, I still don't know what an 'Assigned Survivor' is, and it's been plastered on my door since day one. That's a good thing to inquire about with Rosetta Marsh. If she refuses, I simply won't speak to her until she tells me. Additionally, I've figured out her lying mannerisms. She picks at her blush-pink nail polish, or she subtly grinds her teeth. I hear my lock turn. Hopefully it's Pete.

       "Hey hey hey!" Pete says cheerily, coming in with two trays of food.

      "Hey, Pete." I reply. He sits down across from me, putting the plates down in front of us. When he sits down, I notice something. I don't know what I notice- but something about Pete looks slightly different.

      "Something changed." I say.

      "Hm?" He says, looking to me after he's put his things down.