The Mental Patient

Chapter 22 - Doctor, Look What I Wrote. Part 1

I enter into the office of the infamous Dr. McKay. Perched on a highly expensive coffee leather chair, his notarized glasses gently braze the end of his nose. He rises and walks straight for me with his open-hand directed in my way. I appear humble and without the grumble I am usually hung too, I buckle and agree to his welcome and shake his turgid paw.

"Please sit." He propositions me to a large settee positioned in the middle of the floor, must be to stop me from grabbing heavy objects or semi-sharp things. The doctor sits with his right foot on his knee, from this obscure angle of dull medication even I know this is an indication for a psychological barrier, I wonder what he is hiding? This psychologist's physical-body is simply a side-kick to a more unknown characteristic's – God, I hate people; and I hate people I have to drown who are on the same wave length as me, we are hunters for the body of truth. I treasure my secrets so no one can truly find me.

While he wastes his breath and my time, talking about important big words with underlining meanings and lessons to be learned from losing my temper. My overactive thoughts rape any chance for a soldier's attention to his details, so I carve curious counterfeited creativeness to cover the chattiness this cunt comes at me with... Daydreams are welcomed with gaping holes and broken minds.

I have finally fell in love, and it's about to destroy me upon this skyscrapers rooftop.

"Please, get back from the edge, baby!" I shout at her disregarding ears.

She has her arms opened wide, ready to be caught by Deaths chilling grip, she's to be auctioned off to the night, at half price for her half-life but this is a man's wife, a man's right. Standing on the edge within her spotlight given off by the boom of the moon, with the idea of stepping down from her manic stage to end her final act with screams and sobs. The stars are laughing at our plight with shimmering lights.

"Just look at me... Look at me, please!" The tears free-fall from my frozen face, I am in a low place up here. The wind pushes against her, whispering warnings of what is to come as it makes her hair whip and dance in a sudden surreal setting. Gravity is the middleman within our maddened love triangle but bargaining with his mighty power on this edge always results in death.

She must remember me; she is still wearing the red dress I bought her on Valentine's Day; her mind is not lost yet to the illness inside. If only she took my arm, we could take off and pursue our life together again; hand in hand until death do us part. Her heart is diseased, it's cheating beats from her; this is the reason we are here.

"What will I do, if you go through with this? Have you given any thought of leaving me behind?" I ask her.

"You will live strong and go on without me." She replies with a refining address.

"But the best dreams happen in real life; don't you want to be a part of that with me?" I sputter.

She turns her head into the misty rain, which begins to make the horizon of our city distort and disappear; life is bleaker than the weather.

"Baby, if you do this, food will taste poisoned, water will seem dry and time's hand will not pick me up from your memory." She adds to the rain with her quiet tears for me.

"Life is like a strand of hair, it can be as long as you need it or as short as you want it. Isn't this my decision?" The words are quietly carried upon the winds message.

"In sickness or in Health... I said those words to you and you alone; I never backed away from what I pledged!" I plead to her emotions. So why is this happening? I look at my phone thinking about dialling for help but it is already too late. Love is the killer to the heart, not the sword or tainted arrow but used as a weapon against itself with amative armour. "We can get the help, the doctor said there was still time." I say almost giving up. Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a good thing, but bad things soon follow. I jettison my sight to the floor, collapsed eyelids and all. "Come with me." She asks.