[skid -- d6] wip

"You have to go on and be crazy. Craziness is like heaven."
"If I don't think about it, it won't drive me crazy."
"If we weren't all crazy, we'd just go insane."
"There is no salvation in becoming adapted to a world which is crazy." (x)

Palm caressing the side of her face, it's suddenly obvious why I had chosen her. Those eyes. Oh, dear god those eyes. The color itself is rather dull, a bland brown, but what I see in them is something different entirely. The way she blinks, the way she looksat me. They tell her story, much like the front flap of an interesting book. She's gone through a lot. Maybe a lot of distress, family issues, relationship issues. Hell, maybe that's why she's here. In my bed. Maybe she needs tonight more than I do. Closure for the both of us, just in entirely different ways. "You've been a pleasure. So now, I must do you a pardon." Her eyes twinkle in expectancy. I nearly chuckle at her position. She must think I'm going to mount her, take another ride. She will be sadly disappointed, I know.

Blade drawing across the soft skin of her throat, I allow myself a small smile. The blood stains her pale neck, spreading farther down her body when she flails, as if waving around her arms will bring back the life that has already begun to leave her. And then she is dead.

---

Pain blossoms in my right shoulder. My cheek stings as I rub my face, trying to wipe away the dream. The rough patchwork of a clumsily thrown rug biting into my flesh. "Well, good thing you talk in your sleep. The way you were shouting makes me wonder if you've been entirely truthful here. You said you were doing fine, but you're still having nightmares?" Fuck. I'd make sure to drink a pot or two of coffee before coming to therapy next week. My dreams are private. The scenes that come to me when I close my eyes are no one's business but my own.

"I had a dream that I killed Lauren Flinker."
"Do you know why? Do you want to kill Lauren Flinker?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I hate her."

He stills, adjusting his glasses once more. "Skid, you must learn to control your emotions. You understand you can't kill someone because you hate them, right?." He fumbled with his thumbs, knowing full and well that I don't understand anything that spews from his dirty, lying mouth. The glint in his eye shows he is angry with me. Very angry. His tight expression and twitching muscles amuses me. Of course, he does have reason to despise me now. Lauren Flinker is Doctor Lynold Flinker's daughter.

Eyebrows drawn tight over his scrutinizing eyes, the look of exasperation on his face makes him look ages older. He can’t be older than thirty, but the worry-lines etched into his ebony skin give him the appearance of someone in their late fifties. He glances me over with a hint of disgust, something I’m used to seeing from the kids at school, but not from my therapist.

Leaning over the arm of his chair, he produces something from the vast emptiness of his satchel. I assume it to be a knife, (would he really stab me over a disturbing dream about his daughter?) but am surprised when a mirror takes shape. He thrusts it toward me, angling it at my face. "I have an exercise for you."


"So you think I'm fat now?"

Doctor Flinker sighs, carefully massaging the bridge of his nose. His exasperation is evident, and he seems even more weary today than he has any other day. Rolling my eyes, I pluck the mirror from his loose grasp, and set it on my lap.

"Good boy. Now, I want you to look into that mirror and tell me what you see. Describe to me the boy you see in that mirror." I give a peculiar stare, which he matches with a stern glare, eyes pointedly jumping back down to the mirror.

I bring the mirror close. If I were in the mood to question Doctor Flinker's motives, I might have wondered why he was putting me through such idiotic tasks. I've looked in the mirror a number of times throughout my life. I know good and well how I look. What's the point in evaluating your physical features for a man that's supposed to be evaluating my mind? I do as I'm told, however, and bow my head forward to get a better look at my face.

"Blonde hair, green eyes, pointy nose." I shrug nonchalantly, tossing the mirror back into his lap.

personalittttty

histoooory

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