The White Room

My head bounces against the wall, bored out of my mind. I've decided I hate the color white; it's too pristine, too easy to grunge up. It's a reminder of everything I'm not.

I miss color. I haven't seen anything but white for a few days. Or has it been weeks? I'm not sure. Time, like color, doesn't exist here. They are now notions for out there. I'm sure they try to get in here, but this place is nothing but a void. A freaking void of silence, stillness, and white.

Now, that I think about it, maybe this is more of a black hole. People like me come in, wonderfully chaotic and colorful, and this place sucks all the life out of us, turning us into so called pure forms of ourselves. They say its to help us, but its only making me crazy. Or I guess "more" crazy if you ask the staff.

Yeah, apparently watching the man you love warrants a trip to the looney bin. If love makes you insane, then more people need to be locked in colorless, quiet white rooms.

I wonder what Randell is doing now. Is he going on his afternoon run? Maybe eating breakfast? Or is he meeting up with that friend of his Bea?

"He loves me, not you."

I narrow my eyes at Bea, suddenly preferring the silence and white walls to her ugly mug. Now if anyone is crazy, it's Bea. She always hung around Randell like some lovesick puppy. Literally, heart eyes every time that chick looked at him. Bea tried to seduce my man at every turn, using her looks and flirty little tone every chance she got.

She's looking worse than usual. She's wearing a similar outfit to everyone else I've seen in this place - plain white clothes that remind me of pajamas- except hers are all torn up, like she's been a scuffle. Her face is all puffy and smeared with black streaks. She's more tolerable all messed up; it's a nice reminder that pretty girls are human too. It makes me smile.

"He loves me, not you."

"Could you shut up? You don't know what you're talking about. You're crazy."

Bea throws her head back, cackling. "Look at the pot calling the kettle black."

I don't have to listen to this. I stand up, prompting a child-like tease. "You know you can't leave, right?"

Whipping around, I charge at Bea, ramming her against the wall. "It's your fault I'm in here!" Her fault I can't see Randell or any color beside white.

Her annoyingly perfectly manicured hands grab a hold of Randell's arms, gripping them tightly. Bea leans forward and kisses him on the cheek before she whispers something in his ear.

I throw Bea on the ground and straddle her. "You took him away from me!" She only responds with more hysterical laughter.

I follow Bea as she walks out to the garden. She will pay for trying to take Randell from me yet again.

There is suddenly a knife in my hand. Where it came from, I don't know and don't really care that much to know.

Red. So much red.

Screams. A whole choir of them.

"You took him from me!" It doesn't matter what I do to Bea, she still laughs like a twisted hyena, as if it is the only setting she has now.

Arms wrap around me, yanking me off of Bea.

"You need to calm down ma'am!"

"Then tell the psycho to stop spewing lies!"

My quack of a therapist comes into view. "Mary, you're the only one in here."

No, no, no. What did I do? What did I do? Where did all this blood come from?

There's a knife in my hand and a woman in front of me.

I look up to see a broken and devasted Randell. I don't like that look on his beautiful face. "Bea! Bea, baby! Please stay with me!"

No, I'm your baby. The love of your life.

I would do anything for you.

***

The headline news for today: Three days ago, 21 year old Bea Wescott was murdered today while out with her boyfriend, Randell Reid at a local party. This woman, 20 year old Mary Turner, was arrested and has been confirmed as Bea's killer. Mary was sent to Winslow Asylum after finding out she stalked Randell Reid over the pass ten months and fantasized about being in a relationship with him.