Leopard Prints

<p>She sits across from me with her knees against her chin. Talk is so cheap when you are long gone in an asinine trauma. Olivia's blue eyes resemble a child's. For that, I cannot take her seriously.<br/> I'm beyond flustered by the amount of calls I've received whilst at work from the woman who could not handle her congeniality well enough. Sometimes I wonder if she has already beat me to the chase. Of killing her, I mean. She is a suicidal girl.<br/> At least, that was what she last insisted on posting.<br/> Just maybe she knows I watch her and seeks pity from my intelligent mind. She plays with my head day and night knowing not the sole cause of my addictions is guilt towards allowing the gloom to perish. <br/> I have killed so many people keeping them under the impression they were meant to get well. This, my reader, is a secret between you and I for my empathy is questionably misaligned.<br/> It always has been. The human race is self-interested. We have only come so far from psychopathy only to see it manifest in new forms, such as maladaptive behaviours and pure narcissism. It goes deeper. Think rape fetishes. Incest. Enjoying the sight of a adolescent's cuts as you were once a mutilator of your own mind and body. My job is to treat mental illness. There is no cure to choice.<br/> The choice of being foolish and never looking forward to better futures is a defiant flaw in our survival complex. This is why I trust in that what I do at the end of the day does not stem from perverse fantasy. <br/> "You were treated for post traumatic stress disorder three years ago." I say slowly. "You're eighteen." <br/> "Yes." Olivia answers, her voice as light as a ballerina's feet. <br/> "Tell me more." <br/> She goes onto explain her father left shortly after hanky panky in bed with her at a young age; something I cannot imagine a person like her enjoying. She is not lying to me when she says her first boyfriend was a twenty seven year old man at a mere fourteen. Oh, poor girl. Life really beat her up. <br/> I catch myself staring at her camel toe as she speaks of past atrocities committed against her will. <br/><br/>—<br/><br/> "I have my wellness checks and reports done for today." Amanda Presley enters the office. Her pumps click against the floor periodically, forcing me to think of yet another pendulum.<br/> "Very well." I answer as I pretend to be reading my screen. How asocial of me. God, the need to hide my dilated pupils may cost the trust she has in me. "It is intake day. Do you mind taking four patients on a walk before you head home?" <br/> She smiles. This, I expect of her. She is the only person I trust with the well-being of sick individuals. And with none of my secrets. <br/> She leaves the room, each click slowly becoming distant as she disappears down the hallway. <br/> How I wish I could leave early and return to shooting H in my bedroom. I am a weak imbecile for aspiring to this. Despite my success in life itself, nothing matters more than my addictions to succumbing to the high it provides me. This high can ruin my life in worse ways than making me conspire to a kidnapping. I could lose my practice. Lose my mind. I see the clock ticking for me the longer I deal with my issues by pumping illegal drugs into my veins. <br/> I need pussy. <br/> I wait patiently as the hours go by, dealing with person after person, calling each parent back to reassure them that their offspring have not been sedated and thrown in an isolation room for attempting to hurt someone. Monday intakes run the highest risk of violent patients in a cluster. <br/> I call Melody on my way out of the parking lot from inside my SUV. I don't know why the fuck I've resorted to my natural will to stalk her again, other than my premonition that I'm going to actually go through with kidnapping and killing her. Preparations are necessary for such endeavours.<br/> She answers in an upbeat tone.<br/> "You're on oxy." I say in response to her unfamiliar giddiness. This I've only seen from her when she is high out of her mind. She usually speaks in a slightly expressional monotone, one that signifies her deep depression and need to get strung out. <br/> "My stepfather did the honours of picking up for me. As an apology." Oh, Christ, judging by her voice she sounds so intoxicated.<br/> "For?"<br/> "Spending my college fund on a new car." <br/> My heart sinks. The amount of compassion I have for Melody that I've clearly forgotten about comes to surface and my sudden will is to fuck her stepfather up. Repeated doses of risperidone injections into his muscles under a form in my psych ward for ruining the future of someone I… possess. No one fucks with Melody but myself.<br/> "Love," I begin. "It's nothing out of my pocket. Forget oxy. Go to school." <br/> "I can't accept that." Melody protests. "I'd rather spend the money on drugs." <br/> "No you wouldn't." My tone is stressed by aggravation. "Come by the house."<br/><br/>—<br/><br/> I am finger fucking her as she is bent over on her hands and knees. She still wears her plaid skirt as I play with her holes, penetrating them both with one hand and cupping her small ass with the other. Her thigh gap is much more prominent than it was the last time we met. Does she actually continue to starve herself? <br/> She sucks my cock for a bit before I decide it's time to dope her up. She pukes from the shot. Fucking whore. <br/> I decide it's time. I'm about to shackle her to a bed in my fucking basement when she opens her mouth amidst her stupendous high.<br/> "I know it was stupid of me to say I loved you. I think I meant I look up to you." She says. Her words are slurring but I comprehend what she is communicating entirely. "I don't know many doctors who shoot up dope and get to work everyday. I don't know men who suffer on your level who suffer in silence." <br/> I know she is now talking about her stepdad. The problems he created in her life are something no teen deserves. She will never admit he raped her that one night. I watched her on her webcam, beating off to the obvious abuse, listening to her begging him to get off of her. I never had my heart set on Melody. Know that her pain has made me whole. <br/> I pat her head. <br/> "I'll drive you home, now." <br/><br/> <br/> </p>