Midnight Sprees

“Midnight Sprees”

How do I feel today? (sarcastically) I wonder. I feel (gasp) the way I do every time I’m in this room with you. You ask me this question every week, Lydia, and I answer in the same way. I’m fine. I sit in this bland office with cushy chairs, and I’m always fine. I don’t want to be here. I never want to. I want to leave this place and never look back. I don’t need help, and I certainly don’t need your talk therapy. But y’know, my parents just can’t accept that, so here I am. My parents can’t handle the idea that their precious little girl can deal with bullies.

(Pause)

They sent me here because they care? Really? They didn’t care, or notice, when I came home with bruises and a tear-stained face. My mother just kept playing solitaire, and my dad just kept working. He doesn’t even really need to work that much, we’re kinda well-off, but he never seems to spend time outside the office. Also, they didn’t care at all when you brought them in here for a therapy session. I mean, really, they pretty much told you that it’s your job to fix me, not theirs. (sarcastically) Oooh, therapy. They just want me out of their way. Speaking of, there was also that time when they didn’t care about... (trails off)

(Pause)

It’s nothing. I’m serious, really. Nothing. (pause) No, I’m fine. (tugs on sleeves) Fine… You really are that desperate to know? I almost killed myself. There I said it. Proud of me now, Lydia? Have I lived up to your standards?

(Pause)

You didn’t need to know. What had happened was… I got fed up. It was another day, with the same bullies and the same insults… (voice gets a little lower) “slut, whore, fatass”. The same voices in the back of my head nagging at me all day. Too many bodies on my mind. So… that night I decided I didn’t want to go through with it anymore. I cut myself, instead of others. But then I got scared. There was so much blood, and I wasn’t used to it coming from my own body. My victims never fought back. I called Andrea, and she rushed over to help me. She doesn’t know about my late-night habits. You don’t even know about them. We managed to stop the bleeding with a t-shirt, and to clean up my room. My parents never go in there anyways, so it doesn’t really matter, but just in case. I drank a lot of water and juice, and ate some food. Andrea told me that I have to tell you, but I didn’t really mean for you to find out…

(Pause)

Why? Well because of the feelings and the thoughts coursing through me, why else? I’ve killed people, and it lurks in the back of my mind- who am I going to kill next? I just can’t decide sometimes and it eats me alive. Y’know that feeling when you’re underwater in a pool and you can hear everything but it’s muffled? That’s what it feels like. Until I feel someone’s blood in between my fingers, until I hear their screams, muffled by whatever I stuck in them to shut them up. Nothing is ever still. It feels like everything is always vibrating; me, my school, my life, my heart, my head. Everything. My heart beats faster than ever lately. I always feel like people are out to get me, and even in a room full of friends I feel so lonely. All I think about is my next murder.

(Pause)

Yeah, I guess… I do see it as a problem… I almost killed myself, for god's sakes! Maybe I do need help… (speaking pace quickens) What if I’m beyond help or beyond care? What if I’m too broken? (pause) I’m too broken. It’s pointless. But… What if it isn’t? I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t know what to feel or think; I just can’t be this way anymore! I’ve killed three people this month. They didn’t make the news- doesn’t look like a serial killer. The first was an old man-- I poisoned him, it looked like suicide. I helped that old man by putting him out of his misery. The next was a woman, younger. I made it look like a domestic violence case, reported it to the police and everything. The man is in jail, but he sexually assaulted her anyway, so he deserved it. Just last week I killed a woman, an abusive mother. Her daughter is too young to understand, anyway. She’ll learn when she’s older. So really, I’m not doing anything bad.

(Pause)

What, no! I’m not going to some asylum. Oh hell no. You’re not going to lock me up in some psych center! I don’t need that. You’re wrong, I’m fine! Or maybe I’m not, but that’s not the point. I don’t need to go to a crisis center… They hurt people there, and I don’t need to be any more hurt than I already am! I don’t need to be sedated or any of that shit! I’m fine.

(Pause)

The police? No, no! Fine, I’ll- I’ll go to your dumb psych center. Just don’t lock me away forever...