St. Peter's Asylum discussion

Quite a difference from the room of his counterpart, Samuel's room has next to no décor. The walls remain white, and bland, as does the furniture, though his room does have a particularly stunning view of the dull gray asylum. His room itself smells of smoke, and occasionally alcohol, and it seems as if nothing is permanent in this room. It has not become a home for Samuel, and rather a place to lose himself when he needs it.

RP here.

The girl had done as she was told. It was incredible, really, Melanie found herself thinking, that she had left that unscathed, and that she had simply, almost kindly, been instructed to do this one thing, to clean up after the psychopath. As Melanie brushed away any trace of blood on the ground, and tossed the poor, dead creature over the fence-line (there weren’t any dogs in St. Peter’s, at least none that Melanie knew of, and she figured that outside the asylum there would be wild dogs, coyotes, something to eat the poor thing. Regardless, it was out of her hands now) she felt a slight bit of panic bubble up in her throat; the adrenaline was wearing off and Melanie Fairchild began to feel as terrified as she should have felt when she looked Death himself in the eye, when she stared unblinkingly at the sorrowful Nathan Adair, and when she felt sorry for him.

But despite this newfound panic, Melanie found herself able to keep it together long enough to reach the walls of the asylum, and to step inside. She could hardly remember what Raven had said right before he left, right before he gave up, but she did remember him telling her to go crying to her brother. Melanie knew this was meant to be an insult of sorts, and she knew he meant to hurt her with these words, but for some reason, he didn’t. Melanie wasn’t the type to get sensitive about her relationship with her brother, all she knew and needed to know was that Samuel was there for her when she needed her. And so once again, Melanie bested the famed psychopath of St. Peter’s, and did indeed go crying to her brother.

Samuel was sound asleep. He didn’t notice when Melanie left. The girl was smart, and knew how to maneuver herself so not to wake the sleeping boy, and she left without Samuel ever knowing. But as the door from the outer portions of the asylum nearly slammed shut (while Melanie liked to think she had bested the Indian, there was a sort of panic in her actions that kept her from being deliberate and quiet) Samuel left the dream-stages of sleep and began to wake up, rubbing his eyes, turning to look at the clock, and letting out a groan when he saw it was hardly two in the morning. Samuel then noticed that Melanie was not there, which brought him from his sort of groggy reverie and jerked him wide awake. Melanie shouldn’t be gone. He had asked her not to leave the room. He had begged, he had pleaded, and clearly, she didn’t listen. Samuel sighed, and sat up, running his hands through his hair as he tried to think of where to look first. Outside? No, Melanie wouldn’t go out when it was this cold. The common room, perhaps, but why would she have gone there? Melanie was famed for waking Samuel up whenever she couldn’t sleep, and so it was a wonder, really, that she had left on her own this time. And as Samuel wracked his brain to figure out where his sister may have been, the door to his room opened.

As she had made her way down the hall, Melanie grew less and less composed. The nearer the room, the nearer her emotions spilling out were, and the nearer safety was. But she was smart, she was safe. She knew that whatever sort of façade she had pulled out there with Nathan Adair, with Raven, would be gone the instant he saw her weak, in tears, afraid. And so Melanie kept her composure until she found herself safely in her room (Samuel’s room, not hers, she often had to remind herself), door locked shut behind her, and then the tears began.

And Melanie was back in the bed in an instant, and Samuel’s arms were around her, and her head was pressed into the crook of his neck and she cried. Melanie cried often, but this was near sobbing. Samuel, who had woken up literally moments ago fought back the weariness as he focused his attention on his sister, his poor sister. He held her, yes, but he looked her over, and he didn’t seem to be able to find any notable signs of a struggle. Perhaps Raven didn’t find her? Perhaps she had simply gone out for a walk—but then why would she be crying?

“Melanie? Mel, Melanie, can you hear me?” Samuel had to ask, because the girl’s crying was so loud he could hardly even hear his own thoughts. He pulled back, keeping his hands on her shoulders and his eyes on hers as he looked over the front of her, which was also unscathed. “Melanie, what happened? I need you to tell me, Mel.”

And Melanie tried to speak, but her dark eyes were filled with tears, and her throat felt like it was closing up, and there was a white-hot pang of fire in her stomach, a white fear, a horrid feeling that grew and grew and didn’t seem to leave. Raven knew her, now, knew of her, knew what she thought she could do. Melanie was weak, Melanie was spineless, and Melanie was not that girl in the park who talked down a sadist and cleaned up after him. That was the job of capable nurses. That was Samuel’s job, not hers. “I—it’s—I shouldn’t have—it was Ra—it was him, Sammy.” She could hardly get out an intelligible sentence, her shoulders were wracked with sobs and heaving so. But Samuel understood.

Oh, of course Samuel understood. Those two letters of the boy’s name, that single sound, and Samuel’s worst fears were ignited. He really counted his blessings that she was okay. But when Melanie tried to say his name, that name, that awful name that brought awful feelings and awful things, Samuel began to shut down.

It had happened once before, you see, a similar situation. Samuel didn’t react this way very often, which made it all the worse when he did. Before, Melanie had been the unfortunate victim of a patient who has since left the asylum—for privacy’s sake, the patient will remain unnamed—and this very thing had happened. Identical, actually. It was uncanny how things seemed to perfectly repeat themselves inside this asylum, this hellhole, this place that might as well have been a prison for all of the sick freaks that thought they could mess with his sister.

And as all of this ran through Samuel’s mind, and slowly tore him apart and turned him off, his arms were still around Melanie, and a quiet, habitual shh left his lips occasionally. And in the comfort of her brother’s arms, Melanie found herself beginning to relax. Sobs turned into cries turned into those hiccups you would find in a child after they threw a tantrum, and slowly her breathing evened out, shaky, yes, but even. And Melanie wrapped her own arms around her brother, her brother who wasn’t her brother, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, a silent thanks.

As was previously stated, Samuel had begun to shut down. And when Melanie kissed his cheek, telling him she was better, that she would be able to fall asleep, he slowly untangled himself from her and inched his way out of the bed, making his way over to his dresser. He first pulled out jeans, followed by a shirt, and slowly, methodically, began slipping them on. Melanie didn’t think much of it—her brother often slept fully clothed, because often he was out late. Perhaps he was more comfortable that way. But as his hands dug further into the drawer, and produced a wallet, Melanie’s heart found its way into her throat.

“No, no, no,” she said quietly, quickly, holding her hands out, eyes wide in horror as she watched him leaf through the bills, locate his ID that stated he was twenty-two instead of nineteen, and place the wallet into his pocket. “Sam, please,” she began to plead as she watched him rifle through the drawers for his lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and his phone. “Samuel, no! Please!” she all but begged as he made his way towards the door. As he passed the bed, Melanie grabbed his hand, and dragged him closer to her, right up against the side of the bed, as a matter of fact. With her other hand, she pulled his head down near hers, and looked into his eyes. “Samuel. Sammy. Please, stay with me.” Her words were quiet, hushed, and yet powerful nonetheless.

And the boy with the tattoos and the suddenly empty eyes allowed Melanie to pull him into bed, allowed his sister to wrap his arms around her, to curl into him, and to keep him there. As Melanie relaxed, and drifted off into sleep, Samuel didn’t, and remained wide awake, eyes watching the clock, watching Melanie. It was 2:37 AM when Melanie fell asleep, breath even, all evidence of the cries and the terror gone. It was 2:38 AM when Samuel began to untangle himself yet again from his sister, this time gentler, unnoticeable. It was 2:38 AM when Samuel stood, and wrapped the blankets around his darling sister, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was 2:39 AM when Samuel made sure he had everything—wallet, ID, money, lighter, cigarettes, phone.

Keys.

It was 2:40 AM when Samuel opened the drawer, quiet as could be, and reached the keys for the car. The nurses were allowed cars, for trips for their patients. The nurses were not allowed cars for making bad decisions at 2:40 AM. But Samuel had let his little sister get hurt. He had tried to protect her but he couldn’t, he didn’t. Samuel wasn’t one for masochism, but he couldn’t stand the fact that he had failed to keep her from Raven.

It was 2:42 AM when Samuel opened the door, his door, and closed it behind him, while Melanie was still sound asleep.

It was 2:45 AM when Samuel was making his way out of the asylum.

And it was 2:47 AM when Samuel put the keys in the ignition, and drove to the bar.