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Tip... tip... tip... Gazing out of the small, closed window, his eyes were hard as ever, cold as always, red from the torture. It's raining hard, just like his heart. It's too bad, too used to everything black. Pitch black. A small scoff left his mouth upon hearing the krrr of the small metallic door of the cell being opened.
It's another random coward doctor trying to "fix" him, huh? He doesn't want to be fixed. Can't they understand he is fine? He took his revenge by himself instead of waiting for those stupid cops investigating the mess and then blaming him in the end. No, he did right. He got what he wanted—what was necessary!
Psycho, they call him. Animal, like they treat him. Heartless, painless, they beat him, torture him. What's the need to fix his brain?! Just hit it too. Torture it too! Why treat it right? And then... then, after fixing him, give him a death sentence, huh? Ridiculous people.
"Ahem, ahem... hi?"
Not even a glance was given in her direction by the man—by that heartless psycho.
"Um... how are you?"
Again, that soft voice trying to melt his hard heart.
A small smirk appeared on his face now. His sick mind wanted some fun. He was bored. Why not give her, too, a chance to ahem, fix him?
He raised his sharp greenish eyes. Beautiful? Yes, the devil is always lurking. It has to be beautiful.
Her soft ones—brown in color, the most common eye color, he thought—met his greenish ones. Get scared. Yeah, be scared now. Run away in one... two... three...?
Smile. A soft smile on her face. For? For him? Hard to believe and see, he thought.
"How are you?"
He couldn't comprehend it for the first time. Flattered, his eyes blinked before he replied, his voice cold and harsh.
"How does it look like, doctor?"
She understood, nodding, then replied, "Um? In a bad condition?"
Again, he scoffed.
"Then why ask such a ridiculous, dumb question? A doctor is supposed to be smart." Smirking, he added, "Here you look quite... ahem... dumbass."
Her smile didn't falter, not even for a second. Nodding again as if agreeing with his words, she said, "I believe that too sometimes. I'm... I think most of the time by my heart. So my brain rests most of the time—"
Cutting her off, he turned his hard wooden chair bit by bit with force, turning it away from her, facing the black, black wall of the cell. The sound of what she believed to be 100-ton-thick shackles was loud. Then again, it was silent. He had shut her off completely. He was bored. Too bad, his habit from childhood—he gets bored quite often and quickly.
"Huh?" she let out in the silence.
"Umm... alright. I think you don't want to talk today too."
Too bad. Her head hung down, defeated. But her determination didn't falter, even after trying for the past three months. Still, he never opened his mouth, refusing to say even a word. Just in his own world.
"Did you eat?" Her usual question, as always, asking him whether he ate or not. She knew the service here in these filthy cells was the worst. Most of the time, it was hard to believe they even cooked something to feed people like him. Psycho.
His head tilted back slightly as he answered her.
"No, I didn't. Again, why the hell would you care? I believe it's just a random question to pass time. What's time again? Is my so-called session over yet? If yes, go check—fix other people like me, as they say. Leave me alone."
"What's this, huh?" he gritted his teeth, asking as she pulled out a red apple from her bag, offering it to him.
Pity! The only word in his mind. Pity! He hated it. His gaze was hard, cold, and red with anger, seeing the apple in her right hand near his mouth, offering a bite.
Bite? She wanted fine, then. He bit her hard, drawing blood like an animal. The apple, now redder than before, lay on the dirty, filthy floor of the cell. Blood oozed out of her hand from the animal's sharp teeth, yet she never said anything.
It was time to go. Leave him just like he wanted—to be ALONE. Her session was over. Seeing the time on her watch, she walked away from him. A quiet sound of her soft voice:
"Bye. Will meet tomorrow. Take care."
He rolled his eyes, but... he indeed glanced at her defeated, turning form, leaving the cell.
Tip... tip... tip of the rain was the only sound now disturbing him... or his companion in the silence.
Damnit. Give up... On ...him...on "Me" Please.
He pleaded for the first time to a person, and maybe for the last time—for that same person.
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