Whomever reads this story please think of a review, otherwise I will conclude that nobody cares for Missy Bender, the sad little girl of the hell family. Remember, the episode The benders. Please is one review so much to ask. I think missy deserves something. If you don't review the author gets the impression that her work is faulty hence easily overlooked.

"My dad used to sing to me every night, at least until mother went to bed and then-" The young woman breaks off, chocking back a sob that sounds brittle, shaky in her throat. Her chest convulses, trembling sobs wrack her frame. The rest of the room is chasm of silence with only her sounds to fill the void. There is a flicker of sympathy on the psychiatrist's face, her voice is gently firm, yet silently empathetic. "Now Dana, continue with your story, I guarantee you will feel much better after you are done."

One of the other patients snorts contemptuously but she is politely ignored. 'Patronizing bitch!' The patient thought to herself, angry thoughts buzzing in her head. 'As daddy would say 'she is so full of crap that she would give a methane farm a run for its money! She is so full of psychobabble that she belongs in here with us; in a white coat and so high on meds you're a damn eagle.'

The meds-how she hates the meds. Thinking of them tetchily. The little pills that left you in their mercy to mould into the kind of person they decided on .

"Missy! Would you like to go next?" The lady turned on her expectantly; a small coaxing smile on her lips. A complacent grin rises on the harsh-edged brunette's face in response. Her gaze swept across the room, noting the blank, indolent expressions that were etched into the sunken pallor of their faces. A few of them look at her with watery gazes, but the few others, who have undoubtedly been rewarded for their actions that morning, eyes are vacant and bodies pliant in the seat.

Leaning against the chair, she allowed the supposed-enlightened words to leave her conniving tongue, "Friends, You all know of my suffering and I suspect all of you have been hurt by those you trusted! But I realize now that it wasn't my fault.." The lies that spew from her lips echo with a falsetto note of sincerity that causes her stomach to churn. The speech was rehearsed, the flatness carefully buried under wanton feelings. She whimpers at the right time, hugs herself and repeats certain choice phrases over again until her stomach lurches with the scorn she feels for them, her captives.

Let them think they had hammered her into a belief, abandoning the very essence of her family. "My daddy didn't love me..he was abusing me and it wasn't my fault!" She repeats tearfully, injecting truth and emotion, a huge contrast to her personality, while her lips quiver. The crux of the exercise is so she connects with her humanity, lets it drain like sewage water into her veins, bringing a tidal wave of guilt and regret, burying her under it. but such a state would not befall Missy Bender-Nope-Daddy raised her right.

She tells them what they want to hear not what she knows in her heart is true. The truth is a solace she keeps locked in a small corner of her beating heart, next to the rage restrained in chains. Her daddy and her brothers loved her in the only way they knew how. She finishes off her performance; a trite plastic smile hangs limply while sweat clings to her ashen skin. Subdued applause serves as an encouragement because loud noises upset the other residents.

Inwardly, her body erupts with wicked mirth and malicious glee. The small tear drop that slides down her cheek like delicate pearl cinches it. They are convinced of her change of heart. Sparing a peek at Dr Keller, the group therapist is watching her with a small grin that fills her eyes with professional happiness and vain satisfaction. Obviously she is pleased that she has managed to reach one of the more difficult patients. Missy's own lips arc to mimic hers, some pathetic attempt at female solidarity, but in all honesty the Doc could take all her theories and shove it up or down her farting hole… whichever one she chooses.

Missy throws herself onto the bed and stares at the white ceiling, waiting until the hot ball of excitement nestling in her stomach trickles away. Nevertheless, staring at the ceiling is hardly a favourite pass time at the institution. It is so bland as compared to her old place of residence. The old house, with its ancient woodworks and furniture. The musty scent of blood and age taints the atmosphere but it was comforting to her. The smell itself held memories of many a glorious night after a successful hunt. The hospital, with its synthetic, insipid taste and lifeless, bare character actually threaten to drive her mad, more insane if it was possible.

Her house. Her home. Was an entirely new experience. The house was a fortress, secluded from the petty rules and obligations of man, no one could touch her or her family. The time used to be whiled away sorting out shapes designed by the sunlight filtering through the blemished glass, tracing animals, people and monsters amongst the shadows. She had envisaged them in little stories until the sun descended in the horizon, the red streaks creeping across the derelict floorboards as the room was slowly blanketed in darkness.

Thought she enjoyed the game, her love for the hunt, an inherent quality, compelled her to spend the humid nights with her Dad and brothers to lone afternoons in isolation. Her dad was reluctant in the beginning, her being a girl and hunting was strictly a manly sport. There were occasions when she considered that he was disappointed and disproved of her; it was a source of misery while the desperation to prove herself clawed at her insides.

Luckily, her brothers in due course of time were swayed to her way of thinking. "There is no way in hell, our sister is growing up to be some perty, sissy princess in a tower, that only happens in fairy tales..' Lee's gruff voice, thickened by a vicious drawl was retracted from a barely retrievable, fading memory.

Missy's eyes slide from the ceiling to the floor where a square shadow lay, narrowing as a result of the weakening of sunlight of late afternoon falling on the glass, from the only window in the room. Just thinking about her Dad and brothers leaves her heavy with sadness and longing, thin hot needles stab her heart. 'They loved me..i don't care what that bitch says ..they loved me !' It had become her dictum since being committed to Minnesota state mental asylum, the 'supposed' stabilizing factor to her insanity. Sheilding agaisnt the loud, crass, persuasive and repetitive screeches in the hospital, rebutting what they forced on her, she didn't belong here. Sitting up she pushes herself off the bed and flattens against the floor. The chill seeps into her pores, detached and prickly. Drawing in a deep breath, she began to do push- ups, her focus on the paleness of the wall opposite her as her breathing is regulated. The exercise is to ensure that her body is kept agile and fit.

In due time, the door slids open with an alerting ding and Missy looks up to two immaculate pair of pants ending in shiny shoes. Tucking a strand behind her ear, she stands up and asks perkily, curves of her cheeks widening." Hello doctor! Is it time for my meds already!" Her eyes shining brightly but diluting in lucidity.

He returned her smile genially but his eyes tell a different tale, the lewdness glimmering at the corners. "Yes, Missy! It time for me to give you that TLC you require!" They share a chuckle together, saturated in the counterfeit trust that strings their connection. "I'm grateful to you doctor !" She said throatily as she lay on the bed, slightly spreading her legs "I bet even Florence Nightingale wasn't as dedicated as you!" It is not too hard to play this role. Her skin crawls under the shameless, lascivious stare the middle-aged man could dare to inflict on a girl, who could as well be his daughter. It wasn't as bad. Before she became as adept, she used to bite her nails into sharp points and then scrap into her skin, desperate for relief.

A pleased smirk tilts the corner of his lips, countenance darkened by the vulgar glitter in his eyes. "I do enjoy my work, Missy! But sometimes it gets too stressful and I need to unwind." The words oily in phony sentiment, gently cajole with prurient intent. You understand don't you! I 'm only doing this so I can continue to treat my patients with the special attention that they require and you're being tremendously helpful in easing my burdens..so to speak." The smile is stretched across her face like the smile of a clown, painted and pretend.

"When you arrived, you were this brain washed, tortured little girl. But now under my scrutiny, you've grown so much." His fingers tug on the hem of her gown, not really seeking an invitation but out of habit. Habits were at the forefront of the human psyche, any psychologist will tell you that. Then they slowly began to climb forward, testing the warmth and succulence of the surface. Gradually her eyes dull to an almost plated sheen of russet. "You're growing up Missy!" "Yes, Doctor Petrelli?" She agrees, her gaze is fixed on him, dwindling emotion from her eyes draining into the emptiness inside her.

She watched as his boyish features twist into another person she knew intimately, whose specialty was clandestine explorations. Fingers return to lightly stroke the hem of her hospital gown, teasing the skin, burning her but she doesn't display the utter despise that wrings her body taut. A thin flash of violence flickers in her eyes but he is drowning in his urges and everything else matters little. "Didn't your wife get breast work done?" The comment slips from her lips with a hint of a smile, stalling the hand working up her thigh. "Where did you hear that?" He clears his throat, flinching, noting with uncertainty the strange look that suddenly drapes her features. "The nurse's gossip!"

Catching on the hint of fear, she adds with a ghostly smile "Nothing about us!"

His face slackens until only the delighted smirk is prominent, "Bunch of busy bodies, we shouldn't care about them! We have each other." His whisper against her ear, is scorching hot and needy; his hand continues its travel. Briefly, his eyes meet her shinning brown orbs, before claiming her bruised lips. He caresses her mouth, a keening sound fluttering in his throat. Her eyes stare straight ahead, pin pricks of murder evident, almost swallowed by the nothingness that swivels in her eyes.

After three reviews, will post the next one!