Sleeping at Last

by BarefootJourney

Sometimes minds are too broken to ever be put back together. Sometimes the pieces are missing, and eternally lost. Sometimes reaching out means falling off the precipice into an abyss. Sometimes a heartbeat is only a drum, rather than an indication of life, keeping time while you march toward your own demise. (I'm planning on going to some dark places with this. Rating will change)

3. Chapter 3

Novak's name remained highlighted on the computer screen, the scheduled time ominous. 15 minutes.
Fifteen entire empty minutes with nothing to do, nothing to occupy her traitorous mind and keep it in check.

Leaning backward in the desk chair, Bridget's hands came up to cover her face, and she briefly entertained the image of pressing herself from the head, down to a puddle on the floor and dissolving into the carpet.

If only it were possible, she thought wistfully, secretly wishing the idea wasn't so ridiculous.
With elbows to the ceiling and palms pressed against her face like a deranged octopus, the psychologist sighed loudly through her nose, the sound amplified by the obstructive appendages.

The self-imposed blindness was a reprieve from her current surroundings, but cruelly gave the event from earlier in the day a chance to yank her consciousness back to that moment.

Sinister-filled glee did a shadow dance in Ferguson's eyes as she prowled around the diminutive blonde.

"Ah, Bridget.. " She leans in, breath searing hot against the ear of her target, her voice lowers so only the intended will receive her message. The tremble of fear and disgust that rippled through the woman beside her meant the words had made the hit, despite the practiced impassivity of the psychologist's face.
Joan reveled in it, breathing deeply the aura of apprehension, a new conquest now under way.

This, she thought to herself, nearly salivating at the delicious opportunity for destruction, this was going to be one of her more brilliantly satisfying endeavours. She vowed to savour every beautiful moment, starting with this tasty little morsel.

A forced intake of air extracted Bridget from the memory as she sat up straight, nearly ejecting herself from the seat.
"Pull yourself the fuck together, Bridget," she muttered, glancing at the time, shaking and wringing her hands as if they were the vessels that held the unpleasant thoughts.

Twelve minutes.
She looked for something to do, but all available tasks seemed unimportant and required more brainpower than she was willing to expend.
A breeze moved the branches outside to tap against the window, sunlight glinting off the leaves capturing her attention and providing a mesmerizing, anesthetic lull to overtaxed, scorched neurons.