And she thought she could only sketch, never paint. Well, ever since she had been committed to the asylum, there was no paper, no pencils, nothing more for her to do what she loved. So she attempted to paint. She'd already wiped blood all over her ripped up straight jacket, and she couldn't paint with her copper liquid on anything else but those spotless, clean, white walls. She ruined their perfection with her own.
She let out a quiet deranged laugh to show her amusement. She then plopped down and stared blankly at her new creation, her arms dripping with the metallically sweet tonic. She stared for a good four hours.
Then the creaking of the thick steel door slowly opening sliced through the morbid silence.
She slowly turned her head to see what had entered her lonely hall. Forgetting to turn around, once her neck reached the point where it could turn no more, she fell to the side and on her stomach. She ignored that, and stared blankly ahead through the bars of her cell, now laying down.
She waited and watched.
What met her cold eyes were two guards, each holding the end of leather straps attached to the straight jacket of the patient. He had short white hair, and a piercing gold eye. The other had had a patch over it. He was strangely calm, allowing the guards to lead him. Why? Everyone else that went down here was screaming madly. That was music to her ears, and candy to her eyes. She loved to hear and see others in pain, as well as herself. His silence and calmness disturbed her.
She arched a plucked thin brow, inching back into the comfort of the shadows and keeping from view of any of the new three that entered. This was her hell, and no one else's. She wanted them out. She did not retreat to the darkness for comfort, but to think better. To plan.
It just so happened he was placed in the cell right next to her. Perfect.
Once all was silent and the guards had left and shut and locked the door, she stood slowly, and leaned up against one of the clean padded walls. After staying there a few moments, she loped over to the wall, and stood on her toes, and opening the small window that allowed her to look into the others' cell. Sure enough, there the silent one was, sitting down and looking down, up against one of the walls.
She waited and watched.
"Hey," she finally whispered to him, in hopes just that would get his attention. Her voice was weak, and cracked from her not using it all these years.
He glanced up. He looked a bit confused, a bit blank. But she could see a hidden rage behind that golden eye of his. Just waiting to come out. "Hello," he finally muttered in return.
She offered a small twisted grin, stringy bangs of unnatural bright red falling into the vision of her blank ice blue eyes. She dyed her bangs permanently the colour of blood before she got here. The true colour of her hair was a deep brown, falling down to about her mid spine. At the moment, it was tied back in a tight braid.
"Watcha in for?" She asked quietly.
He allowed a thin smirk to cross his lips. "Hurting God."
She stared blankly a few minutes, allowing the meaning of his words to work through her misused mind. Finally she spoke again, when a thought came to her.
"Come here."
He blinked, but obeyed, pushing himself up, using the padded wall, and lumbered over, and to the window. She stepped aside and motioned behind her, towards the "WELCOME TO HELL," art on the wall. Her twisted grin prevailed.
He stared, as if in awe. "You too?"
"Yes." She nodded once.
"It's beautiful," he said, tearing his gaze away from the masterpiece and over to it's creator.
"Thank you." Maybe she would allow him into her hell after all.
A flare suddenly enraged within the man's eyes. It was his other personality's turn. All this pondering on the subject Farfarello loved made him restless. He suddenly let out a sadistic and roar-like yell, and began ramming himself repeatedly up against the glass of the window.
Surprised, the girl stumbled backwards, until finally her spine met with the bloody padded wall, and she slid down it, eyes wide, watching the spit-personality take place. She had rubbed up against her words, and ruined the sign. But her mind was not on that at the moment, no, she was absorbed in this new maniac and his sickness. Days in the asylum would certainly be less boring then they had been previously.
--
Once the man was calm, her maniacal grin reappeared, and she slid up, covered in her own blood, and lingered over again.
"A skitzo?"
He hesitated a few moments before replying, staring at the ground in deep thought. He then looked up to her and nodded. His tongue ran along his upper lip. He missed his knives, he wanted to taste their cold metal again. He wanted to cut himself. Perhaps the other would remove his mind from such thoughts. He stared blankly, but spoke.
"What is your name?"
She rose a black brow, sucking her bottom lip in and pressing her teeth down. She then released it and said, "Angie. You?" She leaned forward a bit, pressing her chest up against the wall, spidery and blood-caked fingers pressing up against the bottom of the window, dirtying it with the crimson that had not yet dried.
He glanced down to the red finger prints, then back up to her. "Jei. And Farfarello."
"Jei," she repeated his name as if she was amazed by it, like a child learning a new word "Farf-ar-ell-o." But that was just because she was not all there anymore.
"Jei." He repeated, assuring her to call him that and not his other name, for fear of him going into another fit. If the guards saw him like that, he would be put in longer, and farther back into the asylum.
"Jei," she repeated once more, and rocked back, looking at the blood splattering on the ground from her arms.
Without saying another word, she turned and growled like an animal. Grinning, she lunged, and pounced her straight jacket. Ceasing it in her teeth, she picked it up and shook it, flicking blood everywhere. With an almost perverted giggle, she rose both bloodied hands and used both mouth and limbs to rip the jacket apart. Then she took the strips, wrapping them around her arms.
Jei watched, blinking time to time. She reminded him of himself.
Once finished, she turned again, and darted back to the window, standing up again and looking to him, still grinning.
He only grinned in return. This was nothing out of the ordinary for him. He'd been psycho all his life, it was actually nice to meet one of his own kind. Maybe they would even become friends. That is, if she would allow it.
--
Days and days had passed, maybe a week or so. Jei had not let Farfarello free for the longest time, and he was beginning to grow weak. He and Angie talked every single day about mindless things, such as umbrellas, cheese, and chocolate.
He watched her. He watched her every move now. He watched her lips move when she talked, he watched her sleep, and he watched her cry. He watched everything, and the only human contact he had being her, he almost thought of her as an obsession. A possession. He asked her questions, everything about her he could possibly think of. The only thing he regretted he could not do was to know what went on inside that head of hers, and what she thought of him.
"How are you today, Jei?" her voice was muffled and cracking, as it always was. Like a rancid sound brought my a misplayed piano, or a string breaking on a guitar. The screeching of tires even. It was music, lovely music to his ears.
He looked up slowly, and across the padded room over to the window to see that anorexic thin form he admired so much pressing slim fingers up and sliding them over the glass, a twisted smile over coming her face. "I'm fine," he answered.
Her eyes trailed his form lazily, half lidded. Then she slowly slid down the glass and out of view.
It was early, he assumed. She probably was tired and was going back to sleep. And so he stared forward, at that window, waiting for her to reappear. She did not for a long while. His eye twitched. Farfarello wanted his turn.
"Ungh," a nauseated moan escaped his throat, and he slid up the wall, stumbling forward and swaying. Flaming, he glared up at the window, and gave the demonic cry, and rammed at the wall that homed the window.
Again. And again. And again.
Her face appeared, eyes wide with confusion.
He saw her face and something came over him. He bashed his head at the glass over and over, arms struggling to rid themselves of the restraining suit. Finally, leather straps burst, and he ripped free of the straight jacket, and began punching at the window with his fists.
She had stumbled back, as before, pressed to the oposite wall, now terrified.
Farfarello thought he wanted to kill her.
The urge increased more and more, his strength building. He broke the glass. His arm reached in, flailing wilding, in a desperate attempt to grab the form on the other side of the inclosure. And an alarm went off. He ignored it.
Soon, guards rushed in. He heard them, and froze. Slowly, that glaring golden eye shifted from the girl curled into a fetal position, whimpering and crying, to the group of men outside his cell. He turned and lunged, screaming.
The door was opened, and the guards attempted to catch him. He was too much. In a matter of minutes, they were knocked out, and Farfarello was free to run amuck through the entire asylum.
He did not. He was drawn to Angie's cell.
He rushed over, and practicly ripping the bars apart, slunk in. She looked towards him, eyes wide, though no longer with fear. She had quickly recovered from the fright. Slowly she stood, a mangled grin, as always, upon her face.
He narrowed his eye, and jumped.
She was heaved up against the wall by him. The crack up brittle bones and limbs being crushed in Angie's body were a major sound, echoing in the cell. She whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of her head.
Farfarello pulled his knife. He'd kept it hidden, not even when ruffed could anyone find it.
He wrapped either of his now bare arms around the girl before him's waist, leaning back so he could grasp the knife between both palms, and plunged it into the small of her back. He looked down at her, staring blankly.
Farfarello became dormant.
Shaking, she rose both of her frail arms, placing them on his cheeks. "Tha-thank yah-you."
What had he done? Jei's eyes grew wide. "Thank you?" What was she talking about? He just stabbed her. He grew confused.
"Suh-see you in Hell. . ."
She leaned up, tilting his head, and pressed her lips to his.
". . . Jei."
She fell limp in his arms.
He hugged her motionless body close to his chest, buring his face in her hair.
He heard the steel door creak open. He didn't care.
"Farfarello."
A strong voice he had not recognized. Who would it be. . . ?
"I am Bradley Crawford, and this is Schuldich. You are ours now. Welcome to Schwarz."
He released Angie, allowing her body to fall to his feet. He turned to face the two.
"Hello."
He never spoke of the girl.