I sat through four more rounds of checks without moving a muscle, save for the faint, unsettled sensation in my stomach when I flashed back to that ridiculous, uncouth and completely one-sided kiss.  My notebook stared at me from across the room, snidely, begging for me to prove through my pen that what this room had just witnessed wasn't its imagination, or mine.  But this wasn't the time to write – what would I say?  'A complete psycho is trying to seduce me.  Help.'  It sounded bad enough just put into words; I can't imagine what it would have looked like on paper.  I already suspected Lisa read the notebook on a regular basis, and frankly I wasn't so sure she wouldn't take 'complete psycho' as a compliment.

I couldn't write.  It was almost time for meds; I couldn't stay here. But I couldn't go out there, into the hall, into... that.  She could have been there.  She could have been anywhere.

And, as I soon learned... she had.

It only took those twenty minutes for me to build up room 1210 as some sort of otherworldly S&M chamber, with cages and leather and chains and Lisa, right in the center of it all, with red horns and a pitchfork.  I did my best to get a laugh out of my outrageous projections, but the more I thought about it, the more it fit Lisa to a tee.  Never mind that we were in a mental institution and the closest thing to chains that she would have access to was a rolled-up pillowcase.

The only time I left my room all evening was for meds, which I dutifully tongued away and later slipped to Daisy for nothing in return.  My good deed for the day.  If I never came out of 1210 alive, I wanted to be remembered for something decent.

I had, of course, the option to simply not go.  And I considered the option fully.  Not fully enough to stop me, but fully enough for me to decide on the ground rules: I was only showing up to be polite.  I would clarify her intentions, decide they were completely unacceptable, inform her I wasn't interested in the least, and go back to my room.

Jesus fucking Christ.  Could I have possibly sounded more like a poster child for chastity?

It was eleven forty-two before I... realized it was eleven forty-two.  I scrambled off my bed, propelling the book I'd been reading halfway across the room, and began rummaging through my dresser until I realized what I was doing.

I was changing.

For Christ's sake, if I hadn't caught myself sooner I could have ended up dabbing on blush and mascara and popping a breath mint.  And so now, along with everything else, I'd humiliated myself.  Defiantly smoothing out my shirt – my original shirt – I stepped valiantly into the hallway.

Everyone was in bed – as any rational person would tend to do after curfew.  The only sign of life came from, as promised, the security guard, pacing back and forth at the far end of the hall.

I think it took me about ten minutes to actually reach the end of the hall.  I turned back twice, and the third time I would have been walking backwards had I been going any slower.  He caught sight of me at about twenty feet, and came to a halt.

"Past curfew, miss."

I swallowed.  Breathe in, breathe out.  "I – I'm here to see Lisa Rowe."

Brilliant start, Susanna.  Yes, one moment, Dr. Rowe will be right with you – have a seat and fill out these forms while I alert her to your presence.

Instead, all I got was a slow, disconcerting grin.  "The new girl, eh?"

"Excuse me?"

He nodded at a room a few doors past him, and from a distance I could make out a faded '1' on the door.  Then a '2', then...

I walked on, feeling his eyes on me until the last second, until I raised my hand and tapped lightly on the door.

Nothing.

Again – this time a full, strong knock.

Nothing.

I tried the doorknob, and it was open.  I poked my head through and there she was.  Sprawled on the bed, backwards, head hanging over the edge, with a bowl of grapes resting on her stomach.  I watched as she tossed a grape into the air, following it with her eyes as it made its descent, and caught it with her tongue.  I remained unimpressed.

"I – I knocked."

"I know."  Grape Two – up, down, PLOP.

"Why didn't you answer?"

Up, down, plop.  "I was eating."  She spun around, somehow managing to sit up in the process, and set her grapes down on the nightstand.

And flashed me That Grin.

I noticed she'd changed – but I can't say it was much of an improvement.  Cutoff jean shorts and a tank top.  In the middle of October in New England.  ...And I was trying to rationalize Lisa, why?

"Have a seat, babe."

I looked around.  There was a chair – at least I assume it was a chair – there was so much crap and clothes and books on it, it was hard to tell.  And there was the bed, a tiny bed, which she seemed to be strategically monopolizing by sitting smack dab in the middle of it.

"...Where?"

She raised an eyebrow.  For a split second, that dizzy feeling in my stomach was back.

"Look," I sighed, ignoring it to the fullest.  "All I wanted to tell you was that... whatever you have in mind, I'm not interested."

She nodded thoughtfully, eyes narrowing in concentration.

"And – "  And?  There was an 'and'?  There hadn't been an 'and' when I'd practiced this, and honestly I wasn't sure why there was one now.  "And..."

Continuing to nod, therapist-style, reaching for a grape without ever breaking my gaze.

"And..."  For the first time, I actually looked around.  "What is this?"

She plopped back against the bed, sprawling out and folding her arms behind her head.  "This, sweetpea, is my room."

"You get your own room?"

"No one else wants to share," she sighed pitifully, sinking down into her pillow.

I shot her a fleeting smile as I slowly made my way around the room, examining its contents.  "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... you're lying."

"HA!"  She'd been waiting for it.  "Val won't let anyone in here unless they're staff.  I'm a baaaaad influence."

"Won't argue with that."

"Neither will anyone else but it never stopped them."

"Who?"

Another eyebrow, up – less questioning, more inviting.  I rolled my eyes.

"Right," I deadpanned, placing a bizarre necklace back on its shelf and turning to her.  "So, how many other girls on the ward have you screwed so far?"

"Just about everyone.  Why, Susie Q?  You want the dish on someone?  Gotta tell you, though, they aren't real dykes.  They just make an exception for me 'cause let's face it, what choice do they have?  But if you're looking for, y'know, a ballpark figure of my... personal record... I dunno, seventy percent?"

Dead, deafening silence.

I swallowed.  "I was kidding."

"Me too; it's more like eighty.  Didn't wanna scare you.  Y'know.  First time and all."

I couldn't help it – I laughed.  It wasn't a real laugh, to be fair, it was a stunned, shock-laugh mixed in with some variation of "WHAT?"

She winked.

"I – you – you actually think I – are you insane?"

"Word of advice, hon – that's not really a fair question on a psych ward."

I was genuinely laughing now – how could I not?  I would have pitied her if she'd let me, but see, that's the thing about Lisa.  She actually decides how she'll allow someone to feel about her.  I didn't understand it, I don't to this day – but once she lets you figure that out – that she's in control – it's like you're bound to her, somehow.  She's magnetic, and if she lets you see it, really see it... then you're drawn to her, powerless, and there's no way to reverse it.

And the scariest part is, she knows it.

"Come on, sit," she demanded, scrunching up on one side of the bed.  "I'll give you a grape."

"I don't want a grape," I snapped, still curbing my laughter, and headed for the door.  "I'm going to bed, Lisa."

"Okay," she chirped.  "One more thing."

I turned around, one hand on the doorknob, and stared at the wall.  "I'm going to bed."

"If you can look at me when you say that, I'll leave you alone.  I swear.  Girl Scout's honor."  She somberly held up two fingers.

I hated her for making me laugh, I absolutely hated her.  "You were a GIRL SCOUT?"  The mental image alone was horrifying.

"You're STALLING!"

"Fine," I choked, wiping away any traces of amusement, and met her eyes.  "Lisa, I–"

She knew it.  Before I even started, she knew I wouldn't finish.  She knew it, and I knew it, and that was enough.

My hand fell from the doorknob, and she fell back on the bed.  "Come on over, have a grape."

I did.  I crossed the fucking room and sat down on the bed.  She grabbed her grapes and placed the bowl between us.  I reached for one, and she slapped my hand away.  Eloquent one that I was, I managed to drop my jaw and keep quiet.

"Relax," she instructed.  "You can't do it if you're tense."

I couldn't believe I was asking:  "Do... what?"

"Catch it.  Now, lie down.  No pillow; come on, scoot."  She yanked the pillow out from under my head until I was flat on the mattress.  "Now, keep your eyes on it the entire time – just like baseball.  Okay?"

I might have been stupid enough to answer if I wasn't erupting in giggles every time I remembered how nervous I was.

She tossed a grape up in the air, and it bounced off my nose.  The second one rolled off the bed; the third she decided to snatch for herself, and the fourth... fell down the front my shirt.

"Goddammit, it's cold!" I whimpered, groping at my tucked-in shirttails in the few seconds before my arms were suddenly pinned to my sides.

I looked up.  She was hovering over me; her hands had already released mine, but I didn't budge.  I stayed frozen, watching, allowing – somehow, allowing her to crawl over me, settling herself just below the top of my jeans, as her fingers expertly freed my shirt from its confines and slid it up my waist.  The grape emerged, rolling right onto her waiting tongue.

She let the tiny purple ball dance around in her mouth for a moment before biting down – languidly, deliberately – and swallowing.

I watched, still, as her concentration moved from the grape to the first – or last, depending on how you looked at it – button on my shirt.  Her eyes were on mine, never wavering, but she still opened all six buttons in what felt like a second.  I wasn't wearing a bra – I never did at night – but she wasn't quite there just yet.  She left the shirt as it was – prepped, closed, aching for completion – and turned her attention to the more challenging task of my jeans.

Same with those: unbutton, unzip, stop.  Face inches from mine.

Fuck this.

Slowly, I lifted myself up on my elbows and closed the space between us.