~WARNING~
There will be talk of rape as well as scenes of death. If you as a reader cannot handle that then please don't read. I worked hard on this chapter so please; give a comment, follow or favourite if you can.
Love you my darlings!
L x
"You're Jane Ives aren't you?"
Jane's head snapped forward and her gaze landed on a young girl, she looked similar to her age. She appeared to be dressed in the same paper thin attire they had forced her to wear when she arrived to Wayward Sanitorium.
Jane blinked, surprised to hear the words that had just come out of her mouth.
She was tall, her hair swung in red tangles across her freckled shoulders, her pale green eyes growing wider with each passing second that Jane didn't answer her.
Her lips parted, but she couldn't find the words. She was staring, Jane realised. She reacted by shrinking herself further away into her seat, earning a humourless snort in return.
Jane's last session for the day involved group therapy. Her neck convulsed with nervousness as she heard a collection of grunts within the enclosed space. A line of chairs had been scattered into a large circle around the room. It was full of different age groups;
There was one patient called Molly. A little blonde girl who appeared dainty and small. She rarely talked or seemed interested in anything the psychiatrists informed her, but instead chose to pay attention to her doll she carried around by her side at all times. It was seamless, stained and tethering at the ends. To Jane, it was rather grotesque, a horrid sight to encounter.
She always had trouble breathing when the doll appeared near her, her mouth would twitch with wonder and fascination as she remembered hearing the preculiar story of this child's case.
It had been told that one night, both of her parents found her standing over her twin sisters bed, her full name had been Annabelle White before she was brutally murdered.
The sight was gruesome and left her parents screeching in horror at their daughters disfigured body. Finding Molly with a knife in one hand, the other was grasping her doll roughly, her sisters blood smeared across her chubby cheeks.
Crimson blood had then trickled from the corner of the blade, leaving splatter marks on the carpet floor.
Molly had fully turned to face her parents once she heard the noise of their arrival, clutching the doll tighter than before. Her nose then wrinkled, a ghost of a smile played around the corners of her stained lips, they too were coated in her sisters dried up blood.
Her next words were like an ice pick to their heart's as she whispered meekly, "It was the doll. It told me do it, I'm sorry." The next few seconds were alarming. They stood stone still, as if they hadn't quite understood what she'd said.
With shaking hands, they watched as she dragged the doll closer to her bloody, soaked chest, letting out a contempt sigh as she stroked the sides of its wool hair. "It will all be okay. Don't you see? I did it to protect her, she's finally safe. She'll never have to worry about leaving my side now." Her expression remained childlike, her voice steady.
"Wendy, call the police!" The father says voiceless, void of no emotion. Yet, she remained firmly planted to her child's bedroom, her disbelieving eyes never leaving her daughters disfigured body.
Her little girl was unrecognisable, all parts of her had been scattered all over her brand new comforter. Wendy remembers only picking it out for her last week from their local store as a surprise birthday gift.
Annabelle had been more than excited, she was ecstatic to sleep with it. Now as the memory dimmed in front of her, so did her clouded thoughts;
Her child had been murdered.
A tremor had mistfully entered her body, it took everything in her power to keep herself intact right then and there. It was her obligation as a Mother to keep her children safe, and she failed at just doing that.
She felt herself launching forward and grasping her daughters throat roughly, shoving her into the wall. Her heart remained numb, her fingers trailing down the side of her daughters neck, tightening in the process. She ignored Mollys shrieks, continuing to press down harder, watching as her daughter face contorted in pain. "Mommy! Mom, please-"
"No!" She hissed, "You are no longer a daughter of mine."
"Wendy! That's enough! Let her go and do as I tell you. Now!" Her husbands hand had firmly settled on top of hers, halting her movements. Wendy remained emotionless, her eyes far away as her ears picked up the sounds of sirens blaring outside their children's shared window.
Her eyes travelled towards the staircase as she saw numerous police officers enter her home.
Wendy closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her hands were now wretched off her daughters throat. She heard the endless shouts and felt unfamiliar hands escorting her out of the bloodied scene whilst her husband remained in the room, speaking to the sherif.
"Ma'am, I need to know exactly what happened." Another officer ushered out, placing his hand on her shoulders. Everything around her started to fade away and simply became background noise.
After that, what had been written in Molly's file of her statement was so alarming to not only the Hawkins police department but to Wayward Sanitorium itself.
Molly had said to the officers, the soul of her sister Annabelle now remained in the doll. It had been the dolls idea itself to let Molly use her as a shell to keep her sister forever by her side. It was told, that it was Wendy's decision to have them both separated due to their divorce finalising only weeks before. Each parent taking a child for their own, not knowing that would be the final straw for their daughters murder.
And that's how Molly White ended up in Wayward for the last two years.
Jane was always shocked, disbelief written across her face as she wondered why they'd let her keep the doll. Her thoughts were never answered though, she never spoke up to anyone or dared ask why.
She was fading into nothingness and she preferred it to stay that way for as long as she could.
The girls eyes-if possible-grew wider as they awaited for an answer off Jane that never came. The girl let out a sigh as she tossed her mane of red hair over her clothed shoulder, not realising it was now sticking out in all different directions. The messiness suited her, Jane noted thoughtfully.
Messiness suited any patient that was listed in Wayward.
Jane shook her head, pretending not to understand her. The red heads mouth twitched upwards, a slight smirk making its way to her lips.
"I'm Max," She states firmly, planting herself comfortably in the seat beside Jane's. "My full names Maxine, but I hate it. So I'd prefer if you call me Max, or Max-a-million, or M for short. Whatever you like really, just not Maxine. Got it?"
All Jane could muster was a small nod before she turned her attention to the window just above Max's head.
A beam of sunlight was beginning to slide through the cracks of the dreary room. Jane could feel herself beginning to forget what sunlight felt like against her skin. Her once honey suckled complexion had now turned into a deadly pale colour, she resembled a ghost but so did every patient as well.
Max pulled out a small flask from the inside of her shirt and dangled it in front of Jane's nose. "You could use a drink, stiff." She froze at her statement before letting out a low chuckle and nodding along at her choice of words.
"Stiff, I like it. It suits you a lot." She says, smiling.
Jane swung her body around fully, looking at Max with a frown plastered across her face. "My name is Jane, not stiff." She says under her breath.
"Holy shit, ladies and gentlemen she speaks! Finally, I was worried I'd have to make conversation with lady lips over there." Jane raised her eyebrows as she followed Max's stare, landing on an older woman who appeared in her late sixties.
"Lady lips?" She muttered, confused by the nickname. Max sent her another sly smile from her seat before taking a quick swig from her flask, earning an appreciative groan of approval.
She smacked her lips together, letting out a hum of what seemed like contentment as she let the affects of the alcohol take over her body for a split second.
She almost forgot that she was in a mental asylum, if they caught her looking the slightest bit intoxicated, she'd be in solitary for weeks.
That just wouldn't do for Max. Not now, not when she had just stumbled upon something interesting.
That being Jane Ives.
Max cleared out her throat before throwing Jane an amused look, "You see, Stiff-"
"It's Jane."
"Okay, Jane." Max teased, dragging out her name longer than she needed to. She liked the way it felt on her tongue, the name Jane being simple and utterly sweet. You didn't get many of those around Wayward.
She continued on, "Her real name is Bette Davis but I much prefer calling her Lady lips, it suits her once you here what she did." Max cackled, throwing her head back as spurts of laughter poured from her mouth.
Jane watched her, puzzled by her reaction but remained quiet and attentive, waiting for her to finish. She wiped the corners of her eyes as unleashed tears were threatening to spill. "She's basically ancient. Bette was one of the first patients to ever arrive in Wayward when it was first built in the early seventies. They say her husband was having an affair, that Miss Lady lips over there caught him in the act."
Max handed Jane her half-filled flask, "I won't continue the story until you've had at least one sip." She throws her a wicked grin, watching as Jane pries the bottle off her hand, unsure of what to do next.
"Just drink the damn thing!" Max exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration.
She sniffed it and her nose wrinkled in disgust at the stench. Jane closed her eyes and braced herself for the taste as her lips latched onto the opening.
As she guessed, the contents burned through her throat. She let out a hiss, beginning to cough loudly. Max giggled, repeatedly smacking a hand across her back, making it easier for Jane's airway to consume even more air if possible. "There, there, you'll be okay Stiff. I said to have a sip, not to inhale the whole bottle." Max grinned.
"Continue the story like you had promised." Jane grumbled, her voice edging with annoyance, still rapidly burning from moments before.
Max nodded before whispering lowly, "She lost it after that. When she found them in bed together, she raced to the kitchen and started a fire with a set of matches she found. I guess she wanted out, but she was ready to drag them down along with her. The fire didn't spread out too far, but it singed off her lips. They had to use her own lady parts to make a set of new lips for her. Then viola, that's how my marvellous nickname was created."
Max smile broadens involuntarily as she watches Jane's eyes bulge with disbelief.
She begins lifting her flask in a salute directed at Jane before swiftly adding, "Welcome to Wayward, Stiff."
She glanced at Bette, and then back at Max, disgust evident on her face. Max cocked an eyebrow at her, her eyes filled with softness as she saw panic beginning to surface onto Jane's angelic features.
"Hey, it's okay. It isn't so bad here, there's worse places to be." Max leans back against her plastic chair, shrugging her shoulders at a bewildered Jane.
"What's your story?" Jane breathed out suddenly, watching the way her jaw pulsed at her question.
Max let's out a quiet, defeated sigh. She stares at her thoughtfully. Regret and relief flooding through her eyes. Jane feels a glimmer of understanding swell inside of her body.
Whatever Max had done in her past couldn't have been so terrible to lead her to where she was now. No one deserved to be put in Wayward no matter the circumstance.
Dragging her gaze away from Jane's, she settles on staring at Lady lips. Max clears her throat, already hating the sensation of tears invading her green eyes. "Where do I start?" she uttered dryly, a dark chuckle parting from her lips.
She continues on, "My Mother got re married to a gym teacher called Phil, he was nice. Dull, but nice. He was far from threatening, unlike his son Billy. From the day they both said I do to each other, was the day my stepbrother decided it was okay to start raping me." Max clears her throat, raising a hand to brush out her flaming red hair that was cascading down her back in waves.
This time, she didn't meet Jane's eyes but instead stared straight into space as her voice grew weak and weary. "It had gone on for years, I was too afraid to tell them of what he'd done to me. Something ticked inside of me one night though, and I waited, knowing he'd sneak his way into my room once they were sound asleep. The minute he slipped his fingers into my underwear, I shot him, twelve times to be exact, the bastard had it coming."
"Oh Max, I'm so sorry." Jane whispers. Her sympathy made tears spring into Max's eyes.
Without a second thought Jane reaches over and captures her hands, lacing their fingers together. Max looks started for a moment, watching in amazement as Jane traces her inner palm with the tips of her fingers. As she grazes over it softly, Max slowly unwinds from her rigid state and relaxes against her seat once again.
A tired smile crawls its way on Max's face and Jane could only muster enough effort to flash one back at her. Both silently thriving off each other's company, her vulnerability allowing Jane to finally let her guard down.
She was exhausted.
Then Max said, with disbelief in her tone, "You really don't belong here do you, Stiff?"
No, she truly didn't. She was going to escape Wayward one way or another.
Maybe with a little help off a boy called Mike Wheeler.