2.0 Retribution Endured During Righteously Unpleasant Moments

ret·ri·bu·tion n.

1. Something justly desrved; recompense.
2. Something given or demanded in repayment, especially punishment.
3. Theology. Punishment or reward distributed in a future life based on the performance in this one.

A year has passed since that unfortunate…accident, and he's still angry at me, which is quite the accomplishment since it as his doing in the first place. I wasn't pulling the trigger that blasted my love's face off, cackling as the red mist stained new carpet and the white paintjob. I was the one trying to help, to stop the death from occurring.

Seems he's forgotten that little detail.

Sitting on the opposite side of the medical establishment glass in startling white, curled hair falling around the frowning face and disdainful eyes, it's obvious he knows I'm here. But I know he isn't, and hasn't been in the twelve months he's been admitted into this mental health institution. Sadly the doctorates of the establishment aren't intelligent enough to know a broken soul, shattered mind when they see it, and feed pills to an empty, cluttered shell of a person that will never be civilized again.

Only I know the jigsaw he's turned his mind into by breaking through the three levels of subconscious. Each shattered piece, a memory fragment or data stored, mixed about in the gaping abyss like chips of precious gemstones. And lucky him, I'm the only one that can piece it together to make him the brilliantly cocky person he once was.

But that's the catch, when he won't let me brush against his mind, offer my help. He's not over the details of that two-year affair that turned so vile so quick, the dominance struggle and desperate fight with drugs. A relationship built on sex and attraction only, despite the want of love and compassion. Perhaps that's why he broke himself, threw it all away and knocked out the one reminder of those years.

Or he could have been genuinely crazy under that charm.

I raise a hand, tap on the glass; his eyes flick in my direction and focus on the spot of disruption before travelling upward to my face. Sick resignation pales his form as he raises his hands, palms toward me, hospital-addition uniform falling down his arms to show off the twisted white scars of long claws that had ripped through skin cleanly in anger. After a few seconds he lets his hands fall to his lap and mouths a string of disjointed words:

Redrum. Murder. Bats. Sex. Ecstasy. Blood.

I shake my head and rap my long claws on the glass, bringing his eyes back to focus. It's painful watching him slip in and out of a tattered awareness, only to choose to recall the most painful parts of those years.

I step back, drawing claws along the glass before my hand drops. He startles, hands clamped to his ears angrily at the sound only he can hear. He glares as I step back from the window before his hands fall uncertainly to the ground and his eyes shift back and forth, looking around for me anxiously as I step out of sight of the glass. Behind me I hear the sound of glass being pounded upon, and the insane command of a voice that's been useless for months.

"Redrum! Redrum eht dlihc! Redrum eht rotiart! Redrum eht evarg!"

As medical personelle file passed me, running to see what has their most dangerous solitary confinement patient in an uproar, I smile to myself and fade from view.

There's one other soul I've yet to disrupt, one other grave to attend to.

I'm not even going to try and describe my whereabouts over the months. 2.1 is done and will be up sometime this week, probably Wednesday. Sorry for keeping you guys waiting for book two, I know, I suck D: