It’s
been a rough week. I’ve been… paranoid.
I spent most of this week beating on Fracture, tying him up, staring at him, and eventually I threw him off the roof. That last one really takes me back to my youth. Huh, that kind of rhymes. And now I’m rambling.
Focus. So throwing Fracture off the roof did wonders for fixing his attitude problem, by which I mean his constant creepy smile. He even started talking and reasoning at me again. I think I might have missed that a little more than I would like to admit because I actually listened to what he was saying for once. The following is a rough retelling of it. I wasn’t hanging onto every word or anything:
“I think that was uncalled for.”
“I bet. You deserve every bit of it. You deserve more even.”
“And why would that be?”
“You betrayed me.”
“This surprises you? Have you read half the shit you’ve written? Don’t act so hurt. You were waiting for this. You constantly beat on me in anticipation for this. Had this day never come, you would look back on our time together and think on how my betrayal must have only been one more day away. Inevitable treachery stopped by a lack of time and opportunity.”
“Shut up!”
“Not having fun anymore?”
“This has never been fun.”
“Why so sour. This isn’t even about me is it? I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know.”
“Of course it’s about you!”
“This ‘betrayal’ doesn’t even phase you does it? I bet you’re proud of me. Putting work aside for personal passions.”
“…”
“This is about her. This is a distraction so you don’t have to deal with the life you’ve ruined. Poor Picasso, you can’t even man up and face her.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Ready to get back to work Duckie?”
“Yeah,… fine.”
Then I threw him off the roof again and untied him. After he was done soaking away his bruises in the shower we talked on what I planned to do about the Twin. I was surprised to find his didn’t approve of my brilliant plan, operation: ‘Snap her Neck and Leave her in a Ditch’. There was an argument.
“Don’t kill her.”
“Why the fuck not? She’s a dangerous defector at this point. All who fail to serve deserve their end.”
“You were spared. Don’t you think she deserves the same opportunity? Don’t you think you owe her that much?”
“I have never argued the point that they should have killed me after your sentencing. She dies.”
“What would her brother have wanted?”
“Fuck you, that’s what.”
And then I stormed out. It’s time to fix my mess.
I spent most of this week beating on Fracture, tying him up, staring at him, and eventually I threw him off the roof. That last one really takes me back to my youth. Huh, that kind of rhymes. And now I’m rambling.
Focus. So throwing Fracture off the roof did wonders for fixing his attitude problem, by which I mean his constant creepy smile. He even started talking and reasoning at me again. I think I might have missed that a little more than I would like to admit because I actually listened to what he was saying for once. The following is a rough retelling of it. I wasn’t hanging onto every word or anything:
“I think that was uncalled for.”
“I bet. You deserve every bit of it. You deserve more even.”
“And why would that be?”
“You betrayed me.”
“This surprises you? Have you read half the shit you’ve written? Don’t act so hurt. You were waiting for this. You constantly beat on me in anticipation for this. Had this day never come, you would look back on our time together and think on how my betrayal must have only been one more day away. Inevitable treachery stopped by a lack of time and opportunity.”
“Shut up!”
“Not having fun anymore?”
“This has never been fun.”
“Why so sour. This isn’t even about me is it? I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know.”
“Of course it’s about you!”
“This ‘betrayal’ doesn’t even phase you does it? I bet you’re proud of me. Putting work aside for personal passions.”
“…”
“This is about her. This is a distraction so you don’t have to deal with the life you’ve ruined. Poor Picasso, you can’t even man up and face her.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Ready to get back to work Duckie?”
“Yeah,… fine.”
Then I threw him off the roof again and untied him. After he was done soaking away his bruises in the shower we talked on what I planned to do about the Twin. I was surprised to find his didn’t approve of my brilliant plan, operation: ‘Snap her Neck and Leave her in a Ditch’. There was an argument.
“Don’t kill her.”
“Why the fuck not? She’s a dangerous defector at this point. All who fail to serve deserve their end.”
“You were spared. Don’t you think she deserves the same opportunity? Don’t you think you owe her that much?”
“I have never argued the point that they should have killed me after your sentencing. She dies.”
“What would her brother have wanted?”
“Fuck you, that’s what.”
And then I stormed out. It’s time to fix my mess.
Ohh Swan. I don't even know what to tell you anymore, other than to vaguely wish you well.
ReplyDeleteI'm curious though, how high was this roof you threw the Cheshire Shrink off of?
Yeah. He's gone but I can answer this one. Two stories high the first time. About one and a half stories the second time. He said he threw me off the roof both times but the second time he just threw me out the window.
Delete....you were working on those badass levels, weren't you? o_o Alright, I'm not supposed to be encouraging you, but hot damn. Swan fucking defenestrated you and you're nonchalantly commenting about it?
DeleteBravo, Cheshire Shrink. Bravo.
Not like it didn't hurt. Hard to land properly when you're tied up.
DeleteYou're still alive and typing with stability. You're even remembering to format your italics. That's impressive.
DeleteNot like it happened five minutes ago dear. This isn't too incredibly impressive. Time passes before and after our posts.
DeleteI feel like you're still failing to make note of the fact that you were thrown out a window, probably landed on your head since you were tied up, and are a-ok. No-- dare I say it....fractures? Take the compliment, damnit. If for nothing more than being sturdier than your average squishy doctor.
DeleteYeah, yeah. Fine. I accept your compliment. For the record, I didn't land on my head.
DeleteYou don't live as long as I have because you can't take a hit. Being a doctor just means I know how to pick myself back up.
... Fracture, was it? Just who exactly-
ReplyDelete... No, that's a rather stupid question to ask, isn't it? I doubt you'd answer honestly and be upfront as it stands, but I must admit, something about this entire situation intrigues me.
So I suppose I'll ask anyway.
"Fracture".
Just who exactly are you?
Hello 'Joseph'. It is indeed Fracture. Or rather it is now as Subject 926 apparently doesn't do 'names'.
DeleteIn regards to who I am, I'm as I appear to be. I'm a therapist and, technically, still a handler sentenced to this painful existence babysitting a psychopath. I went over the painful details in the uh... 'Cake Day' post.
I'm as honest and upfront as can be dear 'Joseph'. That much I can assure you.
...
:D