Content warnings: Very brief mention of a suicidal thought at the end. And ahem... Just descriptions of gore, nothing exciting :D

"Gum?"

Tearing my gaze away from the lone fly perched on the pristine white wall, I look at the woman sitting in front of me. She balances the notepad on her knees as she holds out a white strip, the strong mint unpleasantly tickling my nostrils. Her poker face stares at me with a raised eyebrow. Yet, I can spot the flicker of disturbance rippling in her green eyes.

Besides, her energy levels reek of it.

I blink at her. Once. Twice. Three times. "Are you suggesting my breath smells like a garbage chute?"

The top of her nose twitches. "More so, like rotting meat that has been stored in a warm container for over a week." She shoves the gum toward me. "Now, please do us both a favor and take it."

With a sigh and roll of my eyes, I take the white thing and fold it in half before popping it in my mouth. The mint's potency stings my nose as the strong taste overpowers my taste buds. Fucking hell, what is this made from, bleach?

Chewing on the vile mush, I exhale loudly and readjust myself on the tough couch. They could have at least made the cushions here soft. Would be a nice change from cold, hard floors and metal bedding.

"Satisfied?" I ask with a smirk.

The woman sighs and grasps the black-gold pen, the whites of her fingertips noticeable as they press against the metallic body.

"Do you have any regrets?"

Straightening my posture, I stop chewing and stare at her. Nothing but the hum of the generator and the occasional scream and hysterical laughter echoing through the halls outside this little room penetrate the deathly stillness in the air.

"What?" I ask, my voice barely audible.

"Regrets, Mila." She taps the end of the pen against the paper, the sound testing my nerves. "Have you experienced any regrets for murdering your friends?"

I take a shaky deep breath. "What do you think?" my voice cracks at the end. "I... I killed my boyfriend," I whisper, the edges of my eyes filling with hot moisture. "I... fucking killed him and his two friends." Tears begin to stream down my cheeks. "Do you think I would have turned myself in if I didn't have any regrets? I..."

I burst into sobs, burying my wet face into my hands. My body trembles uncontrollably, shoulders shaking up and down as salt and snot creep into my mouth.

The couch before me shifts slightly. "I've worked here as the psychiatrist for over five years, and this might be the best performance I've witnessed by far."

"What?" I choke out, glancing at her through blurry vision. "You ... you actually think I'm lying?"

She raises an eyebrow. "People who actually have regrets don't try to convince a person by saying 'Would I have done this or that if I wasn't', more so in situations such as these."

Blinking away my tears, I stare back at her in disbelief. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across my face. "I see you're good at your job." A laugh rumbles out of me, echoing through the empty room.

Her face remains unmoving as she tucks a few strands of chestnut hair behind her ear. "The police found your boyfriend's body torn apart into unrecognizable pieces, some of him missing. You told them that coyotes had feasted on it, and you even managed to have one or two at the site when the bodies were discovered. How did you manage to achieve that?"

I grin. "Well, coyotes love the smell of freshly mutilated bodies. It was also the matter of puppeteering their minds and bringing them there."

Curiosity flutters over her. "How so?"

"You really think I'll tell you?" I sigh, shaking my head. "This information is confidential. And you, Dr. Ryan, have not earned my trust yet, now have you?"

"I suppose so." She scribbles in her pad. "The other two had both their eyes missing. Would you mind indulging me with the details you've provided to the police?"

I cock my head at her. "Have you ever wondered what an eyeball tastes like?" The corner of her mouth twitches. "No? Yes? Anyway, it's..." I pause as I recall it with fondness. "Salty. Chewy. And when you finally bite it..." I lick my dry lips. "All that soft goo and juice rushes into your mouth and coats your tongue with deliciousness."

"Now baby, hold still for mommy," I whispered softly, hooking my finger around Layla's eyeball as she struggled under me, no longer possessed. Her muffled screams tried to claw their way out through her stitched mouth, the imprisoned sounds spiking my adrenaline.

I finally yanked out the eyeball with a gucky pop, its slipperiness almost causing it to roll out of my fingers. Popping it into my mouth, I moaned in delight as the saltiness made love to my tongue, swirling it around before sinking my teeth into it. Soft mush flooded my taste buds, traveling down my throat as I swallowed.

And dived in for another taste.

Dr. Ryan's face contorts in disgust. "I assume this was for your alleged dealings with the devil, as you call them."

I shrug. "Not alleged, but sure."

"I see." The pen scratches along the paper as she writes something down. "And you did all of this for... revenge for your brother, is that correct?"

"Yep." I nod.

"If you couldn't forgive Lucas for not watching your brother when he ran out into traffic, why didn't you let him be aware of the truth instead of murdering him and his friends?"

I laugh. "The truth?" I tilt my head amusingly. "Nobody actually wants the truth. People say they do, but they all want their own fabricated version of the truth." I cross my leg over the other and lean back against the creaking couch, spreading my arms along the top.

"Get it? They all want the version they've cooked up in their head. Nobody wants the actual truth. Why? Because it's always painful, no matter how delicately put. That's why so many people walk on eggshells around 'friends', terrified that every word they say will exterminate the 'friendship' like fire."

I sigh sadly. "Anyway, Lucas said he'd be okay if I was mad. He'd understand. After all, my baby brother is in a wheelchair because of his neglect. But in reality? He didn't actually want me to stay mad. He thought that if he said that bullshit, I would tell him what he wanted to hear. My forgiveness. So I gave it to him." I grin. "Briefly."

Her brows furrow. "Hm... That sounds like a topic we'll need to discuss further in the future."

"Indeed," I say, drumming my fingers along the leather  cushions. Future? Pfft, what fucking future? Then I uncross my legs and lean forward. "By the way, you wouldn't mind if I used the bathroom, now do you? And yes," I add as she opens her mouth. "I know there's nothing there for me to use that I can kill you with." I incline my head with amusement. "Although, I can just take that pen of yours and impale your throat with it. Like John Wick."

She grimaces. "Sure. Don't take long. We still have much to discuss before our session is over."

I grin and stand up with a salute. "Yes, ma'am." My bare feet shuffle through the gristly white carpeting, each contact feeling like sharp needles poking my skin. I almost sigh out loud in relief when they touch the cold, smooth tiles of the bathroom.

As soon as I close the door, I make my way to the clean, white sink, and turn on the faucet. Flowing water fills the small enclosure, the sound just almost drowning out the whispers inside my head. I hold my hands under the cool running liquid and throw it over my burning face, drops plopping back into the basin.

I peer up into the spotless mirror, my reflection staring back at me. The dark bags under my eyes, my black hair hanging loose around my pale face, and the haunting, dead look in my eyes.

The fluorescent lights flicker above me, revealing something other than me in the glass. Their dark gray face with black, web-like cracks rippling with shadows at each illumination of them from the lights. White film coats their eyes as their discolored lips snap up into a grin, showcasing their row of shark teeth. The temperature drops below freezing, the water from the sink suspending in the air.

"It's time, Mila," the witch snarls. "Do not let me down. Or your brother."

"Don't worry," I say firmly, my hands gripping the edges of the sink. "I won't."

"The price must always be paid, Mila," they hiss. "Always." And they disappear, the lights steady once again as the temperature returns to normal and the pouring water breaks the frozen spell.

My reflection again glares at me. Blood starts to trickle out of my eyes, dancing down my twitching cheeks. I swipe some of it with my finger and slide it against my teeth, sucking in the savory taste. Licking my lips, I watch as they continue to flow down, the red swirls playing with the water below me.

Each milliliter represents the years of pain, the suffering I had to go through because of someone else. Each drop contains the remnants of sleepless nights, injections, thoughts of crashing to exist. Every day a reminder of what I'd lost, including my brother who used to be a bright beam of sunshine with a smile on his face and a future in track, only for all his hopes and dreams to be disintegrated.

Even if I've gone through life seemingly happy on the outside, inside I felt like I was dying every day. To keep up a fake appearance so people won't ask questions and stick their nose into my business is draining. To pretend to be friends with Lucas's group, so I can use them, was even harder.

Madéleine was the only true friend on whom I could rely on, through the darkest storms and sunny days.

"Mila, are you finished in there?" Dr. Ryan calls out, her voice slicing through my thoughts like a dull blade.

I take a deep breath. It's now or never. "Yes. I'll be right out!" Splashing water over my face to clean off the blood, which had stopped, I dry myself and close the faucet before stepping out.

Dr. Ryan looks up, her snake-like eyes sweeping me up and down. "Are you ready to continue our session?"

I don't answer as I walk toward the couch. Tracing my finger along the rough fabric, I stand behind it and lock my eyes on her.  "What is your backstory, Dr. Ryan?"

She frowns. "I'm sorry?"

"You must have quite a story to be working in a place like this. Dealing with mentally insane patients who can kill you any chance they get."

She shrugs. "I've been fascinated by the workings of the human mind since a young age. Specifically those who are driven to the brinks of desperation or sanity to commit despicable acts."

Planting my hands on the back of the couch, I lean forward. "But why this place? This filthy hospital where the death toll is skyrocketing through the roof each year?"

Something shifts in the air. Silence as still as death spreads through the room until the buzzing of the fly shatters it. It lands on the table in front of Dr. Ryan, whose ice-cold eyes don't divert from mine when she leans forward.

And smacks the fly with her notepad. Its remains cling to the back before she flips over several pages to cover it and places it back on her knees.

"Why these questions, hmm?" she asks, her tone slightly darker than before.

My cheek twitches. "I have two words. July 7th."

A ripple of realization distorts her face. "Ah, the state fair." The corners of her mouth slowly creep up into a malevolent grin. "Oh wait ... I killed your mommy, didn't I?"

A slow chuckle escapes her. "I believe she was my thirteenth victim that day."