Insanity my twisted, new adult, romantic suspense novel is the next book of mine to be released!
Whoot! Whoot! Honestly, I don't know why I'm drawn to writing tortured love stories, but for some reason it's something I excel at. So I'm super excited to let you get a little taste of what you're in for when you read Insanity.
Also, I don't know about you guys, but I listen to a lot of music when I write. For some reason, it calms me... really puts me into the character's head. I have an extremely eclectic taste when it comes to music... I love anything and everything... so I thought it would be fun if I let you see the playlist for Insanity before you read chapter 1.
1. My Boy Builds Coffins - Florence and the Machine 2. Claire de Lune - Claude Debussy 3. Change In The House Of Flies - Deftones 4. Breath of Life - Florence and the Machine 5. Hospital Beds - Florence and the Machine 6. Blood Bank - Bon Iver 7. Climax - Usher 8. Criminal - Fiona Apple 10. Crazy - Stars Go Dim 11. A Drop in the Ocean - Ron Pope 12. Stronger - Kelly Clarkson 13. When I'm Gone - Eminem 14. Lullaby - Nickelback 15. Heart Shaped Box - Nirvana 16. My Heart - Paramore 17. Heart Attack - Trey Songz
Yay, now for Chapter 1
I remember my first night here.
I remember the flickering lights on the ceiling that reminded me of bug zappers. The disenchanting vibe that was set from the way the dim lights danced along the neutral colored walls. More than anything, I remember the way they dragged me in here. Two orderly's, dressed from head to toe in white, clutching my elbows and escorting me down the darkened hall, barefoot and sobbing, dirt and blood caked up and ratted through my midnight colored locks, and smeared around the edges of my lime green dress.
I'd screamed in hysteria.
Cried with devotion.
And kicked with conviction.
They led me to a sanitation area, ripped my clothes from my body, then hosed me down like a pig before it was sent to the slaughterhouse. A bar of soap whacked me in the side of the head after an orderly chucked it at me and told me to wash myself. I was too afraid to do anything. Too afraid to move. So when I sat there for five minutes, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe, legs and arms twitching with spasms. Finally, out of impatience and anger the orderly stomped over and washed me instead.
I'd never felt more hopeless, more pitiful, or ever felt violated in a dirty kind of way. After my seven-minute shower, without letting me dry off, they plastered a hospital gown on my wet body and led me to my room. Freezing, I'd shivered, teeth chattering, and pumped warmth back into my body with friction from my hands. Nauseous, I swallowed the vomit inching up the back of my throat. Numb, I stared blankly ahead, unable to concentrate. I remembered thinking; if they kill people at this place, I hope they kill me soon.
They put me in solitary confinement. A small shoebox of a room with padded walls. They strapped me into a straightjacket. I fought the restraints. I screamed for help. I kicked one of the orderlies in the jaw.
You're a danger to yourself and others, they told me.
This is for your own good, your safety, they told me.
Here's the first thing I've learned since I arrived at the Oak Hill, Asylum; when everyone thinks you're crazy, no one is going to listen to you. Either that or they'll make you their own personal pincushion and fill your veins with the kind of tranquilizing medicine they use on horses.
That night, my first night here, I'd shrieked all night long, tucked in a ball on my small thin cot, sobbing harder than I've ever sobbed before. The funny thing is; I haven't stopped since then.
It has been three weeks.
I still don't know why I'm here. What did I do to wind up in this place? I ask myself this question multiple times every day and I can never find the answer. Sometimes I hear a familiar voice in my head. Daddy's voice. “You stay out of her head, you little fucker. You stay out of her bed, you little fucker.”
But who is the little fucker?
My daddy was a bad man. He was best friends with Jimmy, Jack, and a Mexican named Jose. He liked to drink with his three best friends. Sometimes he'd even get piss ass drunk with them. On rare occasions he was nice; usually when his friends weren't around. Sometimes he even led me to believe he loved me. I think. When I was little, Daddy used to push me on a tire swing he'd made me. I'd tell him how I'd want to be a bird, a canary, because canaries are pretty and yellow and have beautiful singing voice's. Mommy was around then and she always thought it was funny that I'd talk about canaries. “And where would you fly my little bird,” she'd say kissing the top of my head with a chuckle.
Then I'd reply with, “I'd fly to the moon.” Mommy, Daddy, and me laughed.
We were a happy family.
Until one day, I woke up and Mommy was gone. And Daddy was never the same.
His friends used to come home with him occasionally, and after a while they came home with him every day. I asked myself every day where my old daddy went and thought about how bad I wanted him back. But I never saw my old daddy again. He left me, just like Mommy did. I didn't like my new daddy. One time, I'd just looked at him, giving him a sad look, tears glistening in my violet eyes. He'd looked back at me and for a second I thought I might catch a glimpse of my old daddy. He'd stood up from his reclining chair, walked to me, and towered over me, squinting down at me. I'd opened my mouth to tell Daddy how much I loved him and that I missed my old daddy and he's said, “You look just like that whore mother of yours.” And then he slapped me across the face.
That treatment continued for the next eight years, but I'd learned to be quiet, keep to myself. I'd learned to keep away from Daddy and obey him. Because I knew what would happen if I didn't.
Then one night, Daddy's friends were over and Daddy had a little too much of them for one night. Daddy's friends made him do crazy things sometimes. That night, the night they brought me in here, Daddy pulled out his rifle, aimed it...
Then everything goes black and the shrieking begins.
Plodding footsteps drown out the sound of my screams.
I try and tell myself to stop screaming, but its like my mind and emotions are at war with one another. Before I know it, the door to my cell swings open.
There are four people approaching me, arms outstretched cautiously like I am some wild, ravenous beast in need of capturing. Four people.
I have nothing to defend myself with except for two arms, two legs, and a sharp mind.
But four to one? I am severely outnumbered. This is a battle I am going to lose. Still, even though I know I'll be defeated, determination pumps through me. I have never been the type to go down without a fight. Perhaps that's why I spent the last eight years letting my daddy beat me within an inch of my life. I never wanted to give him the satisfaction of knowing that every time his fist connected with my jaw he didn't mentally break me.
Darting from my bed, I start for the door. Swimming hands swallow me and capture me in a net of firmness before carrying me back over to my cot. Thrashing my arms, I backhand a nurse, knocking the cap off her head and she grips the rounded collar of my hospital gown, cutting off my air supply for a second.
“Hold her down!” At the doctor's instruction a heavy-set nurse digs her kneecap into the small of my back and presses down.
No! Don't hold me down! Set me free! I don't belong here!
“No!” My voice is raspy and raw and dry, full of pent up fear and anger. “No!” I try to swat at someone behind me, but the two orderlies pin my arms to my cot. Wiggling, I try to free myself from their grasp, but the nurse with her knee in my back puts all over her weight on me, shooting shivers of pain down my spine and immobilizing me.
“Calm down,” my doctor says. He has a soft, soothing voice, but its deadly.
I peek through stands of my ebony hair, watching the sweet, sweet mind-erasing fluid spout from the tip of the needle like a fountain. The drug speaks to me. Forget who you are. Forget where you are. Forget why you were brought here. Forget everything. I won't let them make me forget. I won't let them neutralize me and turn me into one of their empty robots.
I won't. I won't. I won't.
“Keep still, Adelaide. This won't hurt. You'll only feel a pinch.” But that pinch will dilute everything.
I panic, screaming louder, and thrash as hard as I can. The orderlies in front of me grip my wrists harder and I can see one clearly through my strands of unwashed hair. Thick black hair, blue blue eyes, and toasted almond skin. He doesn't look at me like the chubby one with pale, ashy hair next to him is looking at me. He's not looking at me like I'm crazy. He's looking at me like he feels sorry for me. Like he wants to take me away from this gloomy prison and hide me from the doctors with needles and metronomes.
Please, blue eyes.
Be my prince charming.
My knight in shining armor.
Rescue me from a burning tower of depression, sadness, and misery.
The needle plunges into my skin and I let out a whimper. The drug blasts through my veins and infiltrates my bloodstream, shutting every organ inside of me down for the night. Widening my eyes, I fight off the effects of the drug as it works its way through my body. I clench my fists defiantly, trying to scream again, but I'm too weak, too tired, and too over taken by the drugs to do anything but moan inaudibly.
I hear the doctor. “Just wait until it takes full effect.” His voice is muffled, fading away, pretty soon I can't hear him at all anymore. I think my door closes.
There's a ringing in my ears that I can't shut out. There's a hand on my wrist that doesn't let go. Before exhaustion takes over I look up. Blue eyes is at the end of the bed. He releases my wrist and laces his fingers through mine. I squint as the sedative blurs my vision, begins to decapitate my mind, and then notice the painful look in those blue blue eyes.
On top of the pain in the two blue gems there's familiarity.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
How could I forget him? Him, of all people. The one person in the entire world who holds the key to my heart. The one and only person who has ever really loved me. Then I remind myself that they feed and inject me with so many drugs, that its a miracle I don't forget who I am.
I struggle to sound coherent, “Damien?”
He mouths something.
Six words that seem too impossible to be true.
Six words that bleed hope into my soul.
“You're not crazy. I love you.”
Hope you guys enjoyed this!