Page 57 of No Asylum Here

“Now!"

The sound of his strike registered before the pain lancing across my face. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit me, but somehow in that moment, I knew it would be the last.

The fridge was empty, save for a twenty-four-pack of Fletcher’s favorite beer, some condiments and an old pack of pre-sliced cheese. Thankfully, I got free lunches at school and knew to fill up as much as possible, since there was never any food at home.

I grabbed a beer and reluctantly went back to the living room. Dad snatched it up the moment I placed the cold can down on the TV dinner stand. He popped the seal and chugged it like he hadn’t had a drink of water in weeks.

In fact, I was almost sure he hadn’t.

I watched the moment unfold with ice in my heart as Fletcher Beckett started to convulse. He rose from his chair, stumbled and crashed to the filthy floor, cans crunchy beneath his overweight body. Vomit and pungent liquid spewed from his mouth.

He reached for me, unable to speak as his eyes bulged and his face turned red, then purple. I knew he’d choke to death, lying on his back like that. Yet I did nothing but stand there and watch him die with a pit in my stomach.

I woke up with a violent jerk of my body, gasping, eyes snapping open to see it was 2:35 in the morning.

My attention slid to the prescription bottle on my nightstand. Instead, I reached for Seventeen’s journal like a lifeline.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mal

My first session with Bunny after her forced lobotomy was a melancholy one. My father was a skilled surgeon. Not to be confused with a good one. He could so easily botch Bunny’s procedure, just because he knew it would hurt me.

So my relief was palpable when a nurse wheeled her up from the service elevator, and Bunny’s eyes brimmed with recognition as well as her usual bubbliness. “Dr. Rook!”

The girl practically flung herself from her wheelchair and into my arms. I caught her in an off-guard hug, laughing as I steered her back into the chair and dismissed the nurse with a wave.

“Come in. Before we begin our session today, I have a gift for you.” I steered her wheelchair over to my desk, shoving the usual chair out of the way so she could sit right in front of my desk. “I’m sorry I allowed your bunny rabbit to get taken away. I couldn’t find another bunny at the general store. But they had this dolly. She has blue eyes, like yours.”

The blonde-haired girl gingerly took the doll I offered in her hands. I’d tied a ribbon in her hair, instead of opting for normal wrapping paper. “Oh… She’s beautiful!”

Bunny’s eyes brimmed with tears. Her sudden weeping sent a zing of alarm through me, and my attention snapped to the shaved side of her head where my father had rather sloppily stitched her wound. “What’s the matter? Tell me where it hurts, Barbara.”

She sniffed, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “I’m fine.”

“Then why are you weeping?”

“It’s not his fault my bunny got all burned up, or that his dad is a bad man who made me touch his thing. Or even that he cut into my head.”

My stomach twisted into a pretzel as I watched her carry out a conversation with her new doll.

A lobotomy only targeted the frontal lobe, which could affect Bunny’s emotional regulation as well as her overall personality. At first glance, it appeared as though her age regression and child-like personality had only deepened.

“I should have stopped him.”

She gave a half-shoulder shrug. “Dr. Rook Senior says I’m fixed now.”

“Do you feel fixed?”

Finally, she lifted her glassy eyes to mine and slowly shook her head. “The only thing that helps is talking to you.”

I chewed my lip, heart squeezing with guilt. I should never have allowed this poor girl to be alone with my shit hole of a father. Maybe I could have prevented all this. I couldn’t save her, or any other ward at Saint Bartholomew's Asylum. But I could still act as a shield.

That was the only reason I hadn’t left. As much as I wanted to leave and never speak to my father again… How could I ever face myself again if I did?

“Well, then, let’s talk. Do you want to pick out an album to listen to before we begin?”

At the mention of music, she brightened and stood, slowly making her way over to the record player and my vast vinyl collection.