Page 36 of Straightjacket

These fuckers have had me in cuffs more than Iris has, and I’m not fucking happy about it.

This is becoming very inconvenient, Silas. I’m more than ready to leave now.

Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. “And you think I’m enjoying my time here? Maybe we should rate it five stars once we get home, hm? Hospitality could do with a little work but other than that, it’s lovely.”

Don’t go arguing with me, I’m just say–

“How about you don’t just say, how does that sound? You’re supposed to help me out, not irritate me.”

What the fuck is happening to me? I’m literally arguing with myself, out loud too. How much crazier can you get?

I think you–

“Don’t fucking answer that. You’re the worst tenant I’ve ever had.”

I’m the only tenant you’ve ever had.

“Fair enough,” I huff out. “You’ve got me there, now–”

“Talking to yourself again, I, see?” Thorne quips in the doorway, a smug look on his face. I turn to look at him, my gaze never leaving him as he walks in, confidence oozing out of him with every step.

“I’m starting to think you’re hearing things, Doctor. Maybe we should switch places? You play the looney and I’ll be the doctor. I’m always down for a little roleplay.” I say, cocking a brow at him but his face remains stern, and I can see the irritation in his eyes– a challenge for me to push him even further.

“I’m not here for your games, Silas Riggs.”

My brows lift in surprise. “Ooh, we’re using legal terms now, are we? This must be serious. What happened to me being your favourite patient?”

I catch him rolling his eyes as he ignores my pestering questions, throwing one back of his own.

“How about a little show and tell, hm?” He says, nodding his head towards me before grabbing a trolley in the corner of the room, an aged projector sitting on the top. Once he has it facing the wall, he flicks off the lights and turns it on, illuminating a white square on the empty wall.

“I hope you’ve picked a good movie cos this conversation is boring as fuck.” I quip, spreading my legs open further to get comfortable in the chair.

Thorne remains silent whilst pulling a file from the shelf underneath the trolley, then he places a plastic sheet onto the projector. On the wall, a crime scene photo stares right back at me. The very same photo I remember being taken the night I killed my parents.

“Nothing quite like family photos, is there?” I grit out. The sickening image of my father, bludgeoned to death on his bed, looking back at me. I can still remember that night, something snapped inside of me and I just flipped, exploded into something chaotic until both my parents were dead.

Thorne flips the image to another one, this time my mother.

“What made you do this, Silas?” He asks like he doesn’t already know the answer to his stupid fucking question.

“I’m sure you’ve read my file, you don’t–”

He cuts me off. “I want to hear it from you. I want to know everything that goes on inside that brain of yours. What snapped inside of you to create this monster?”

Monster.

Freak.

Soft.

Weak.

Pussyboy.

Those were the words my father used every time that I was in his presence. I was never a son to him, or my mother– just a fucking mistake.

“Tell me, Silas. Was daddy too rough with you, hm?” He taunts and I grind my teeth together, forcing the lid on my anger, back down. “Maybe you were too much of a pussy, unlike your little sister.”