Chapter 25: Anya

I stand outside the doorway of my room, where the cops are finally done screwing around and area about to haul Psycho-girl- now known as The Body- out. I have the appropriate saddened-greatly-and-troubled-inside-by-deep-grief-although-managing-to-stay-calm-and-not-cry expression on my face, and I'm hugging myself as if I'm chilled- I'm even managing to conjure up a few shivers once in a while. My head is lowered as though in depression, but really I don't' want anyone to see my eyes, in case they can tell how close I am to bursting out into wild, uncontrollable laughter. This is the most hilarious and completely fucking satisfying night of my life…

God, this is hysterical… I can barely believe I managed to pull it off. Well, actually I can. I'm pretty damn tricky when I want to be, not to mention much, much smarter than anyone I have ever met, despite what all their "degrees" and "education" might tell you. I can pretty much elicit any reaction from any person… I can get anyone to behave any way I want. Obviously I could with Psycho-girl, she's laying it in a fucking body bag now and I didn't have to lay a finger on her. All I had to do was ask her, and she was more than eager to do my will.

It's a delicate balance, achieving the actions you want from people, a bit of a challenge, but I don't go for what's easy. You have to be constant with them, say exactly what it takes for that person to behave in ways you want them to. In order to do this, you have to know the person, read them well enough to know what they need done to them to react the way you want them to. With Nadia it was simple. She was so transparent I could practically just look at her and read her pathetic little thoughts. She was lonely and confused, felt like no one understood or cared about her, etc, blah blah, cutting made her feel better because it took away confusion and uncertainty, made her focus only on her pain. She admired girls who seemed sure of themselves, who were rebellious and didn't care what others thought- girls she wanted to be like but didn't dare to imitate. And yet she wanted to have someone to take care of her as well, but someone who she could also take care of. Sappy little thoughts, typical of most girls our age- excluding me.

I saw what she wanted, needed, and I played the part for her… in return, she was more than willing to play any part for me that I asked of her. Even victim…

There is nothing more exciting than watching as you break someone… seeing the look on their face as you say exactly what you know will rip them to pieces, the anguish that fills their eyes… instant satisfaction is the best thing about doing it like that, all at once, face to face. But it doesn't last as long, nor is it as truly thrilling overall, as slowly building up, bit by bit, until their destruction is truly climatic…

I must say that Nadia has been my biggest success so far... the first day I met her, she was so timid and scared she could barely make herself look at me. Then as I gradually wielded more and more of my influence, she drifted further and further from "normal", until she would kill at my orders- and think it right! All I had to do is tell her to die, and she did it- and happily...

I can just see the faces you must be making now, read your sad, conventional little moral thoughts- who is this girl? How can she be so pleased, talking about how she kills people, corrupts them? Let's just call me one of nature's mistakes. There's bound to be a monster every now and then, bound to be a wolf hiding among the sheep... it keeps things even, keeps up nature's balance. Think what a shithole the world would be if it was full of Nadias- that scares even me to think about. And as for the murder thing- I have never murdered a single person in my life. Not literally and physically, at any rate...

You're probably guessing now that I come from a troubled and deeply abusive family whose treatment has twisted me into my sadistic nature now. Wrong- my family was wealthy and horribly, unbearably normal. Not much for affection and shit but not abusive. And I wouldn't have given a damn how much they loved me anyway. I've been exactly the way I am now for as long as I can remember- even at five, I knew what to do and say to get other kids to give me their toys or lunch money, and I loved to say what I knew would make them cry. I have never felt guilty or sad about anything, or even angry. I have perfected imitating these emotions realistically, but I never actually feel them. I never feel anything but amusement at people and their endless stupidity and patheticism, their extreme gullability- and pleasure at my ability to extort reactions from them.

God, ever since I can remember I've done exactly what is required for me to obtain whatever it is I wanted- usually, to see someone react with strong emotion to whatever it was I had said or did to them. Anger, grief, humiliation, fear- all of it fascinates me. I find it highly entertaining the way people get when some feeling overtakes them, when they lose control. I myself never lose control- everything I do is carefully and deliberately calculated. Since I can remember, I have lied, stolen, and damaged people without ever getting caught. Suspected, yes, caught, no, because I am a master at playing innocent, leaving no tangible evidence. I can look people in the eye and lie and know they know and I'm lying, but they can't do a thing to prove it. That thrills me, to see them scowl in frustration at their own incompetence.

But whenever possible, as with Nadia, I prefer to use others to accomplish whatever mayhem I want to bring about. It's more challenging that way, but more exciting, knowing the amount of control you have over them without them even knowing it, and of course they can't pin you to anything. There's a lot of typical "antisocial" behaviors that I myself haven't actually participated in. I don't smoke or do drugs- why the hell would I screw up my fucking devious, genius brain? I have never hurt anyone physically before- I don't have to. My words are more than enough...

No one would never guess it, but I don't have sex. I tried it a few times out of curiosity and found it extremely boring, so I decided it was much more fun to lead others to their destruction rather than orchestrate my own. That goes for all areas, but sex in particular is amusing. It's so hilarious to get a guy hot and then shut him down. I can remember at ten, twelve years old, leading a grown man on until he was panting, then just when he thought he was really in for a treat, turning away coldly and giving him the most shocking, filthy insults I could spit out. It is hysterical to watch the looks on men's faces as the little girl who had just been ready, willing, and eager calls them sexual names that would make a truck driver blanche.

I think it took a while for my parents to really start to comprehend who their own daughter was. It wasn't like they really paid much attention to me anyway- they were the quentessional wealthy, working parents, throwing me money and going off their own way. They had no clue what I was up to, so they chose to believe I was a completely normal, sunny teen. After all, they never heard of any of my misdeeds- who would tell them something they couldn't prove?

But I'm sure that they vaguely suspected there was more beyond my bland expression- I saw them looking at me sometimes as if they were searching for something, looking at me sharply, as if something they'd seen was slightly disturbing. It always made me laugh inside- I'd just look back at them with the same innocence, only now further exaggerated. They shrug off their own supposed paranoia- but this year, they couldn't do so anymore... not after I watched my baby brother drown and did nothing to save him.

They should have known better than to leave me alone with him. The brat was two years old and a pain in the ass. Crying, shitting himself, dripping food all over, toddling around screwing with anything he could lay his hands on. I don't know why they even had him, I was fourteen years old when they did- practically old enough to have a kid myself, and I could have many times over had I wanted to. Obviously the brat was a mistake. After six weeks or so they dumped him off on a nanny and started treating him basically like they treated me. The difference with him though, was I could tell they really loved him in their own strange way. He was their supposedly adorable baby- he never got the searching, half-afraid look they sometimes gave me.

They usually did all they could to keep me from being alone with him- they weren't quite as stupid as they often appeared deep down. The nanny was with him practically 24/7. But one day she got a call from her sister and had to leave briefly to drive her somewhere, some kind of emergency. She left me to watch my brother- only me. Never having spent time around me much, she only knew of me what I presented to her- which was exactly what she wanted to see.

I took the kid outside to the pool and lay down to sunbathe, watching without interest through half-closed eyes. And when he fell into the pool, I watched him drown... I had done nothing actively to cause him death, but neither did I stop it. 'The perfect balance of blame... you get the pleasure without being able to be held accountable.

Of course, that wasn't the version I told the police- or my parents. I said I had been watching TV as he played in the living room, and I must have dozed off. When I had awakened, realizing he was gone, I had frantically searched for him and found him in the pool. The police believed me- I shed too many faux tears of grief and guilt for them not to. They even assured me it was not my fault, these things happen.

I knew my parents knew what had really happened. I could see the way their faces changed when they looked at me, the horror and anger- and the fear. Of course they said nothing to the police, or even me- even though I think they thought I physically had drowned the kid instead of just watching. No, that would involve admitting their kid was a cold-blooded killer- that kind of lowers a parent's social status a bit. Why, it might even make them the ones to blame- what had they done to make me a killer?

They couldn't call me a monster- so instead they called me insane. It was only a few days after the drowning that they drove me to Shakymind, announcing to neighbors I was having problems with my grief over my brother. They declared that if they would not accept me I would have to leave their home anyway. It was quite funny, as you can well imagine. They knew they couldn't legally kick me out- I was only 17, still a minor. They were placing all their hopes on getting me into Shakymind.

I still don't know why they admitted me- I suspect a substantial amount of cash had a lot to do with it. I mean, the little psychological test they gave me was a joke. I purposely answered all the transparent questions the way a "normal" person would, and they still admitted me. But really, I kind of like being here. It's so much more amusing to manipulate people who are already disturbed... it's so easy, and their reactions so gratifying.

In only two days now I have managed to wreak complete havoc on every single person, patient or not, on the ward- twice. It is so thrilling to watch everyone's reactions...

Spider and Miss Satan are quiet and wide-eyed, the shock evident on their faces. Spider looks haunted, as though she is walking through a bad dream, and Miss Satan's face conveys sheer terror... I can just see the wheels in her mind turning, knowing it will be her next, another quiet girl. I can't yet say whether she is right or not. Repeat is clearly stressed, because he's clicking his fingers and darting his eyes rapidly, practically sweating. Shoebox looks as shocked and upset as Spider and Miss Satan, but there's more to his... I've caught him looking at me several times now, and can tell he's torn between sympathy and suspicion, infatuation and dread. Shoebox is one of the best to mess with. He thinks himself half in love with me, something I highly encourage, but he would never do anything about it, for he fears me as well...

Merve the Perve, of course, isn't affected in the slightest- he seems, in fact, to be lingering near me everywhere I go, staring unconstrainedly, and as if is having a hard time keeping himself from grabbing me. I accent his interest by hugging myself, making my boobs seem larger and accented. His eyes widen, and he edges closer... but if he touches me I'll kick him in the nads. I can touch him, touch myself- but the game ends when he reciprocates. I am always the winner.

Sara and Alexander had seen each other in the hall in the midst of the confusion and went to each other, slipping arms around each others' waists as they watched the on-goings grimly. I don't know what the hell is going on with those two but it is weird. I always knew they weren't the bad-asses they played at, not down to the core at any rate- they are far from evil like me- but now they're dropping even any pretense at being so. It's sickening and pathetic, not to mention boring. I will definitely have to come up with ways to divide them. I see both of them flicking eyes toward me, especially Alexander- I know he suspects. There is darkness, anger in eyes, but also what looks like frustration- perhaps even fear. He knows he cannot stop me- not without killing me.

Oh, but the two most satisfying reactions to watch of them all- Rachel's and Mouse's. Watching them, I have to fight to keep my face grief-stricken, because if I'm not careful, I'll be grinning widely, if not laughing aloud. Less than ten minutes ago, I saw Rachel slip off into her office, looking around first, as if making sure no one was watching. That aroused my interest- what was she doing there? It was nearly two am. After she had disappeared behind the door, I casually made my way over to stand in the way across from her door so I could see into the little window. I could tell she was struggling with guilt over Psycho-girl from her posture and face earlier- and from the way her eyes slid over me when she thought I wasn't looking, then flicked away, that she suspected I had something to do with it all. I wanted to see what she was up to.

In her office, she leaned against her desk and picked up the phone, staring at it a while before dialing, like she couldn't decide whether or not to call. I knew even without her speaking or being able to hear her that she was thinking of calling Ethan. She had that certain apprehensive, yet needy look she gets before approaching him- patheticism personified.

Eventually she dialed the number, body all tensed with anticipation. I couldn't hear her speaking, but her body language made it obvious that she was getting a rude reply. As she talked, seeming apologetic but urgent at the same time, her expression gradually changed, growing tighter and more defensive. She began to pace the room as her lips moved quickly. She was angry, but upset as well, that was clear. I knew instinctively that she was talking about me- me and her suspicion of my involvement with Psycho-girl. Clearly Ross was blowing her off, and she was growing more and more frustrated.

Finally she snapped something into the phone with a volatile gesture and hung up, slamming it back onto its little holder. She stormed over to her desk and threw herself down into her chair, muttering something I could imagine the gist of without having to hear. But I saw the glitter in her eyes, the way her chin quivered, and I knew she was close to tears.

I had backed away from my position slowly, my heart pounding excitedly, and returned to my post by my room, fighting to suppress my smile. She was completely defeated... she wouldn't try to tell anyone else anything against me.

And Mouse... Mouse was almost as good. She just stood there, completely still and empty-faced. There was none of the usual fear in her expression even- she looked like a blank sheet of paper. Or more accurately, a once full one that had been completely erased. She didn't move until someone physically moved her, and of course she didn't speak. I'd had no idea that Psycho-girl had even registered as a patient in her mind, let alone that she'd react in such a way to her death. But maybe like Miss Satan, she saw that two nearly mute girls had died- and she, being a complete mute, was afraid she'd be next.

Pollyanna hung at her elbows, looking not quite as if she were living up to her nickname this morning. She hadn't in a long time, now that I thought about it, probably a week or so- not that I'd ever believed she was really so cheery. She looked rather pissed at the moment, and was focusing on Mouse in an impressive glare she was trying to hide. She kept hissing these questions at her like she expected her to answer- strange behavior from the girl who before had never given her more than a second to reply to questions before she answered for her. Of course Mouse just stared, not even seeming to hear her. All in all, it was almost as interesting to watch as Rachel had been.

As I observed everyone circumspectly through lowered lids, I wondered to myself who they'd room me with now... the female patient population of our ward had been reduced 25% in two days. It wouldn't be a good idea to screw with anyone for a while- best to lay low, to be safe, just in case.

And anyway, I was more than entertained for the moment, just observing the destruction I'd created... just for today, this was enough...