I Want to Play a Game [Wendy Darling]

[The_PG]

Lack of empathy, Shallow emotions, Lying and manipulativeness, Impulsivity, irresponsibility, Low tolerance for boredom, Poor behavior controls, Remorselessness, Egocentricity and grandiosity, Intelligence, Perceptual/emotional recognition deficits. Well, that about covered it. Psychopath. Dr. Mathew Stevens quickly erased the 5th and 7th on the list. He was both responsible, and had immaculate behavior controls, at least outside of his episodes which only occurred outside of ear and eye sight of the general public. Save his unlucky victims. Besides, if one knew he was a psychopath, did that not null the label and make him a sociopath? Perhaps. Still, he liked the word psychopath, it had such a ring to it. So did the word psychiatrist. Which was his job. Dr. Mathew knew he was a contrast in terms, an irony that could do with being extinguished, yet he had found a rather strong sense of empathy with life and living. So there went #1 and he easily recognized the signs of emotions, so perhaps he really wasn't a psychopath. Unless...

"Now there is an interesting theory," He said aloud. "A dual-personality, one a psychopath, the other a sociopath. I wonder what it will be called? Perhaps... Hehe... The Stevens disorder? Not quite the same ring, but certainly... A bit more sinister, wouldn't you say Kierra?"

Glancing down at his latest victim. Little Kierra came from the foster system, where she had easily been misplaced and deleted from their records within seconds of the moment she'd walked into Dr. Stevens psychological ward. She was a cute little thing. Seventeen, so much life left in front of her, if only she would stop cutting herself! Depression. The most common anxiety of teenage girls. Such a pity that she would be taking her own life only a week after meeting the doctor, if only he'd had more time. Dr. Stevens smiled down at her precious, tear stained face, "You want to live now, don't you Kierra?" She tried to nod, but the tape across her mouth that held her to the plank of wood that held her over the small kiddy pool prevented that.

"Such a pity... My methods truly are exceptional, yet, they would never be accepted."

Dr. Stevens pulled his cock from within her trembling little cunt, it was bloodied and smeared with juices. Then he peeled the condom off, and ripped the tape from Kierra's mouth. Stuffing the bloodied condom inside, and closed her mouth again. With skill, ease, and experience that betrayed such a well-spoken and well-educated man, he took a razor and sliced along her arms. Making sure to make the cuts jagged and uneven, as if she'd done it to herself. The blood drained into the pool, and mixed with the bleach.

"Goodnight, sweet princess."

-

The next day Dr. Stevens entered his office and found a folder upon his desk. Something he hated, especially before his first cup of espresso, sipping it and staring at disdain at the folder he finally decided to open it. The picture in front attracted his attention, and his anger slipped away quickly. "Well hello," He said as a disgusting smile crept up his lips, "Beautiful..." He tapped the speakerphone to his secretary, "Kathy, when does my new patient arrive?"

"This afternoon sir,"

"Excellent. Thank you..." His calm hand began to shake, as he touched the photograph of the beautiful teen, victim number... Thirteen, was it? Perrrfect!

 

[Wendy Darling]

She had not spoken for six days, not a single word. There was no point anymore. All of her pleading and crying hadn't done any good - her fate was sealed. She couldn't believe that she had actually thought these foster parents would be different than all the previous. No. Rather than take her side of the story when she had told them their son had tried to rape her, they called the agency, made up lies about her, claimed that she was hysterical and couldn't distinguish reality from delusions. That she had been the one seducing their son, when she suddenly suffered a violent mood shift and attacked him. So here she was, too much of a liability now even for an adoption agency to want to deal with, shipped off to a psych ward to rot though she was barely sixteen...

Emma's eyes were dry and her expression blank as she walked into the place, escorted by two guards, as though that were even necessary - she wasn't actually crazy and anyone with a brain could see that. They towered over her petite form, the top of her blonde head barely reaching their chests, and she felt scared, intimidated. The hospital looked mundane enough, but it still freaked her out. She didn't belong here! Emma was used to not belonging, but this, this was just so unfair that it made her want to scream.

Once she was inside, the guards left her and she was made to wait in a sitting room as the receptionist pulled up her record and filed all the appropriate paperwork. Emma sat straight, her spine rigid with tension and her hands wringing nervously in her lap. She wore her long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a simple grey dress, which was neither too tight nor very revealing. Although she was thin and beautiful, Emma had no interest in displaying her body. The less attention that she attracted, the better, in her opinion.

She shifted and crossed her legs. She was anxious. Emma had never been good with doctors. Somehow they always seemed to condescend to her, tell her what she ought to know already, make her feel like a stupid child. That was how all authority figures made her feel. She would much rather be left alone - she did well when she was simply left to her own devices; her foster parents had seemed to understand this and given her space. Everything had been just fine, she had been doing alright at school, had finally felt relatively normal, that is, until the night she'd been forced to claw at her foster brother's face until it was covered in bleeding scratches and he had finally let her go. The memory made her shudder with fear and loathing.

"You may see Dr. Stevens, now," the secretary said kindly. She had stood up, and gestured for Emma to do the same. Slowly, as if in a trance, Emma walked to the door, then into the room, looking back when the secretary closed the door. She looked hesitantly at the doctor. He didn't look like a bad man, but that didn't make her any less wary of him. Emma opened her mouth to speak but couldn't seem to form the words. Instead she settled for taking another step further into the room, fiddling nervously with the I.D. bracelet that was now on her left wrist. "I..." was all that she could manage.

 

[The_PG]

[watched Sucker Punch, fyi, the unrated version is amazing!]

Dr. Stevens looked down over his rather stylish frames, and introduced himself.

"You are Emma Johnson, Emma, Paige, Johnson. I'm Dr. Mathew Stevens, please have a seat." He motioned Emma to his couch, that had seen countless victims, and many more patients backsides than he could remember. Only a few had ever been as cute as Emma's, he noticed with gleeful indulgence, as she walked and sat down without another word. Once her tiny frame sat down, Dr. Stevens very well proportioned frame stood up; he was six foot two, with long arms and legs that gave him a sort of withered appearance. Not age wise, but slightly bent. His skin was smooth and had a nice tan to it, his eyes were blue and his hair a sort of sandy blond. It was cut short, but curled a bit anyways. He was handsome, and his eyes looked caring. His teeth were pearly white, and his smile just a little too friendly, but most certainly not fake. Underneath the white lab jacket was a well maintained, and spoiled body. A thin layer of fat covered an otherwise perfectly healthy body, he ran, lifted weights, and of course kept healthy with vitamins, but he did indulge himself in a bit too much ice cream, Scotch, and young women.

He began by speaking softly, and not even looking at Emma.

"I've ready your case file and I see you've bounced from house to house across the system for numerous reasons, most of them violent, so I'm not going to start with your latest outbreak. The... Morris boy, Sammy Morris. I'd be willing to bet good money that he deserved it." Only then, did he look at her, catching the a stare of wonder and surprise. "But that doesn't excuse you from ruining his face entirely, or biting Timothy Kelly's nose off, busting Jonathan Clyde's right nut, and cutting Damien Lewis with scissors. I'm sure there are more, but those are the first six pages that I glanced at... Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He paused, giving her a chance, before snapping.

"Of course not! You haven't spoken in days... Listen, Emma," Suddenly he was at her side, and his hand was against her warm stomach. He spoke softly, "I do things differently here, I'm going to get inside of that head of yours. If you don't help me," His lips were right next to her ear, "I'll help myself."

He waited then. If she did not speak, his hand would slide lower and his tongue would touch her ear. If she did speak, he would simply back away, and continue the conversation.

 

[Wendy Darling]

Emma closed her eyes and sat down on the couch. It always started the same. The doctor would recite every gruesome detail of her past, and explain why it was wrong, and how they were going to help her get better...

The names rattled off his tongue brought back memories which stung. Emma had never wanted to hurt anybody - she was delicate and gentle as a fawn really - but when she was cornered and panicked, seconds away from being raped by a disgusting boy, she had no choice but to attack. Violently. Sometimes she blacked out, while something, some internal force, would just take over her and fight back. He would be attacking her one minute, and on the floor the next, clutching his bleeding nose or crying and holding his balls. So when the boys ended up in the hospital it always somehow became her fault. No one had ever talked about how Damien Lewis had given her matching black eyes so bad that she could barely see for a week, or about how the Kelly boy had left bruises and scratches on her thighs in his attempts to spread her legs; and if she hadn't crushed her kneecap into Jonathan Clyde's crotch, he probably would've choked her until she blacked out. They were the insane ones, not Emma, why couldn't anybody else see that?

Emma saw no point in explaining herself to him. Nobody else had ever believed anything she said, why would he be any different? She turned her head, looked up at him with those sad, resentful doe eyes, but said nothing. Suddenly, Dr. Stevens was right next to her, touching her, invading her very crucial realm of personal space. Instantly, Emma felt her heart begin to pound rapidly, her pulse racing and palms becoming sweaty because of the man's dangerous proximity. His hand felt heavy as lead on her stomach and his voice slithered into her ear and made her shiver with fear and disgust and rising panic.

"Don't touch me," her voice was a fiercely shaking whisper, slightly hoarse from misuse. Emma craned her neck away from him and regarded him closely, breathing deeply through her nose to try to remain calm. What was it about her that so instantly sexualized her, what was it that made men behave this way towards her? It had all started with one of her foster fathers, when she was eight, and it hadn't stopped since... and neither had her blackouts. "I'll talk, but don't... don't." She grabbed his wrist with her own small hands and pulled his hand away.

 

[The_PG]

Dr. Stevens let go of Emma immediately and the look on his face turned from aggressive and lascivious to passive and interested. He went to his notepad and wrote, Subject is effected greatly by touch and close proximity of other persons. Aggressive therapy will probably be necessary. Then he stood back up and paced in front of Emma for a few moments, finally he turned to face her with a hand on his chin and the other in his pocket. He was friendly enough to look at, and spoke with mild concern. The issue of proximity and touch would quickly be put to test once he got his fingernails into her brain, but until then he did not want his subjects realizing just how far off the beaten path this Asylum, and this doctor really truly were. For now he would just be, different, if he could at all help it. Especially with someone as beautiful, and sexy as Emma; try as she might her tiny body and cute face, combined with the innocent clothes and hollow eyed look would give any man a reason to shiver if they had anything left of their predatory instincts. She was simply, the perfect victim, especially at her jailbait age.

"You have to talk Emma. I cannot help you if you do not talk, and I will not promise to not touch you. Not that I'm planning on it mind you, but I hope further down during our discussions you will grow used to my... To me. Becoming comfortable with me will be one of the only ways for you to allow me to help you out of your depression and paranoia." He turned, sat, and picked up his notepad. Scribbling, Subject is likely to make many false claims and accusations, after one or two probable real and intense lies by people. Males. She has become disillusioned with humanity in general, and content in her little world she will continue to make many claims and clamor to keep herself in her own reality. Expect accusations, everything will be documented. While only partially true, already Dr. Stevens knew the truth behind the matter, the main purpose of his notes were to keep him crystal clean should any part of his miraculous scheme ever break down. It had once, with his second victim, she'd escaped at some point during her final days and screamed everything to the police. His notes had saved him, and she returned to him three days later as a schizophrenic-paranoid, scheduled for a Lobotomy.

She'd been found three days after her lobotomy. A hole in her head where she had thrust a screwdriver deep into her eye socket.

"I'm going to recommend we have long therapy sessions to start with, in order to begin the process of gaining familiarity and trust. Both are inherently needed for comfort-ability. You don't seem like a flight risk, so we'll go out together, though you'll have some restraints. We'll start tomorrow at five am. I'm a runner, and you'll be joining me. Physical exercise releases stress and hopefully, will get you talking to me... We still have about, a half-hour, before my next appointment. Is there anything... You'd care to talk to me about now?"

Dr. Stevens tilted his head to the side, "I'd understand if you refuse."

 

[Wendy Darling]

Visibly relieved when he moved away from her, Emma relaxed slightly, though her small body was never without a certain anxious rigidity. She carried a tenseness of posture that made her look constantly on-edge, like a skittish fawn with her ears perked, just waiting for the predator to come along.

Depression and paranoia, he said. Of course. Emma could not help but defend herself even though she knew there was no point - he'd already made up his mind about her just like all the other doctors. "I'm only depressed because I've had so many horrible boys hurt me," she said quietly, though with more conviction than her bleak expression portrayed, "and any paranoia stems from the constant need to protect myself from everyone around me..." She had never been at peace, not ever. More than a few times she had contemplated ending her life - although Emma was uncertain about an afterlife, that wasn't even the point, a new life wasn't the goal. Nonexistence was. Being completely free. Becoming nothing. Sometimes, still, in the dark stillness of her bedroom in the middle of the night (scissors or a knife stashed under her pillow, always) Emma would contemplate such thoughts.

"It should be Jon, or Timmy, or Damien in this chair, not me," she whispered sadly, looking down at her lap again with a heavy sigh. This was the most she'd spoken to any person in a month. She'd always been quiet, preferring to be undisturbed, liking to curl up alone and read books of sweet poetry than be around other people. Just as reserved in school, Emma would never volunteer but would give short, polite answers if called upon, and she did not seek to make friends. She didn't want friends. Especially, she did not want have any sort of relationship with Dr. Stevens, and did not fancy the idea of running with him, no guards to keep watch (but would they even help her if she needed the? She had to wonder) and nothing to defend herself with; unless she could get her hands on a rock or branch of some sort...

Emma nodded, just the slightest inclination of her head, to show that she understood. "I will run with you. There's nothing else I want to say. May I go now?" She was already half-standing, eager to get out of this office, away from this bizarre doctor and into the welcoming comfort of her room. She would skip dinner, she decided, she wasn't very hungry anyway. The white walls and total solitude were what she needed right now.

 

[The_PG]

The next day Dr. Stevens was thinking back upon his meeting the previous afternoon with little Emma. She truly was a delectable little fuck. He could see exactly why all of her male aggressors had decided to take out their lust upon her body. It was trim, a little thin, but yet she still had fat in all the right areas; her ass actually being the only one that Mathew cared about. He had watched her change, and shower the night before using his network of various hidden camera's, and jerked off to the thought of fucking her tight little cunt and asshole before falling asleep. The alarm this morning had woken him up bright and quick, he smiled at the ceiling, almost not being able to wait to spend time with his latest victim. He dressed in typical running affair; spandex, athletic shorts, and a underarmor tee-shirt that revealed his decent physique.

Emma had been given the traditional athletic wear for Asylum patients. Only the good ones of course. Short jogging shorts, and a sports bra. The bra was mainly for comfort, but it was also a dark color to keep the girl from thinking he was an outright pervert.

"Good morning," Dr. Stevens had decided being pleasant, would be his first order of business today, and perhaps warming Emma up a bit before things got more serious. "Do you need to stretch first? No? Good. Let's go!"

The sole restriction placed on Emma was an unremovable tracker around her wrist. It was weatherproof, and provided GPS coordinates to her location should she run away. He was sure it was better than any of the other methods used on her before, and far less abusive or disruptive. As they jogged, he asked her simple questions about her history and tried to learn what he could before finally getting to the meat of their conversation. As they stopped at the half-way point to catch their breath, he spoke calmly, and watched Emma carefully.

"Emma... After thinking about our conversations the other day, I remember you stating the boys should be the ones on my couch. Yet, they were either acting out of pure physical sensation, animal nature, or some other trigger. Possibly even provided by yourself. Please do not get angry with me, I am not blaming anyone, but rather wondering... Why are you so depressed about the whole episode, and so paranoid? You think every man would act the same way, given the same opportunity as those boys?"

He carefully kept the distance between them close, but not uncomfortably so. He did not want her to be able to hide her face as she answered, but neither did he want her staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. As he imagined she was prone to do.