Stay
The Prisoner
Sometimes, when we're good, they allow us to watch TV. It’s Sofie’s turn to choose the channel, so she flicks through them, looking for something that interests her. There’s some reality TV, a cooking show, some syfy channel trash. It isn’t until the news channel pops up that I see something that catches my eye.
“Wait,” I say, “Go back.”
Because Sofie is nice, she does, though I’m not so stupid as to think she won’t change the channel in the next few seconds. Seconds are all I need to recognize the teenage boy I tried to kill half a year ago. I almost don’t realize why his face is familiar for a moment, but then I recall quickened breathing and a voice hissing “He’s behind you.”
If I had only listened, I would have succeeded.
Instead, I’m in here, and he’s out there, alive. I’ll be here till I die. A life for a life. A life sentence, and I didn’t even kill him. I tried, though, and that’s enough. Not many are sympathetic when it comes to psychopaths.
My lawyer tried to convince me to take the insanity defense. I wouldn’t. I’m not insane, I just don’t care. Emotions make people insane. I’m as sane as can be.
On the news, the boy I tried to murder is speaking to an interviewer, another boy beside him. This one is also familiar. He testified in court against me. He tackled me, knocking my knife to the ground. He saved the other boy, from me.
“I’m gonna make a full recovery, the doctors say,” the boy is saying, leaning heavily against the other, taller one, who holds his waist protectively. He’s looking at the hurt boy like he is his entire world. It’s an expression that I recognize as one of love, though I’ve never seen it in person before. It’s like something from a romantic comedy, an idealized version of love that I never thought actually existed.
“Tell us more about your new relationship,” the interviewer requests, holding the microphone to their faces. The two boys smile shyly at each other. Something in my chest stirs.
“Gerard saved my life,” the one boy says, not taking his eyes from his boyfriend. “I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”
Gerard presses his lips to the other's temple. “Frank is the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” he says earnestly. “I’ve had a crush on him for years. Though I didn’t always express myself in the best way.” The last comment is sheepish, bordering on guilty, but the other boy, Frank, nudges his arm playfully and the expression turns to one of joy.
“I don’t know why this happened to me," Frank continues seriously, turning back to the camera. It feels like he’s staring right at me. I’m not sure if I would mind if he could see me. “And I’m not grateful for it. But it did, unintentionally, bring me and Gerard together.” He smiles softly; I think he must know I’m watching. “And that’s something I won’t ever regret.”
The interviewer smiles indulgently at them. “You’re both very brave,” he tells them, “and we’re all very glad you’re doing so well. How about a kiss for the camera?”
Frank blushes, and Gerard’s smile stiffens on his face, but surprisingly it’s Frank who turns and pulls Gerard down for a kiss. It’s short and chaste, but the moment their lips touch, I feel a corresponding twinge in my heart. Around me, a few of the women let out soft sighs. The onscreen lovers draw apart, blushing furiously, and turn to give the camera sheepish smiles.
That thing in my chest twinges again.
“Well, that’s all we have time for today,” the interviewer says cheerfully into the camera, “Back to you, Carrie.”
As the news switches over to the anchors, who start commenting on the heartwarming couple, Sofie changes the channel and I don’t protest. It isn’t my turn anyway.
I press my hand to my heart, willing it to twinge again. It doesn’t, but I know what I felt.
A tugging on my heartstrings.
I’m not a psychopath after all.
“Christa, you have a visitor,” a voice says, and I turn to see one of the friendlier guards standing in the doorway.
I stand and walk over to her. “Who is it?” I ask. No one has visited me since I got in here. I haven’t heard from anyone since my arrest.
“Some guy, says his name is Ray Toro,” she replies, sounding bored.
I don't know why or how, but something about seeing that boy on TV must have opened me up to feeling things, because there’s suddenly a warmth in my heart that I’ve never felt before.
“Ray’s here?” I ask, not loud enough for her to hear. A smile finds its way onto my face, though I don’t mean to put it there.
And when we reach the visiting room, there he is, frizzy hair and all. He looks up at me, and smiles.
I’ve never been so relieved to be so wrong.
“Wait,” I say, “Go back.”
Because Sofie is nice, she does, though I’m not so stupid as to think she won’t change the channel in the next few seconds. Seconds are all I need to recognize the teenage boy I tried to kill half a year ago. I almost don’t realize why his face is familiar for a moment, but then I recall quickened breathing and a voice hissing “He’s behind you.”
If I had only listened, I would have succeeded.
Instead, I’m in here, and he’s out there, alive. I’ll be here till I die. A life for a life. A life sentence, and I didn’t even kill him. I tried, though, and that’s enough. Not many are sympathetic when it comes to psychopaths.
My lawyer tried to convince me to take the insanity defense. I wouldn’t. I’m not insane, I just don’t care. Emotions make people insane. I’m as sane as can be.
On the news, the boy I tried to murder is speaking to an interviewer, another boy beside him. This one is also familiar. He testified in court against me. He tackled me, knocking my knife to the ground. He saved the other boy, from me.
“I’m gonna make a full recovery, the doctors say,” the boy is saying, leaning heavily against the other, taller one, who holds his waist protectively. He’s looking at the hurt boy like he is his entire world. It’s an expression that I recognize as one of love, though I’ve never seen it in person before. It’s like something from a romantic comedy, an idealized version of love that I never thought actually existed.
“Tell us more about your new relationship,” the interviewer requests, holding the microphone to their faces. The two boys smile shyly at each other. Something in my chest stirs.
“Gerard saved my life,” the one boy says, not taking his eyes from his boyfriend. “I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”
Gerard presses his lips to the other's temple. “Frank is the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” he says earnestly. “I’ve had a crush on him for years. Though I didn’t always express myself in the best way.” The last comment is sheepish, bordering on guilty, but the other boy, Frank, nudges his arm playfully and the expression turns to one of joy.
“I don’t know why this happened to me," Frank continues seriously, turning back to the camera. It feels like he’s staring right at me. I’m not sure if I would mind if he could see me. “And I’m not grateful for it. But it did, unintentionally, bring me and Gerard together.” He smiles softly; I think he must know I’m watching. “And that’s something I won’t ever regret.”
The interviewer smiles indulgently at them. “You’re both very brave,” he tells them, “and we’re all very glad you’re doing so well. How about a kiss for the camera?”
Frank blushes, and Gerard’s smile stiffens on his face, but surprisingly it’s Frank who turns and pulls Gerard down for a kiss. It’s short and chaste, but the moment their lips touch, I feel a corresponding twinge in my heart. Around me, a few of the women let out soft sighs. The onscreen lovers draw apart, blushing furiously, and turn to give the camera sheepish smiles.
That thing in my chest twinges again.
“Well, that’s all we have time for today,” the interviewer says cheerfully into the camera, “Back to you, Carrie.”
As the news switches over to the anchors, who start commenting on the heartwarming couple, Sofie changes the channel and I don’t protest. It isn’t my turn anyway.
I press my hand to my heart, willing it to twinge again. It doesn’t, but I know what I felt.
A tugging on my heartstrings.
I’m not a psychopath after all.
“Christa, you have a visitor,” a voice says, and I turn to see one of the friendlier guards standing in the doorway.
I stand and walk over to her. “Who is it?” I ask. No one has visited me since I got in here. I haven’t heard from anyone since my arrest.
“Some guy, says his name is Ray Toro,” she replies, sounding bored.
I don't know why or how, but something about seeing that boy on TV must have opened me up to feeling things, because there’s suddenly a warmth in my heart that I’ve never felt before.
“Ray’s here?” I ask, not loud enough for her to hear. A smile finds its way onto my face, though I don’t mean to put it there.
And when we reach the visiting room, there he is, frizzy hair and all. He looks up at me, and smiles.
I’ve never been so relieved to be so wrong.
Notes
Thanks for supporting this story! I'm sorry for the wait, but I hope it was worth it ;)
@Originality-At-Its-Finest
I know right?! Thanks for reading and commenting!! :D
4/15/17