The Mad House

by Liza James

Bloodied hands on tiled floors. Streaks of crimson staining skin.

The walls. My skin. Their bodies. The floor. It’s chaos. Pure and beautiful chaos. Messy…sloppy…but incredible.

This pain, this warmth—this is what proves I’m still here. I’m still fucking here.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want because I do not serve the same judgmental, misogynistic, sexist God you serve.”

“I do not serve your God. I don’t even believe in your God. I don’t believe in the Bible. I don’t believe in anything the Church has stated or put forth. Therefore, my life, my rules, my identity, are far different than yours. If you stay in this space of believing your way is the only way, we will never get along. Because you’ll never accept who I am once you find out.”

Phe thinks she’s the only one who holds onto the darkness, I can tell. But she isn’t. I’ve already earned my place in Hell.

"Open your fucking mouth,” I tell her again

“Don’t ever tell me what to fucking do,” she breathes out. “Be careful who you think you can hurt, church girl.”

“She’s mine, Bex.” My voice drops lower, a predatory tone laces my words. My skin pulls tight and the tether I have within me draws me closer to this forbidden need, this desire to be near her. “No one else’s. Only mine. I won’t let her fucking go again.”

“Be a good girl and come for me, Phe,” she whispers hot words that intoxicate my blood.

She’s always been a good girl. Now she’s my good girl.