PSYCHO III

She jolted from her bed, panting heavily. Sweat trickled down her neck. Her throat felt sore and she wondered if she had been shouting. 

And how much she had already said out loud...

"Lisa, are you okay?" Her mum called from outside her door.

She willed her voice to remain calm. "Yes, mum. Just a bad dream."

"Are you sure? You screamed really loud few minutes ago."

Shit. "I'm fine, mum. Really."

"You know you can tell me anything."

If only she knew. "Yes, mum."

She heard her sigh. "Alright. See you in the morning."

"Yup."

"I love you."

"You, too."

She rubbed her now very-awake eyelids. So, she had been dreaming. It has been years since she had nightmares related to her past. Like her mum used to say, bad dreams only come when you think of bad things. She mentally face-palmed.

See where over-thinking has led her to, she thought grimly.

Her nose twitched, and she felt an overwhelming urge to sniff. Vaguely, she remembered she had some coke stashed under her Chemistry notebook in her school bag. 

Sure enough, it was there—resplendent in all its glory. She smiled at her choice of words. For the hundredth time, Lisa was grateful her mum doesn't go through her school stuffs. 

This is the life, she thought as she took a huge sniff out of the powdery substance. Doing drugs had always brought her relief—albeit temporary—from her ever-sinking problems. 

Which was a very good thing, she mused as she sniffed some more, her blonde hair now coated with whitish dust. She forgets everything when she's high.

Even him... 

She shook her head and chuckled silently. Her so-called father was the reason she had ventured into the world of drugs and sex in the first place. She did all that to forget him. To forget the day he laid his hands on her that first night.

And her desperate pleas to stop him... 

"Enough!" she said rather loud. She covered her mouth to keep the giggles from coming out.

"1-2-3, no time for thinking," she said in a sing-song tone. "Y-yes, no time at all."

Her bed looked inviting, calling her. "I'm on my way," she whispered to her bed. 

1-2-3...

She drifted off to sleep. 

*********

"Hello, kitty."

She was eight again, holding Mr. Frizzy.

What was happening? 

"N-no, you're not real. None of these is," she whimpered. 

He looked hurt, but she knew all-too-well that it was an act. It was all he ever did.

"Why did you say that, babe? I'm alive as you are."

She scooted to the edge of the bed before he could touch her.

"You're not real," she cried, her hands balled into fists.

"C'mon, baby." He grinned. "Let's play."

No, her mind screamed as he took slow steps towards her. Her heart thumped wildly against her chest. She looked around, trying to find a means of escape.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, reading her thoughts.

She tried to ignore him. 

Her furtive eyes found an almost-empty bottle of wine on her lampstand. How it got there, she had no idea. He tried to stop her, but she was faster.

More agile. 

Without thinking, she grabbed the bottle and slammed it on his head.

Painful howls rent the air. 

She let out a cackle of laughter as she stabbed him severally with the broken pieces.

Until she was satisfied he couldn't breathe.

He would never hurt her again. 

Ever.

Lisa could feel the wine—and his blood—seeping into the bedsheets. Into her clothes.

She didn't care. 

She had finally gotten rid of her monster. 

"Nighty-nighty, Boogeyman," she said as she pushed him off her bed.

©Mayoress

Watch out for the final episode. 

Subscribe!