by Dani René
“Yes, your honor.”
“And can you please tell the court your name and age?”
“Brynn Holliday; 23.”
“You are charged with voluntary manslaughter in the murder of Mylo Contrares. How do you plead?”
“Guilty, but not criminally responsible.”
Gasps ring out from Mylo’s family on the other side of the courtroom at my plea, and I feel for them, I do. But Mylo wasn’t innocent in this.
“The police report says that you don’t remember what happened. Is there anything that you can recall?”
“I—I don’t really know. The last thing that I remember is having sex with Mylo and then nothing. Then, it’s like I woke up from a dream, or a daydream or something, and he was lying still, beneath me.”
“In the police report here, a neighbor said that they could hear you screaming at Mr. Contreras. You don’t remember that?”
He looks up at me and waits for my answer, but I don’t have one.
“Ms. Holliday, the court requires a verbal response from you to all questions. Do you or do you not remember screaming at Mr. Contreras?”
“No, Sir, I do not,” I answer.
Then, his eyes return to the report in his hands, and he reads directly from it.
“I was sitting in my living room, and all of a sudden, I heard a woman shouting from the apartment next door. I thought she was being attacked, but as I listened a little longer, I realized that she was angry. She kept screaming, ‘Do it! Just do it!’ Then, I heard Mr. Contreras shout back that he wasn't comfortable doing “it,” and he didn’t want to hurt her. There was a brief period of silence followed by a terrifying scream, and then I heard him shout, ‘what are you doing? No!’ And then there was a loud crash. That’s when I called 911. While I was on the phone, I went out into the hallway to try and get into the apartment to help. I could hear a little better outside of the door, and what I heard next will haunt me forever. ‘Please stop! I can’t breathe! You’re killing me!’ I banged my fists on the door, I tried to break it open with my shoulder, but nothing worked. The police didn't take long to get there, and they were able to force the door open with a battering ram or something. When I looked into the apartment, I saw the woman straddling Mylo with a rope hanging from her right hand.”
“Does that sound familiar to you? Does it trigger any memories?” He asks me.
“Not really,” I say with a frown.
“I have your record here. This isn’t the first time that you’ve gotten into trouble.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Have you ever been diagnosed with any type of mental illness?”
“Bi-polar Hypersexuality Disorder.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
He sits on his bench, reviewing my record further. After a few minutes, he finally speaks again.
“You’re ordered to report to the Office of the District Attorney, two weeks from today at 8 AM, where a psychologist will analyze you from both the prosecution as well as the defense. From there, I will review their reports and determine whether or not you’re criminally insane or if you’ll stand trial. Until then, you’ll remain under the state’s watch at the Powell Women’s Prison in Stoneham. That's all.”
He bangs his gavel as the bailiff tells us all to rise.
Brynn
Five Months Later
“Yes! Fuck. Me. Harder!” I moan as Finn grips my arms tighter, using them for leverage to fuck me faster and sink his cock deeper into my pussy.
He has me bent over the desk in Dr. Lewis’ office. She is the bane of my existence. I am assigned to her, and she does nothing but try to ruin my life.
Last week, during one of our sessions, she started in on the fact that I had a less-than-stellar upbringing. She keeps wanting to “dive-in deeper”—her words, not mine. I was so fed up with it, and I fucking snapped. I told her that the only thing I would dive into is her ass with a strap on. She thinks I’m worthless, and she’s never had a problem telling me so. She’s had me locked in isolation since then, and today is my first day out. I’ve had to live without some else’s touch for the past week. It didn’t make me very happy, and I couldn’t think of a better way to let her know that I was back amongst the riff-raff than to leave her a little love note.
And Finn is as crazy as the day is long; I didn’t have to ask him twice if he wanted to help me out.
I’d only been at The Serenity Institute for a week the first time we hooked up. He snuck into the girls' bathroom and pounced as I was showering. He came up behind me and shoved me into the half-wall that separates the shower stalls. He folded my body in half over the tiles, shoving half of his fingers into my pussy and his thumb up my ass.
“Mmm, he said in my ear. I love fresh meat.”
He licked up the length of my ear as he wiggled his thumb, and it had my legs trembling instantly. He obviously didn’t know why I was here.
“Oh, fuuuuck,” I moaned, as my breath hitched with excitement.
“What?” he asked, confused as all hell.
I reached back and grabbed his wrist, moving his thumb back and forth inside of me.
“Fuck me. I’d prefer your dick, but I’ll settle for your fingers, all of your fingers. Feel free to smack me around a little bit too.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” he laughed.
“Aren’t we all?” I threw back at him.
His dick hardened against my ass immediately. He pulled down the standard-issue sweatpants that all of us are required to wear and sunk into me fast and hard. It hurt in the most mind-blowing, exhilarating way. It had been way too long.
Orgasms had been few and far between during the first couple of days in jail, and I felt as insane as the test results showed that I was. I helped myself, but I could only do it at night after light’s out. I was used to several encounters per day. I was going mad until Morgan moved into the cell. I needed the touch of someone else for a change. My hand wasn’t cutting it any longer. She had been arrested for assault and battery in the first degree. She beat her boyfriend pretty severely after she caught him cheating on her. When she told me that, I asked her if she liked being violent. It turns out she had an itch, just like me. We came to an agreement that suited both of us. From that moment on, she scratched my back, and I scratched hers. But as many times as we tribbed, fisted, finger-fucked, smacked around and licked each other into oblivion, there wasn’t anything that would replace the feeling of a cock lodged deep inside of me. Not the way Finn did that day. It’s been five months since I got here, and we’ve been fucking regularly ever since.
I’m known as the slut of the asylum. Most of the female patients who are with it enough, who still remember and want the feeling of having a man between their legs, will mutter “slut” under their breath as I walk by. They’re just jealous. They used to say it louder until they realized that it only spurred me on more.
One time, Lucy goody-fucking-two-shoes, said it as I was walking past her. I laid her out on the ground and stuck my pussy right in her face. I wish I would have had time to get naked before the guards locked me up, but no such luck.
Now she avoids me like the plague.
There was one week when Finn had to stay locked up in isolation for attacking a guard. I had to find someone else to fulfill my cravings while he was gone. That’s when I began getting closer to Danny, the timid orderly. Now, I divide my time between them, but I mostly spend it with Finn. He is way more adventurous, while Danny is more innocent and shy. Sometimes we all play together, but not often. They don’t get along too well, but they know to play nice when I am in the mood for them both.
“I’m going to come,” I tell Finn, and he lifts me onto the desktop. I squat down over the large calendar that sits on the surface and rub my clit furiously until I squirt all over it. I stand and point myself toward her computer and spray. My cum drips down the screen and pools in some of the holes between the keys of the keyboard.
When
I don’t have any more inside of me, I hop down, and Finn shoves me toward the couch, pushing me over the arm. He spreads my ass cheeks apart and sinks himself inside of me again. He fucks me hard, and he comes on the back of my tank top. I take it off and throw it on Lewis’ desk.
I can’t fucking wait to see her reaction in the morning.
“Brynn, what were you thinking? Seriously, what is going on in that head of yours?” Dr. Sterling asks, Dr. S., as I call him.
He’s the head doc around here. A few years back, he was in the same spot that his patients are currently in. While he was “on the inside,” he was able to dabble in his madness. Once he got out, Dr. S. decided to turn this old asylum into the Serenity Institute, so he can help us in the way that he was helped. I genuinely like Dr. S. He doesn’t treat us like we’re wrong like we’re ruined. He wants to nurture us and give us what we need in a safe space, as long as we don’t kill anyone. God, what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on him, but he is adamant that will never happen.
“I hate her. She deserved it.”
I’m sitting in the armchair in his office. Arms folded across my chest, and my legs crossed at the knee. Dr. S and Dr. Lewis are on the sofa facing me. I wonder if this is what it would have been like if I had parents that cared enough to discipline me. He’s staring at me with a look of disappointment and her, a look of pure disgust.
“I understand that you may not care for Dr. Lewis, but that doesn’t give you a right to act out in the way that you did last night. It was completely unacceptable.”
“She doesn’t have the same views as you do. You give us a little freedom to be ourselves while she is completely against it.”
“First of all, I may let you express yourself, but this is not even close to the type of expression that I will tolerate. Second, Dr. Lewis is well aware of how I want this institute to be run. She may not be as open and accepting of some of your behavior, but regardless of that, she is one of my doctors, and you will respect her.”
My eyes meet hers. She tries to stand firm, but as soon as my eyes narrow, she looks away from me.
“I’ll respect her when she respects me.”
I roll my eyes at him, and he stares at me, unamused.
“You think she’s so innocent. That she has our--my--best interests at heart, but you’re wrong! She hates me, and she would keep me locked up in isolation for good if she could. If she is going to make my life a living hell, I figured it was about time she has a good reason to do so.”
He just continues to stare at me. It’s awkward, and it’s making me uncomfortable.
“Are you going to spank me?” I say to him, pretending to be coy and effectively breaking the silence.
“You will be confined, once again, to isolation for the next week.”
“That’s so unfair! I just got out of there!”
“You made a choice. Now you need to face the consequences of your actions.”
“But--”
“But, nothing!” he shouts and stands. His massive form towers over me even from across the table in between us.
Dr. S. hardly ever shouts, and my mouth shuts of its own accord.
“Up. Now.”
I take a deep breath and stand. Following him out into the hallway, he hands me off to Danny. At least I can get him to fuck me before I go in there.
“And Brynn,” he calls out from behind me. “You’ll be tied down and unable to,” he pauses, looking for the right word, “express yourself while you’re in there. You’ll be untied to eat and use the restroom, but you will be watched the entire time, closely.”
I’m rooted to the spot in shock. Dr. S. nods at Danny, signaling him to get me out of here. Danny takes me by the arm, but it’s as if I’ve turned to stone.
“What?” I stand up tall, rooted to the spot.
Danny pulls on my arm some more, a little harder this time, but I still refuse to make my feel move. Finally, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I begin to scream and beat my fists on Danny’s back as he continues to walk, but his strength overpowers me, unsurprisingly. It’s one of the things that first drew me to him. He may be timid as fuck, but what he lacks in confidence, he makes up for in hot, chiseled muscle. My body goes limp and flops against his back as he takes the stairs to the dark, dank basement of the institute.
Richard
“Dr. Dunnington?” A man makes his way down the grand, wooden stairwell leading to the foyer of the building. This is not your typical institute, in a good way. It’s warmer, more calming than the bright fluorescent lighting, cinder-block walled, and sterile in-patient environments where I am used to meeting with patients.
“Dr. Sterling, I presume?” I say to him as he walks over to where I’m waiting.
He extends his hand, and I give it a firm shake.
“Yes, it’s very nice to finally meet you.”
“You as well. And, please, call me Rich.”
“Rich,” he says, “Ansel. Thank you so much for coming all the way out here.”
“Well, I’ll admit, when you contacted me and explained the situation that you’re in, I was intrigued. I couldn’t say no without witnessing it firsthand.”
“Well, your reputation precedes you in this specific area of practice. After everything we’ve tried with this patient, we still haven’t been able to get through to her.”
“I’m looking forward to diving in and learning more about her.”
“Follow me, and I’ll show you around.”
I was taken by surprise when I received an email from Dr. Ansel Sterling a few weeks ago. He gave me a high-level account of the patient’s behavior, and it grabbed my attention immediately. He requested an opportunity for me to travel to the institute to discuss her case in further depth and, hopefully, oversee her care.
I can’t lie, though. I also agreed to come out here because of the whispers that I’ve heard throughout the Psychology community about a long-forgotten institute in the middle of nowhere, USA. Once I realized that the whispers were true, I couldn’t pass up the chance to see it firsthand.
The Institute is made up of three floors and a basement. Ansel showed me their crisis stabilization unit. Their medical facility is impressive, better than your average hospital.
“Do you have any questions so far?” Ansel asks when we get into the elevator again.
“Well, I have to admit, I’m very eager to learn why I’m here. You were decidedly vague in your emails.”
He offers a tight smile, and it looks as though he is about to drop a bomb on me.
“The majority of the patients that we have here are on this floor to the right of the stairwell. The offices are on the left. We can head down to my office and talk there.”
As I follow him, I see twin girls exit an office on the right side of the hallway.
“Lizzie, Molly, how are you ladies today?” Ansel asks as we approach them.
“Molly is still really sick, Dr. Sterling, but I am taking good care of her.”
He doesn’t respond, just shoots them a quick smile, and continues toward his office. When we get to the doorway, I can feel eyes watching me from behind. I turn to look, and sure enough, the twins are standing in the same spot, staring me down. I nod my head toward them and step into Ansel’s office.
“Please, have a seat,” he offers as he sits in an old chair behind his desk.
I have a seat and wait for him to begin speaking again. However, he seems to be at a loss for words.
“I am not sure if I am more nervous or excited to hear about the patient now,” I joke, “it must be something incredible if you can’t form the problem into words.”
He picks up a patient folder from a pile and slides it to me over the antiqued wood of his desk.
“This is why I asked you to come.”
I pick up the chart and begin to peruse its contents.
“She is an exceptional girl. I know she is a good person, but that part of her is buried beneath a thick cloud of pain and sel
f-loathing. She fights with her current doctor every step of the way and, in the five months since she got here, we still haven’t been able to make any ground with her. I’ve never witnessed a case of hypersexuality this intense before. Couple that with the bipolar disorder, and she’s a ticking time bomb of unbridled desire.”
I glance at her chart. The notes listed by her current doctor are shocking. She has nothing but horrible and degrading things to say about her.
Worthless
More willing to whore herself out than to help herself
Unwilling participant in her care
Menace
Without having seen them interact, I can already tell who the real problem is.
“Ansel, with all due respect, I can’t see how her doctor is still employed here. Surely you want your doctors to have their patients' best interests at heart?”
“Of course I do,” he begins, clearly annoyed by my statement, but also at the situation, “Dr. Lewis was one of the first doctors on staff after Serenity Institute opened, and she played a pivotal role in the first couple of years. Lately, though, it doesn’t seem as though her heart is in it. The severity of this particular patient’s illness doesn’t help either.”
Dr. Lewis isn’t what this facility needs. She’s certainly not what this patient needs.
“Tell me more about the patient—Brynn,” I add, looking at her chart once again.
“She is a handful, that’s for sure. She’s currently in isolation, but if you choose to take on her case, you’ll understand what I mean immediately.”
“Isolation? What for?” I ask, concerned.
Ansel cocks an eyebrow at me before nodding to the chart.
I flip back to the most recent page of notes and read about an incident that occurred several days ago.
I arrived at my office early to finish several other patient reports. Noticed an unpleasant smell upon entry. Appeared as though something spilled or was poured on my desk and computer. Walked further into the office and saw a balled-up patient-issue tank top on the floor.
