A Room With a View
From Talesofmicetea's plot bunny about House in the nut house. Cussin, adult themes, WIP.
"No, I don't wanna go to the fucking rubber room."
"Rubber room," says Brian slowly, testing the syllables slowly. Rolling his Rs like marbles. "Rubber… room, rubber room, rubberroom."
"Don' call me that. Only my mother calls me that."
"Rubber room!" Brian's happy now. New toy to play with.
"Greg, you are getting annoyed and disturbing the group. I think you need to just go to the time out room and just chill."
"I'm not disturbing the group. I'm telling you what I saw." He's gotta think. Claw his way down to the truth. "You asked me and I'm telling you. You asked me!" Stupid, stupid head shrinkers. Good for nothing except shrinking your brain to the size of a pea. They want to make him a pea brain. He didn't want to be pea soup.
"But they don't believe you, do they Greg." He wheels around. He stares at her mocking smile. Too many white shiny teeth. They hurt his eyes. "Who'd believe a crazy man," she sing songs happily. Bitch. He'd cut her throat. Cut her throat with a cut throat razor.
"Shu 'up." Sudenly his tongue is thick and fury. Words slurry. Tongue is too big for his mouth. Too many drugs. Eat me, drink me, big fury tongue. Dry as a desert. Eating sand. Takes away his voice. Takes away everything.
"Greg, stop waving your cane. It's upsetting Marsha."
Getting annoyed now. Hello, I'm here. Can you see me? I swear I'm a real boy. Did he say that? "I'm telling you what I saw." It' s so simple. It's not fucking rocket science. He saw.
Brian takes over. He owns the world with his new words. Mutter mutter. Rubber room, Rubber room. Shut the fuck up Brian. Go find your own universe. Mine isn't that impressive, but it's mine and I don't want you in it.
Bitch won't stop. Ruining his world with her laughter. "Crazy man, crazy man, crazy man." She finds everything so fucking funny. She'll watch him bounce off the padded walls and laugh and laugh and laugh until he begs them to let him out.
But they won't. Not until he's a tired pulpy mess of flesh. Then they will put him through the wringer, squeeze out the juice. He'll be flat as a pancake. So flat you could roll him up and Fed Ex him.
More now. "Give me the cane man. " Patronizing. Placating. Don't upset the crazy man with the big stick.
She's behind him now. Always turning, ever churning. "Crazy man gotta be locked away." He knows. He doesn't want to go, but she knows the future and he has to go along for the ride.
"Do as Rod says Greg." Stern now. One step away from a shot. He's been shot before. Shot by a crazy man. Breaking news: crazy man shoots crazy man.
She whispers in his ear. Soft, low, seductive. "It's the rubber room for the crazy man." Other ear. "Give Rod the cane or they'll give you the chair again. You hate the chair, don't you roller boy?"
He holds tighter. "Shut up." It's a growl. He's a dog. A big black hungry growling mutt guarding his bone. No one's gonna take his bone.
"It's not even your bone is it? You broke yours."
"I was angry!"
He's angry now too. Too much talking, taunting, singing, mocking, in his face, whispering in his ear. It's not fair. Don't torture the crazy man. Don't shoot him again. Don't lock him away and squeeze him dry.
"I did want you wanted!" A last minute reprieve?
"Pathetic, aren't you?"
Got me there cut throat.