Three years in that facility had tamed me. I was compliant. Docile. I did what I was told. When my older sister, Camille, came to pick me up, she recoiled almost instantly. “Still wearing that corpse-like expression, Ash? You will not bring that face home.” I simply nodded, then bent down, picked up a shard of broken glass near my feet, and drew it across my own face. Camille went instantly pale, staring at the fresh crimson bloom. Back at the house, my adopted brother, Noah, cornered me, his eyes sharp with menace. “Just so you know, coming back changes nothing. I can still make you disappear.” Before I could respond, he snatched a baseball bat from the corner and ruthlessly slammed it against his own forearm. “It’s okay, Ash. Whatever you need to do, big brother. I deserve it if it makes you feel better.” Jocelyn, my fiancée, walked in just in time to see Noah clutching his arm, his face twisted in pain. Her expression hardened instantly. “Apologize to Noah, Ashton. Now. Or else…” She didn’t finish the sentence. I turned, bolted to the third-floor balcony, and vaulted over the railing. I landed with a sickening crunch directly in front of my parents who were just stepping out of the elevator. “Ah!” Mom’s scream was a guttural, piercing sound of pure horror. Dad frantically pulled out his phone to call 911, his face ash-gray. Jocelyn, usually a portrait of composure, had finally lost her cool. Her pupils shrank as she froze on the spot. On the way to the ER, Noah scrambled to clear himself: “This isn’t my fault, okay? He jumped. I couldn’t stop him.” I spat up a mouthful of blood and nodded weakly in agreement. Three years in the asylum had taught me my role: I was the tragic hero of a dark, twisted story. The voices—the insistent, droning commentary in my head—told me that only through absolute obedience, followed by death, could I return to my original world. 1 I survived. My internal injuries were severe, but they managed to pull me back from the brink. Jocelyn watched me, her brow furrowed. She turned to Noah. “What the hell happened between you and Ash? I asked him for an apology. Why did he throw himself off a balcony?” Noah shrugged innocently, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. He just… decided to jump. It had nothing to do with me.” Camille, who had been silent, immediately stepped in front of Noah, shielding him. She glared at Jocelyn. “You’re his fiancée, and you’re siding with Ash over Noah? Don’t pretend you don’t know how sick Ashton is. He’s always been cruel, and he hates Noah! He was probably just trying to frame him.” Jocelyn started to protest, but Mom cut her off, looking displeased with Camille. “Enough, Cami! Ash is your brother too. He’s barely clinging to life after what he just did. Just keep quiet.” Dad scowled, his unspoken disapproval heavy in the air. Camille snapped. She marched over, grabbed my hand, and yanked me up in the bed. “Still acting? What did I tell you before we left the clinic? Forget everything already? You cause trouble the second you walk back in! If you really want to die, why didn’t you find a taller building? Did you count on the flowerbed to break your fall, you disgusting coward?” The voices in my head pulsed with a cold, urgent fear. Obey. Obey. I pulled the IV needle out of my hand and shoved Camille away. My gaze locked onto the half-open hospital window. “Fine,” I managed, my voice a broken rasp. “I’ll give you what you want.” My foot was already on the ledge. I thought: This is it. Freedom. But Jocelyn reacted instantly. She lunged, wrapping her arms around my torso, pulling me back with surprising strength. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The pure, unadulterated terror in her eyes was unmistakable. “Stop it, Ashton! Enough!” Mom was there next, gripping my arm so tightly her knuckles were white. “Ash, what are you doing?!” I forced a smile, a grimace that felt colder than any tears. “I’m okay, Mom. I’m fine.” The voices had warned me: my time here was running out. I had to obey their commands, or I would meet a fate worse than the death I craved. I needed a clean exit. But Camille just saw it as a calculated performance. Her face was contorted in fury. “You won’t quit, will you, Ashton? You’re afraid we’ll blame you for hurting Noah’s arm, so you’re putting on this pathetic show for us! It won't work!” Noah, ever the collaborator, clutched his bruised arm dramatically. “It’s okay, sis. Don’t blame him. It was just one hit. I’m a man; I can handle it.” But this time, Dad hesitated. He did the unthinkable: he yelled at Camille. “Are you even his sister, Cami? He’s lying in a hospital bed! Do you think this can be faked?” Then he turned to Noah, his voice low and dangerous. “Noah, tell me the truth. What happened in the living room?” Camille and Noah stared at Dad, stunned. Noah sighed dramatically. “Dad, I swear I didn’t lie.” Jocelyn finally spoke, looking at Noah’s swollen arm. A flicker of pity or perhaps resignation crossed her eyes. “There’s a security camera in the living room. But when I came in… I did see Ash hit Noah. That part is undeniable.” Camille sneered at me, her eyes brimming with disgust. Watching them argue over me, a chilling clarity settled in. Obey. They said I hurt Noah. They needed me to pay. I waited until their focus shifted, grabbed the nearest object—a sharp, chrome fruit knife from the bedside tray—and brought it to my neck, drawing the blade across my skin with all the force I could muster. Arterial spray instantly painted the room. Camille, standing closest, was splattered with crimson. Noah’s eyes widened in horror. Mom screamed once and crumpled to the floor. Jocelyn, trembling, frantically yelled for a nurse. Chaos erupted. I closed my eyes, the deep relief of a promise kept washing over me. 2 Jocelyn was the first to return to the penthouse to check the security footage. The playback showed Noah taking the baseball bat and striking his own arm. The truth was unmistakable. “Why?” she asked him, utterly bewildered. Mom and Dad soon saw the footage, too. Mom was so furious she rushed forward and slapped Noah. “You are my son, but Ash is my son too! He’s your older brother! Why would you do that to him?” Noah hung his head, a flash of something dark and cold crossing his eyes. “Joss, Mom, I didn’t want to. I was just scared. I was afraid he’d come back and treat me like he used to.” “You know how he used to lash out, how he’d hurt people. I genuinely have… trauma from his past behavior. I felt like I had to do something before he hurt me again.” As he spoke, he started gasping, clutching his chest. A tell-tale sign of an oncoming asthma attack. The family knew his asthma was severe. Camille panicked, rushing to find his inhaler. After he stabilized, his face pale and clammy, Camille’s pity overflowed. She looked at our parents. “He’s like this, and you’re still pushing him? It’s all Ashton’s fault anyway. He did this to himself. He drove us all crazy with his cruelty, and this is what he gets!” “And you, Jocelyn,” she hissed. “Your eyes have barely left Ashton since he returned. Can you blame Noah for feeling insecure and threatened?” Jocelyn glanced at Noah on the floor. Her tone softened slightly. “My heart is with Noah, always. That hasn’t changed.” “But even if Ash isn’t my fiancé anymore, he’s still the boy I grew up with. His life matters.” Camille let out a harsh, chilling laugh. “His life matters? Mom, Dad, do you honestly think Ashton’s ‘sanity’ is cured? He’s trying to kill himself at every turn. Doesn't that prove he’s still mentally unstable?” “He’s malicious! He saw Noah’s severe asthma; he must have done all this on purpose just to cause an attack. He is pure poison!” Noah generously waved a hand, dismissing the argument. “It’s fine, Camille. It’s my fault. If big brother Ash is happy, he can hit me, he can yell at me. I won't fight back.” “Why should he get to hit you?” Camille snapped, her voice breaking. “You don’t owe him anything!” “He terrorized you for years. If I hadn’t stepped in to protect you, he would have destroyed you. Ten of his lives wouldn’t be enough to pay for what he’s done!” Camille spat, her gaze burning toward my hospital room. “I think his sickness is back. You need to test him again. If he’s still delusional, he could be dangerous. Who knows what he might do next? Who can guarantee Noah’s safety?” A heavy silence descended. In their minds, Camille’s words made a terrible, undeniable sense. Jocelyn thought for a moment, then walked into my room, standing over my bed. “Are you doing this to punish us for sending you away, Ashton? Is this a performance fueled by resentment?” I shook my head without a moment’s thought. “I don’t resent any of you. Everything I’ve suffered is what I deserve. Your punishment of me was unavoidable.” Jocelyn’s face darkened. She pressed on. “The doctors said you were better. Is this new compliance, this docility, just a lie? A clever trick to escape the asylum?” All eyes in the room turned to me. I started to shake my head, wanting to deny it, but the sudden pain in my skull was blinding, like an electrical current. Then, the relentless voices boomed in my mind: [BE A GOOD BOY. BE COMPLIANT. YOUR DEATH IS THE ONLY WAY OUT.] 3 I clutched my head, gritting my teeth. “I am not lying.” Noah immediately sidled up to my bedside, a spark of vicious delight in his eyes. “Let’s see about that.” He glanced at me, then motioned to his assistant, who slapped a bankruptcy filing on the table in front of me. “The company you broke your back to build is gone. It’s bankrupt. Do you have anything to say?” Everyone knew that firm was my life’s work, my half-life. But I kept my expression blank, my eyes calm and unblinking, as if the news meant nothing. He wasn’t satisfied. His eyes flickered to Jocelyn. In a calculated, predatory move, he kissed her, a long, possessive, open-mouthed kiss. He watched me as he did it, waiting for the inevitable explosion. He knew. Everyone knew. I had loved Jocelyn more than I loved myself. Under the scrutiny of my entire family, I reached into my pocket, pulled out the simple gold band—the engagement ring I’d once given Jocelyn—and handed it to him. “May you both have a lifetime of happiness.” Noah was momentarily stunned. But Jocelyn’s face shifted completely. She stared at me, her voice low and dangerously controlled. “It seems you really are cured.” I met her gaze, neither confirming nor denying. Noah lost the last shred of his composure. He called for a psychiatrist, demanding an electroshock test, then kept insisting the doctor increase the voltage. The doctor warned him, “Any higher, and he could slip into a coma.” “Keep going!” Noah screamed. The electric current sent me into uncontrollable spasms. The sheets beneath me felt suddenly wet, and the metallic scent of ammonia filled the air. Jocelyn squeezed her eyes shut, sweat pouring from her temples. Mom looked away, Dad steering her toward the door. Only Camille stood by, waiting for me to break. The doctor finally stopped the current when I went limp, unconscious. “That’s enough. No more.” Noah’s fists were clenched, but he couldn’t argue with a man who had flatlined. Mom collapsed against the wall, sobbing hysterically. But I was already gone. When I woke up, Dad was lecturing Camille and Noah. Jocelyn was sitting beside me, her hands clasped tightly around mine. The moment I opened my eyes, she released me instantly, asking in a rush, “You’re awake. How are you feeling? Any better?” I didn’t react, staring blankly at the ceiling. The memories—the real memories—were flooding back. When Noah first came to live with us, he was a small, fragile boy with severe asthma. I was fiercely protective, viewing him as my little brother. I gave him my room; I gave him whatever he wanted. Yet, he constantly developed strange, unexplained bruises. When Mom and Dad asked, he would just look at me and stay silent. The silence spoke volumes. Disappointment began to cloud my parents' eyes. At school, he was easy prey for bullies. I stood up for him, warning every kid that if they touched him, they were messing with the Reeds. Somehow, the narrative shifted. Soon, everyone believed I was the one doing the bullying. When Camille asked, Noah maintained his silence, but his eyes, when he looked at me, were full of a false, calculated terror. The message was clear. Camille heard the rumors, and her affection for me bled into pure disgust. I was a rebellious teenager, but I wasn't a monster. No one believed me. I started lashing out, burning myself out with pointless attempts to defend myself. I confided everything in Jocelyn, not noticing the subtle, increasingly odd look in her eyes. After I finished, she subtly slipped out of my embrace. She told me Noah had never said a bad word about me; in fact, he always spoke highly of me. I felt a cold rage. I kept trying to prove my sanity, but I was constantly burning out from the internal conflict. Jocelyn and Noah grew closer. My jealousy became a physical pain. I confronted her, again and again, demanding to know why she was abandoning me. Jocelyn simply watched me spiral, then told Mom and Dad, and Camille, that I was harassing them. Jocelyn was an orphan; she had a standing betrothal to me, and my parents had raised her. They trusted her completely. When she told them I was targeting Noah, their disgust for me intensified. Camille openly hated me. I never understood why she betrayed me. Until that night, when I walked in and found her and Noah kissing. Rage blinded me. I grabbed Noah’s collar and punched him with all my strength. He casually wiped the blood from his lip, then gave me a defiant, knowing smirk. Right in front of me, he started gasping, deliberately triggering an asthma attack. Jocelyn immediately slapped me. “Ashton Reed, you disgust me.” She didn’t spare me a second glance, rushing to call an ambulance for Noah. When Mom, Dad, and Camille arrived, they blamed me instantly. Noah lay in the hospital, looking frail and near death. When he woke, he explained my actions away: “It’s okay, big brother didn’t mean it. It’s my fault, Joss. I couldn’t control my true feelings.” Jocelyn, without hesitation, knelt before my parents. “I’m so sorry, George and Helen. I’ve fallen in love with Noah. Please, blame only me.” In that moment, a frenzy took over. I dragged the pale, weak Noah out of the bed and beat him like a madman. That’s when they had me committed. I stayed there for three years. 4 I endured three years of beatings and torment. Yet, I clung to a faint hope of survival. Then, one night, the orderlies dragged me into a black cell. They sneered as they chained me like an animal, then forced me into a pit filled with rats and snakes. I don’t remember how I survived that night. When I was near death, the voices, the commentary, finally spoke to me. They told me I was the hero of an abuse story, and I had to be absolutely obedient to leave this world. I became compliant. They chained me up and demanded I lick garbage from the floor. I did it. They beat me and kicked me. I walked toward them, letting them trample me. They eventually tired of me. Bored, they finally told my parents I was cured. My thoughts returned to the present. Mom was sobbing, her eyes full of tears. “Ash, what is it? You were never like this before.” I looked at her, confused. “The man I was before? I’ve been like this the whole time I was in the facility.” Mom sobbed harder, choking on her words. “This isn’t the facility, Ash. You’re home. You can be the way you used to be.” Home. The word was a confusing jolt. Mom embraced me, repeating that they were my family. I shook my head, firm in my conviction. “Family doesn’t hit me, doesn’t call me names, doesn’t tell me to get lost.” “Family doesn’t commit me for three years and forget I exist.” “And this isn't my home. My home is…” I didn't know where my home was. The voices only told me I had to die, completely obedient, to find it. I tried to recall what else they had said, but the effort brought another spike of searing pain, and I lost consciousness. The last thing I saw was the medical team rushing toward me, surrounded by their cries and screams. When I woke up, I was still here. Mom and Dad gripped my hands. Jocelyn’s coldness had softened into a strained concern. Only Camille’s eyes were still full of loathing. “He’s having a breakdown. This is just a pity display to manipulate you.” she insisted. Mom was so angry she smashed a medicine cup onto the floor. “He is your blood brother, Cami! When will you stop?” Camille pointed at herself in disbelief. “Stop? He’s fine! He didn’t die! Why are you all acting like this?” I looked at her, so full of hatred, and remembered the sister who used to defend me, who gave me her favorite candy. That sister was long gone. Sensing the tension, Noah stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Mom, please. Camille is just worried about us. A psychiatric patient can harm people without facing legal consequences.” “Ash is covered in fresh injuries. That is the look of someone having a severe psychotic break. Let’s just ask the doctor. Let’s get a professional opinion.” A cold malice flashed in his eyes. Mom and Dad fell silent. Jocelyn looked at me, then at my numerous new self-inflicted injuries. She finally stood up to find a doctor, but Noah stopped her. “Go get the one who just treated Ash. He knows his condition best.” Jocelyn nodded without hesitation. The doctor walked in, asked a few questions, and I answered honestly and simply. She turned to my family, her voice clinical. “Mr. Reed is displaying clear signs of a severe performative personality disorder. If he is not returned to the facility, he poses a risk.” Noah smirked. Camille immediately grabbed my arm. “The doctor said it! You are not cured! You’re going to hurt someone and walk away free. You are coming back to the clinic now!” At the word clinic, a deafening roar erupted in my head. [ABSOLUTE OBEDIENCE.] I threw Camille off me and sprinted for the window. She watched my legs swing out over the air, her face draining of all color. Then, the heavy sound of a body hitting the ground.
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