I always knew I would do it. It was destined. From the moment I laid down on her couch I knew what would happen.
The state committed me because of my many problems. I was sent for four long, excruciating months, to stay at The Animal Farm Psychiatric Treatment Center. Maybe it was four years, I don't remember.
The male nurse led me down a long gray hallway and told me about the woman shrink I was going to meet. When the nurse opened the door to her office I was in for a shock. Or maybe the shocks came later. I don't remember.
I do remember her sitting beautiful behind her cheap wooden desk. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders, down onto the swell of her breasts. Her dark brown eyes beamed, as did her face, all a glow in self-health. She looked up at me, our eyes meeting and I fell in love before she said a word.
"Hello," she said. “My name is Katherine. You may call me Kate."
"Call me Burt," I said.
"Burt?" she asked.
After we had our names straight she told me to sit on the couch, so I did. It was a plain black couch, nothing special to look at. The ceiling was far more interesting. I traced over the cracks in my mind to make shapes that didn't mean anything. Then she started asking me questions, private type questions that I didn't intend to answer. So I didn't.
It took about six weeks for something to happen. At first I sat on her black, plain couch watching her body, waiting for the sessions to be over. I was eager to get back to my drugs. She had to dig for every response from me.
During one session she told me that I was the most interesting patient she had ever counseled. I wasn't sure how to take that. I guess it could have been a compliment, but I took it as an insult. I asked her what she meant, but she didn't answer, she just smiled.
Her smile drove me crazy and she knew it. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever known. I wasted away most of my sessions memorizing her face.
In one session she wore a tight mini-skirt with a matching tight black blouse, with black stockings and high heeled shoes. She was the picture of my fantasy, the one I had described to her in many previous sessions.
She sat close without touching me. I felt a terrible tingling sensation in my groin that begged to be heard. I tried to get up, but she held me down with her painted fingernails, gently digging them into my chest. She caressed my chest with thin, delicate hands.
"Just stay still."
That was all she said. Her voice seemed out of place, lost in space somehow. The session ended and within days I was released.
Four months had passed, maybe four years, and I was out. The real world flashed before me. I would have to fend for myself. The men that pushed me out the door cited budget cuts.
I didn't understand. How could they let someone like me out? I tried to see Kate, but they wouldn't let me in. They shut the gray painted steel doors, slammed them in my face. Those asshole attendants in their fucking white uniforms.
Who the fuck did they think they were? They were keeping me from my drugs, my ping pong tables, and my therapy sessions with Katherine. I felt like screaming.
"Die," I yelled at the face plastered in the barred window of the main office. With that I went, tripping down the stairs.
Several weeks later I ran into Katherine at Waldenbooks. I happened to be browsing over a rack of classics when I saw her.
She looked radiant, wearing a simple sweater and black slacks with flats. Smiling at me, she offered a little wave.
"Hello," I said.
"I didn't think Dickens was your style," she said. "I figured you more for a Dr. Seuss type of man."
My face went red and looked down to see Great Expectations in my hands.
"Maybe I am trying to broaden my horizons. What's it to you?"
"Start with something more your level. I suggest a Hardy Boys book.”
"Which series? There are several sets." I was happy, she looked flushed.
"Stuff it." I smiled upon my victory.
"Would you like to have a drink?" she asked.
"I don’t know."
"Come on. We'll chat about old times.”
"Just one drink," I said. "And it has to be at my place."
"That's better," she said.
I bought the book. The fact that I already owned several copies didn't deter me from spending money in an attempt to continue my little game with Kitty. It was worth the five dollars. After all, there is Shakespeare, Dickens and the Bible. The rest is shit.
I sucked down my third shot of vodka while Kate nursed her scotch. Not a drink for a woman. I thumbed through my book while she took my place in. Not a bad little rat-hole. There were only three rooms, but quite large rooms.
I poured another shot and joined her on the couch. She looked nervous and kept picking at the hem of her dress. I always have wondered what she thought was going to happen. I gulped down my vodka, which brought tears to my eyes, and slammed the glass down on the coffee table.
I was feeling a decent buzz when I sat next to her. I put my hand on her leg, figuring it would be turned away, but it wasn't. She didn't move. Not until I finished. Perhaps she enjoyed it, but I doubt it.
She asked if she could go to the bathroom. I didn't know whether she would try to leave or not, but I figured I'd let her go. I knew I didn't want to have a bladder full when I died.
Then she came back. I don't know why she came back. She knew my record better than anyone. The faces, the names...it was probably all in her head. I had killed so many people though, that I had given up remembering.
After she sat down again I almost didn't do it. I felt terrible, like it was too easy. I almost told her to leave. I really liked her, but I couldn't control myself.
My arms started to move, she started to scream and there was blood.
More blood than I had ever seen.
I tore pages from the book and stuffed them into her mouth until no more would fit. Then I knew she was dead. I also knew that I would need another Great Expectations.