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I Love You Psychotic

Novel By: Monasterio
Other



Cameron is 13 years old and has an unnatural affinity towards his 16 year old schizophrenic sister, Nella. Her hallucinations sometimes play in his favor, allowing him to get closer and indulge. He is torn between right and wrong, sanity and insanity, and even whether or not to masturbate, because he is, after all, dealing with the sensitive age of puberty.

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Chapters:

1 2 3 4

Submitted:Mar 24, 2013    Reads: 121    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


TWO

It's cold as fuck outside. It could have to do with the fact that It's 6:30 on a winter morning and I'm not wearing much more than a thermal and pants. I'm sure other 13 year olds are having great dreams of lust right about now. Not me though, I'm going around the neighborhood contemplating life and death while being practically sodomized by this old bike seat. This bike is my place of comfort anyway. Especially when I have no destination. It's ironic though. One time about 2 1/2 years ago, I was really in a dark place. I'm not sure if it was darker than where I am now but it was I guess a different kind of low. So I was riding this very bike, and I was feeling particularly depressed that day, I''m not sure why. I was going nowhere and felt what seemed like nothing, until I hit a main street. The cars were probably going about 50-60 miles an hour, enough to kill me I hoped. The tires of my Schwin kept rolling and rolling…and rolling closer to the street and all I thought was, "Did anyone even notice I'd left?" I was about to petal, full strength, when I heard my name called. It was my sister, pedaling hard to catch up to me. She didn't notice what I was doing, I'm almost sure, but it still amazed me. I owe her my life. It's why I don't blame her for the way I am today. I was already fucked up and she still saved me, so the least I can do is take care of her.

This bike… I need a new one. I don't want a new one,I don't care how much money we have, or how old it is. Shit… I feel like crying, I should stop pedaling before i crash. I haven't had a good deep sob in a along time. Well, a long time, in neurotic terms. So a few months at least. I feel my body starting to take the tole. My heavy sigh for innocence was palpable in the cold air. I wish the time was as well. I'll turn back now before I commit suicide.

I reenter the house at 6:47 am and Nell is sitting on the couch, having breakfast that consists only of Fun-Dip. Who cares what phase she's in right now, I don't want to hang around her at the moment.

"Hi, Peron!" she squeals. Now I don't even want to look at her. Maybe I have my moods too, but she's not affected by mine nearly as much as I am, her's. I need to give in to my feelings once in a while or else I'd go mad… if I'm not already.

My room. The area in these four walls. This spot isn't one I wan't others to see. This is where I cry, this is where I use to plan my suicide, this is where I plan deaths of the many, this is where I come to escape it all, but silence ironically reminds me of every fear. The door is aliens, the ceiling contains spirits, the closet has serial killers and the dark is everything else. These coordinates are very personal. How many other people think like this? It's fatiguing.

I strip down to my boxers, however chilling this morning is, and pile as many blankets on myself as possible. I sleep better with this combination of weight and warmth. I have to cry but I can't. I need a heavy, pitiful release of all the tension I've had lately. It's futile, I'm aware, so I luxuriate in fantasy. In today's scene,, I'm in the psych ward. I'm wearing a dull grayish-green sweater and loose, shredded jeans. I don't have to look good. It's a insane asylum, the only things they pay attention to is their thoughts that in no way relate to what's going on unless it's along the lines of, "the government put us here 'cause we know too much". I find my way through the white halls, eventually entering the rec. room. The art supplies are a joyous contrast of colors against the monochromatic sanatorium. I grab the pastels and get to work. I take my time, never breaking for eating, sleeping or even a breath. The resulting product is overwhelming with elation. It's a gargantuan representation of everything I am but it a way that invites others. It portrays my covet, my neurosis, the games I play with my mind to please my sister. This is what someone like me dreams about. I desire to lament these frustrations oh-so much. I want to cry so bad.

Shit, what time is it; 10?!…oh a.m. The annoying boy outside woke me up, well, man.

"Nah man, I'm going to make you read that book!" Maybe he's not as stupid as he sounds.

"The Stephen King book, it's, like, super heavy!heh!" Maybe I misunderstand a lot of people. He could possible relate to deep, depressing stories like me! He could enjoy tragedy!

"Yeah, it's like 3 1/2 pounds! hahahaa!"

…..Oh…… I've been right all along. Everyone IS full of shit. That's why you never wake up. I never rolled into the street, but with the way I feel right now, I really should have. The only thing getting in the bike helps you realize, is that you never wanted to ride in the first place. So my advice to you is, don't get on. Your welcome, I've saved you years of lost innocence. Go. Go eat dirt, go create with legos, go climb shit, Go play in a fuckin' sandbox for Christ's-sake. Be happy that you you still know how to play.

"Nellaaaaa!" Hold me.

"Nellaaaaa!" Help me.

"NELLA, WHERE ARE YOU?" Where's my sister?

I angrily get out of bed, throw on a shirt and quickly glance to make sure my prick isn't hanging out of my boxers. I jog down the stairs, making each step firm and loud. I assume the noise will cause her to be waiting at the bottom of the stairs…but she's not… and I'm pissed. There's multiple packets of fun dip open on the coffee table.The T.V. speaks dully to Nell, who is practically sleeping on the couch with a little white candy stick still hanging from her mouth.

I pause, and just for a moment, I stare at her lips pursed around it. The rectangle wiggles around slightly in response to the flicking of her tongue that I suddenly wish I could see. The discolored white slaver starts to drips down the corner of her mouth. This shocks me back into my frustrated train of thought.

"NELL!" I exclaim, ripping the candy from her mouth. I throw it towards the wall with the blood stain beneath it.

"Ira?… Oh, Cam." She realizes it's just her little brother (not another hallucinated entity) and quickly looses interest. Well, fuck you too.

"What are you doing?!" What am I doing? "Why do you always do this too me?!"

"Cameron… leave me alone… I'm-I'm tired." She wipes the corner of her lips with her left middle finger, and guides the white liquid back into her mouth. My sister's eyes fall half lidded, trying to brush me off. Right now, each move she makes is more and more vexing. How dare she? I stare at her mouth the time because I'm too enraged with it to look anywhere else.

"No! I'm not going to leave you alone! I'm sick of your shit!" Now that caught her attention! Yeah, she doesn't hear me cuss often. I'm glad she's mad!

"CAMERON! You DON'T talk to me that way!" Nella looks like she's about to cry. I'm surprised she hasn't already. She's lucid after all.

"Why not?" I want you to say it.

"I'm your sister! Your older sister!" Gotcha.

"Really?! Cause you sure as hell don't act like it! Actually, you're doing a pretty shitty job, Nell!" I wasn't sure how far my words went until I was suddenly facing the right wall with a ringing in my ears and burning on my cheek. Neurotic virago!

"GOD DAMMIT NELL!" I can't keep this is in.

I throw my arm around her neck, holding my sister into a head-lock, forcing her to the ground. Her resistance is difficult to overcome with the difference in size and height. But, she's also not the healthiest due to her condition, so this allows us to be almost evenly matched. I force her onto the floor, pushing myself down as well, by her side. I straddle Nella's right thigh and hold down her wrists. I'm not doing so well.

"Nell, stop moving!" I shout.

"Why? Why are you mad at me? " She's tries her best to not let her voice crack but it's in vain… Why am I mad? Let's see I woke up and… I don't remember. I try to recall my purpose in attacking my sister but she senses my attention drift and takes advantage.

Nella bends up her right leg attempting to get me off. Instead, I slid forward on her upper-thigh and my chest sinks. My face flushes as this position forces me to practically grind myself against her. I'm still mad. She doesn't get it, and maybe I don't either but who cares? I need this, whatever it is. We are now palm to palm and have our fingers intertwined. It's all based on upper strength now, well that and, how long I can ignore the fact that the only thing between my member and her bare leg, is a thin piece of cloth. We go at it for a another minute before I start to feel extremely agitated. Grunts and other breathy noises make it out of my mouth due to the energy exerted, the frustration and, basically, the seemingly endless friction I haven't felt in a long time.

Suddenly, Nell finds her last bit if muscle to drive me up on her leg a final time and to the side, causing me to fall. She stares at me for just a second and quickly exists the room. I'm ecstatic with relief that she has left; I wouldn't know what to do if she noticed my half erect penis. Now what do I do with it? I'm nervous and confused like one is when holding a crying baby. Should I…. no-no that's perverted an it's not like I can finish anyway. I guess it's time to google pictures of necrotizing fasciitis.

I sit myself down in front of my computer. The idea of pornography crosses my mind. I usually never have a difficult time brushing off the idea of giving in to arousal, but today-what's different about today? Nothing. Images of what happened, only moments ago, flood back into my mind. I rest my forehead on the computer desk and recreate the scene as vividly as possible. I'm back in that room, I look down and see it once again. I image how it would've felt to keep going. To pull her shirt up, to thrust on each other through thin articles of clothing. The thought sends a chill down my spine, a pleasant quiver. I conjure up theories of how she would whimper, moan, cry.

"ahh, fuck…" I grunt. Suddenly, I feel something wet on my hand and my eyes open.

"OH SHIT!" It's a bit of pre-cum. I've been handling my shaft this whole time. Disgusted with myself, I use my clean hand and quickly type in, necrotizing fasciitis. I need this to go down before I exit my room and clean my hand. I try my best to focus on the disgusting science that comes with such a disease, but instead, my mind wants to rationalize what has just happened.

"One: I was mad, Nell was mad. Two: We started fighting. Three: This resulted in physical contact of a certain kind. Four:… I was turned on, but it was because of direct physical contact, not emotional attraction. My body responded in the only way it knows. It released endorphins in my brain, I can't help that. It's not my fault. It's my brain's fault."

When I really need to clear my thoughts, I have to write them down or talk out load. I stare at the images on my screen until my prick falls half erect once more. I need another shower.

As soon as I step in, I snatched the soap. I washed my contaminated hand until my skin went raw. That's when I felt comfortable that all the sin was gone. I scrubbed down the rest of my body, and only stopped when I ached all over. I tried my best to disinfect my phallus, but I was afraid to be as thorough. I didn't want to accidentally arouse my brain for a second time.

When I step out of the shower, I stare at my features for a long time. So long that I start to think humans look weird. I look at my face, my eyes. I always look like I'm about to cry. It's just part of my appearance. I'm 5'6", 122 pounds, green eyes, medium shade of brown hair and I always look like I'm about to cry. What a great characteristic. I have so many of them.

Many things are on my mind right now, burning a whole in the back of my head like acid. I need to clean that blood stain from yesterday, and pick up the candy so we don't get ants. I have homework to do, groceries to buy, and a hair cut to get. I have to make dinner, ignore what happened when I was on my own sister and I should apologize so we have a comfortable meal. Everyday is just way too much for me to handle. I need a support system. All the psych books say it, but I'm close to burning every bridge, I should just burn down the whole school.

I should talk to Nella. To her, what I did, seemed to have come from nowhere.

"Nell? Nella, can I come in?" There's not a sound. Though I know her door is loud, I try to open it as cautiously as possible.

Oh sweet, innocent, Jesus…

"Cah-CAMERON!!" She rasped. I slammed the door shut before she could even finish her thought… or finish covering her… her…. I collapse onto the carpet just a couple feet away from her door, leaning against the wall. Even with all the incidents between Nella and I, none of them prepared me to see her like that. I'm so young… but old enough to ache. My boyhood, or manhood, I'm not sure anymore, either way, it has never wanted it more than now. My blood sprints through my veins and my knees go weak. In fact, every part of my body feels as though it is about to give out, all but one. My lip starts to bleed before I even realized that I was biting it. What do I do with myself? I should be disgusted with what I saw. I should think my sister is icky and stupid but I don't, and for now, I don't care. I'm squirming too much, mind and body. All I know is that I would give anything to moan. Well, I would also love for my eyes to water and face turn red. God, and shaking sounds good too. I kill over and close my eyes. I'm panting and feel a tear drip down the corner of my eye. My vision becomes blurred by lust. My legs open and close repeatedly before I force my wrists in my crotch. It must've been a while that I've been in this hallway because I heard faint whines from the other side of her door. I guess Nella wasn't as startled as I thought.

As soon as I heard her, I knew I couldn't take it. There was not another move to make unless it was towards my boxers. So yes, right there in the hallway, on the other side of my sister's bedroom door, I reach in, and pull it out. I hunch over slightly to let my saliva fall onto the tip and mix with what was already there. I rub around the liquids the palm of my hand and then started slowly going to the solid base to make my first stroke. In the back ground I could hear her continuing. This was the first time I masturbated in over 6 months, I was going to savor it. I started steadily but easily made my way on to thrusting into my own fist. It's ecstasy. Simple indulgence. There's just a beautiful blur of colors through barely open, highly glazed, eyes. I was trying my damnedest not to grunt but at the same time I did want her to hear me. My feet dug into our expensive carpet and the taste of blood on my tongue grew more and more evident when trying to keep my horny mouth shut. Writhing with every muscle is an unbelievable sense. Nearing the end, my teeth sink deeper and deeper. I-it hurts and it feels so damn amazing, I have to--'

"NEEeehhh…lll!- oowhh… ow-dammit " I let the cum pool into my fist. It might've been the fact that I haven't done that in a while but it seemed more than last time. I roll over and twitch from post-orgasm, feeling my chest heave up and down. When I finally catch my breath, I crawl in a pathetic, sideways, army-style to my room. I find a shitty drawing on the floor and use it to wipe the semen from my hand then tossed it to the waste basket, only to miss. About ten minutes later, when I near sleep, there was a barely audible hum.

It came from my sister's room.





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