Episode 2: Voices- Always Listen the the Voices

Episode 2: Voices

She has to quiet down. The orderly will hear her moaning and catch you 33 seconds from now if you don’t put your hand over her mouth.

The deep voice spoke harshly to Grant mid-stroke; he almost lost his erection but pumped viciously into Dr. Jill to keep it hard. She gasped rapturously.

“Shhhhhhh. Quiet down, Doc. Don’t make me put my hand over your mouth again.” He tried to admonish, but she refused to listen. She liked his violence. He clamped his hand solidly over her as the orderlies steps echoed down the hall.

They were not discovered.

“Thank you.” He accidentally said out loud to the voices.

“No. No. Thank you.” Dr. Jill sighed and crumpled into him wiping the clumps of sweaty curls from her forehead. She disengaged and adjusted her pencil skirt to her knees returning the white lab coat to its professional state; Dr. Jill had shaved and wasn’t wearing panties.

The voices were always right.

“You really need to get to the Rec. Room. It’s almost time for meds.”

“Not even a kiss or snuggle, eh? I see how it is, Doc. Use me and lose me. Call me when you need some more abuse; I’m your inside man.” He had perfected these double entendres after the voices told him about her love for puns and word play. Grant spent plenty of time alone and practiced his funnies in the mirror or tested them on Jenkins.

She blushed and smiled biting her tongue in her front teeth. She always appreciated his wit.

Careful Grant, she’s falling in love with you.

Dr. Jill flounced into her leather chair upon his exeunt, tilted her head back with mouth open and whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with him” to the listening ceiling.

Grant shuffled down the hall with head down trying not to dance or sway or saunter or look like a mental patient who just had sex with his therapist. He assumed his medicated stance and expression of vacancy whilst entering the Rec. Room filled with drooling screaming patients.

Judy Garland was telling a story in the corner. Her attentive audience sat cross legged in a semi-circle. She was an oversized he with delusions of grandeur and size 12 ruby red pumps that were too small and made puffy cankles. She wore sparkling red panties under her light green hospital gown and exposed an unusual amount of back fur. Her 266 pound frame and balding head diametrically opposed her falsetto voice, but when she sang, you knew it was Judy. She spoke of her addiction to pills.

“That’s the best thing about being here, Kids. The Pills. I used to have to hide them and take them in my trailer, but here? I’m happily out in the open.”

The orderly walked by with a tray of tiny cups. She extended a manicured hand with flipped wrists and grand panache flourishing the colored tablets into her mouth.

“I LOVE this place! Let’s sing!”

The group exploded into “Somewhere over the Rainbow” holding hands and swaying as Judy danced on her imaginary stage for thousands of admiring fans. Her pas de bourees and double turns were phenomenal. She was a star.

Grant shook his head and wondered how he got here. He stood among the shit-slingers and self-mutilators and knew his voices as truth. He was an entombed man in a home of madness. He knew no escape.

They pretended to know the words and the tune and followed Judy three notes behind. It was like listening to newly indoctrinated US citizens reciting the Declaration of Independence or a class of first grade Christians memorizing Bible verses to a recorded Jesus on 45.

He turned to the window as the orderly delivered his daily downers.

“Grant. You know you have to take them. No fighting today, huh? I’m not up for it. Long weekend; still slightly hung over.”

Offer them. He’ll take them today.

“You want them? They’ll cure that whisky. You won’t shit for three days. It’ll stop the nausea, and you’ll be able to deal with these fucks; I offer them freely.”

“Really? You serious?”

“I’ll take it to the grave, brother. I don’t need them today.”

He popped them before handing the empty cup to Grant who feigned swallow sans liquid.

“I owe you man.”

“No, I owe you.” Grant smiled. He’d be able to feel his own sex hangover for the next three hours as if skiing. The joyful muscle memory would fuel his TV watching enjoyment. He could close his eyes and imagine porn with Dr. Jill as if the crowds in the hockey game were cheering for him.

It would be a good afternoon.