Once, my paranoid love

A sudden recollection jolted me as I remembered being with Elena. Flashes of moments spent together rushed through my mind, and the realization hit me like a lightning bolt. “I was sleeping with her,” I muttered to myself, my voice filled with disbelief.

Panicked and disoriented, I yelled out, “Where am I?” I couldn’t make sense of my surroundings, and the sight of the window only added to my bewilderment.

“Am I in a mental hospital?” I exclaimed, my mind racing with a flurry of emotions. The thought of being confined in such a place filled me with a sense of outrage.

“Derek, how dare you?” I shouted in frustration, my anger manifesting as I swept everything off the nearby table in a fit of agitation.

Desperate to break free from my perceived confinement, I seized a nearby rod and attempted to force it open. My cries for release echoed through the room, drawing the attention of two ward boys who arrived to investigate the commotion.

“What are you doing, man?” one of them inquired, his voice laced with concern.

“Let me go!” I shouted my struggle to free myself intensifying as I clung to the belief that I was unjustly confined.

Another ward boy intervened, attempting to pacify me. “You’ll leave after your treatment,” he assured me, his tone gentle but firm.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” I challenged, my voice wavering with a mix of fear and defiance. The room and its unfamiliar surroundings felt like a prison, and I was determined to prove that I did not belong within these sterile walls.

“No, you aren’t, but your family told us to look after you,” one of them explained, offering a reassuring smile.

Their attempts at placating me fell on deaf ears as I remained determined to regain control of the situation. “Be quiet. Give me the phone,” I demanded, my voice filled with urgency. “I need to talk to my mother.”

The staff members continued to maintain a sense of calm; they also made it clear that taking medication was a necessary step in my treatment. In response, they handed me a tablet through a small opening in the door.

As I examined the pill in my hand, a surge of bitterness and anger welled up within me. Elena’s betrayal had shaken me to the core, and the realization that she had deceived me fueled my determination to break free from the confinement I found myself in.

“Elena, you’ve finally revealed your true colors, as I thought,” I muttered through gritted teeth, my anger palpable. “I wouldn’t have to listen to you, and I will never. What is mine, I will snatch it by hook or by crook.”

As I looked at the hospital staff, I realized that I needed answers. I needed to understand the circumstances that had led to my confinement, and I was ready to employ whatever means necessary to achieve that goal.

“How much did that man give you?” I asked, scrutinizing them for any sign of complicity. The staff members exchanged wary glances, clearly hesitant to reveal any details.

“I’m sure the doctor won’t give you a penny,” I continued, my voice persuasive and reassuring. “But if you guys help me get out of here, I’ll give you double.”

**

It was a few hours ago when Elena had left for college. In her absence, a shadowy figure named Obin arrived at the mansion, accompanied by two ominous-looking men. Their intent was clear; they had come to take Paul with them.

After a while, Paul was pulled into the room by two guys. Meanwhile, Obin engaged in a conversation with a doctor, the fate of Paul hanging in the balance.

“Doctor,” Obin began, his voice carrying an air of authority. “I hope you can understand this situation.”

The doctor listened attentively, aware of the gravity of the circumstances. Obin continued, “Mr. Houston will give you extra money for his treatment.”

The doctor, who was a psychiatrist, responded calmly, his voice measured. “Yes, Mr. Obin, I am aware of his situation. But it isn’t a life-or-death issue. All he needs is someone’s affection and proper attention,” he explained, his words carrying a hint of concern for Paul’s well-being.

Obin’s patience wore thin, and he delivered a stern response. “It’s none of your business, doctor. Please cooperate with us. If you don’t want to, there are plenty of other options.”Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

The psychiatrist tried to justify his stance, emphasizing the importance of providing the right care for individuals like Paul. “I didn’t mean it, Mr. Obin. Patients like him, on the other hand, may get themselves into a lot of problems if they don’t get what they want,” he reasoned, his tone filled with compassion.

Obin’s smile took on a sinister quality as he responded, his intentions veiled in menace. “That’s why he’s allowed to stay here. As a result, feel free to do anything you wish. Mr. Houston won’t mind if you guys make him a true psychopath.”

The chilling exchange between Obin and the psychiatrist left a sense of foreboding in the air.

The psychiatrist’s response to Obin was laced with a sense of understanding, tinged with a hint of acquiescence. “OK, I understand it,” he acknowledged, his tone suggestive of a compromise in the face of the situation.

“This is a tiny present from Mr. Houston. I really hope you enjoy it.”

The doctor’s smile upon receiving the package was filled with anticipation, and it hinted at the sinister exchange.

**

“What are you saying, man?” one of the ward boys asked, his confusion evident in his tone.

The other ward boy was less patient, brushing off my words with a dismissive comment. “Put an end to your blabbering. We don’t care about your foolishness.”

But I was determined, and my smirk revealed a hint of mischief. I had a plan in mind, and I wasn’t about to back down. “One million dollars,” I declared confidently, throwing down the gauntlet.

The two men reacted differently to my audacious statement. One of them frowned, skeptical of the claim, while the other couldn’t contain his laughter. “Are you sure you’re serious? We need proof,” he challenged, his amusement evident in his response.