Entry Twenty-Four
Goodbye

Saw Zayn off today. It really sucks, but in a way I'm glad he's gone. The rehabilitation clinic is a place more suitable for his kind. More people I know will start to leave today via bus, too, for better or worse? Who knows? I'll be alone again and that's all that counts.
    No, not alone. There are the doctors, which can be a good and bad thing I would suppose. Sarah's being the prying bitch as she always is, and I'm being a bastard for not disliking it. I'm not sure if my sentiments towards Sarah are as they used to be, and I feel like an asshole for it, too. I mean, she's a pretty woman and all, but she never likes it when you keep things to yourself. As if it's a crime or something. Well, maybe here it is.
    Since most people are leaving today, a lot of them got questioned by the officials near town about Maxwell. I hadn't known a lot about the man before he became my roommate, but if I had known it all I probably would've pressed harder on not having him in the same room as me. I discovered that Maxwell was admitted to the Delial Park Facility for having shot someone over some kind of family dispute, for something so stupid as cigarettes. He didn't kill the person, but he so wanted to, and because of his history of mental illnesses and drug use he wasn't put into a normal penitentiary. Then he lived in with me awhile and now he's dead and I can't say that's necessarily a bad thing. So, Blue Book, do you think I'm a heartless bastard yet as well? I would think so. The more I think it, the more I'm starting to believe in it, myself.
    It doesn't hurt to talk as much anymore, seeing that my jaw has healed up finally, so I got questioned as well because of that. Still hurts a little to talk, though, and being in front of the officials.... That brought back some bad memories of the City, stuff I never wanted to go into ever again. I've seen a lot of crap happen in Ophelia, and a lot of them I'd like to forget now.
    They try to pry into you. Open up that skull of yours and stir around your brain like it is some hot soup. That's what they do for a living. These aren't regular officers, you see. They're ones that come and study mental patients on a regular basis. Supposedly, they're study is the criminal mind.
    I'm not a criminal. I killed people, but it wasn't murder. It was Ophelia...how could you not kill? They were gonna kill me, you see? I told them this. They don't believe me. No one believes me, and while I know they have a right to (sometimes I don't believe me, either), it still isn't fair.
    The way things're going, I'll be stuck here awhile longer.
    Perhaps it's for the best.

--Alexander

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