Larissa

Particular visits drive me up the wall from time to time but this particular young woman got under my skin. I was instantly phased by her cruel demeanour and the way she treated her parents. She had no respect for anything but demanded such from all.
Larissa was a calculating bitch to put it simply. Seventeen and locked up in the ward by her parents demand for being a brat, I had no other choice but to keep her under my care for six weeks before she was allowed to come home, as I could not be secondarily responsible for a homeless sixteen year old girl who was not built for the streets at all. Believe me, she was a fucking nightmare.
I didn't even want her. Her attitude was an issue I was tempted to meddle with her medication over. She came on to me, admitting she was attracted to my "vibe". Her hippie comment caused me to shut my eyes. She also threatened that she would report me for molesting her if I didn't have a relationship with her. I had no idea what to call her mental health disorder, which she demanded be decided by her. She read the DSM as I ate her out on my office desk table one day, pointing at a mental health disorder I knew she didn't have.
"This one."
Above her finger read dissociative identity disorder.
"No."
"Why the fuck not?"
God, she reminded me of Matt.
"You have antisocial personality disorder." I didn't bother adding that the diagnosis was common in prison inmates.
She scoffed. "I don't have anything. Are you even a doctor?"
"Make that a psychotic disorder."
"Fuck you."
She got her way. Her medications included whatever she ordered. She pranced around the psych ward with her small ass hanging out of her skirt – a violation of the dress code she had me handwrite and signature in her notes: "Permitted to wear prohibited attire. Will commit acts of self-injury if otherwise." She was a monster, manipulating me and the other staff into giving her what she wanted.
One day during a team meeting, we finally agreed she was not fit for society but did not qualify for care in Beevington as she had done nothing criminally insane nor seriously illegal. She was a sociopath, by definition.

Every night slept soundly in her room knowing she had control over everyone on the premises, including the custodial staff she forced to have clean her room daily. Her parents never called her more than one a week.
I began to think if she suddenly dropped dead it wouldn't be difficult to play it off as a suicide. Death by heroin overdose. Not a single security camera in her room as she wasn't in urgent care. So I planned it over the course of a day. That night, I was going to sneak into her room as she slept and shoot her with an overdose of smack. A painless death in that the only pain she were to feel consciously takes place if she wakes. Which was impossible as she had made her bedtime medication a mix of Xanax, Ambien and liquor she snuck in through friends.
Unlike most girls her age, she looked unattractive as she slept. She smelled of alcohol. Her skin appeared paler than it did when she was awake. The curve of her body non-existent underneath the bedsheets. She looked like a little boy.
I approached the bed quickly with the needle in my hand. It was thick, but small enough to go in her vein. The huge shot awaited to enter as I looked her a vein in her hand – an area that did not involve the user to flex. In it went. All. The way. In. She flinched.
I waited for her breathing to become gasps for air, which came about twenty seconds later. Her body seized as her lungs did not fill with air. With her histamine levels fucked, she looked like an animal who had just been shot in the head by a rifle, her chest flailing up and down as her face slowly drained of colour.
"Goodnight, Larissa." I said as I watched her perish.