"No Regrets"
by Roby Carr
Prologue

"My name is Mitchie Torres. I have body dysmorphic disorder. I've been in Camprock's Yellow Unit for a one day. I want to go home."

"Shane Grey. Everyone knows who I am, the kid with schizoid personality disorder. I've been here longer than anyone. Anyone."

"Tess Tyler, duh. Everyone is saying I'm paranoid and delusional. It's only been a month. My mom is on her way here to fix things, for sure."

"I'm Jason Black and I have manic depression. It's really kind of cool, y'know? I've been here six weeks now. I like it. People are nice here."

"I'm Caitlin Gellar. They diagnosed me with dissociative identity disorder. I've been here three months. I don't know when I'll leave."

"My name's Nate. Nate Grey. I have obsessive-compulsive disorder. Bad, too. I've been here a little over two months. I keep count."

"My friends call me Peggy Warburton. My real name is Margaret Dupree. I'm paranoid. Simple, but it's been three weeks and they don't know what to do."

"My name is Barron James. I'm manic depressive, right? But it's been four-and-a-half months and nothing's changing. Just keep smiling."

"Ella Pador is my name. Totes cool, right? I've got body dysmorphic disorder. For a month, I've been here now. I think."

"I'm Sander Lawer. I've got mad ADHD, man. Been here almost three months and they think I'm getting worse on their meds."

"Lola Scott. Lola, Lola... What did I get into? I have atypical depression. It's been two weeks. Maybe a bit longer and I'll be okay again."

Slouching down onto her plastic chair, the dark-skinned girl took a moment to look a bit pleased with herself before she set about studying the shag carpeting. It was a sickening color, a mix of an ash-grey and a greenish-yellow puke color. For a moment, she couldn't help but wonder if the doctors here were, in fact, attempting to drive them to suicide instead of preventing it.

Glancing up when she heard the shifting of papers, she saw Nurse Connie pushing several documents - pieces of their files maybe? - into a manilla folder before she stood and placed a had on the new girl's shoulder. Maybe, it was meant to be a comforting gesture but the new girl looked uncomfortable and shifted under the gaze of the other ten teenagers.

"Thank you, Lola." The smile on Nurse Connie's face was wide and genuine. She was one of the few members of staff that treated the teenagers as if they were adults. "Thank you everyone for introducing yourselves to Mitchie. I know that it's hard for you all to become close here, because we're never certain when someone will have a breakthrough and be released, but I hope you all make yourselves open and available to Mitchie."

Picking up the manilla folder from the table and smiling again at the group, she continued to announce, "Well, Yellow Ward, I think we had a very productive evening session today. Remember that tomorrow morning, you all have one-on-one sessions with Brown and then we're planning to have a block session as we eat lunch out in the courtyard. There's a few hours of free time before you need to be in your bedrooms. Enjoy yourselves."

That being said, it was clear group was dismissed and they scattered to separate areas of the facility - bedrooms, bathrooms, main living area. She was supposed to be taking down notes of that night's session, but Nurse Connie couldn't help but set her forehead against her palm, feeling exhausted.

--

A brunette studied herself in the mirror, fingering her recently added straight-across bang and shiny, long hair. All fake. Every stinking strand. Her mother had suggested the wig after "the incident." Someone had left scissors lying around and the brunette had found them. When her mother had found her crying on the bathroom floor, barely any hair was left on her head. She was humiliated, even more hideous than she had started. The brunette sobbed as she headed into her shared room, disfigured and ugly.

Fingers scratching his head of dark, straight hair, he headed straight for his room and locked the door tightly. He hated session, groups, watching these people - not his friends, barely even acquaintances - speak. He longed for the quiet solitude, spread eagle on his bed and staring at the bland white ceiling. Once in a while, someone would pass by the locked door and he would hold his breath until it passed. It wasn't as if there was any god to pray to. His brother always ended up back in the other bed.

A blonde girl curled the phone cord around her finger as she listed to someone on the other end of the receiver. Smiling, she laughed loudly, knowing that it was obnoxious, but knowing everyone would turn to look and would finally see how right she was. "Of course, Mom! I knew you must have been on your way... ...yes, yes. I've been fed, but it isn't nearly the quality of-" She let out a shriek as a pair of arms pulled her back from the phone. "Mom!" She felt the prick of a needle on her neck and, suddenly, the call wasn't that important.

Most doors in the boy's dorm were usually closed, but the oldest's was always wide open. Tonight though, the sight inside the room was not pretty. It was trashed and, curled up in the fetal position, a nest of blankets forming a protective cocoon around him, was the boy in question. He was silent and his eyes were already puffy and red from his tears. No one was certain why, but something had set him off. Alone in his bedroom, the once cheerful young man had hit his downward spiral hard.

Shrieking and fighting, the angry girl being pulling by two male nurses down towards the detention room had done this several times before. Her brown curls were untamed and wild and she was every bit as crazed as her hair. Of each of her three personalities, it was clear that this one was the most difficult to deal with. The staff at the Yellow Ward certainly preferred her least destructive and most friendly first personality over her cruel, manipulative second or her maniacal, dangerous third.

He was writing again. The women at the nursing station always seemed to feel sorry for the young, curly-haired boy when he chose to pick up a notebook and a pencil. Even though, he did this nearly every day, his hand was always in pain when he finished writing and it would have taken him nearly all night. Writing, erasing, rewriting. Correcting each letter that wasn't formed just as the one before it. No matter how the boy loved it, the writing caused him pain and he always ended up asking for Ibuprofen before he went to bed.

Sitting on the sofa in the main living area, the dark-skinned girl had wide dark eyes, almost exotic-looking in some sense, though she didn't know it. All she knew was that she watched in horror as the blonde girl was stuck with a needle and the liquid in the attached-syringe was emptied into her body. Turning, she stared at the television, trying to digest the episode of Scooby Doo playing on the television instead. The images of such past episodes haunted her constantly. She was just waiting for her turn to be punished.

There was a weak smile on the face of the boy as he obediently swallowed the new regiment of pills the nurses handed him. The boy was certain someone was attempting to explain to him why he was taking them and what side-effects there might be and wouldn't he come tell them if he was feeling nauseous. But in a few days, he would go off the meds again and start hiding them in his shoes, his sheets, his trash at mealtime. He felt better again. He felt more than better. Indestructible.

With her pale skin, dark chocolate curls, and her almond-shaped dark eyes, she had once been a classic beauty. She'd even won a childhood beauty pageant once. Then she became fate and ugly, bloated and marred. Worthless without that air of grace and perfection, she'd once held. Everyday it got worse. Her humiliation grew as she because more and more ugly and rejected. She ate and exercised more, she wore less and smiled more. She was just hideous and there was nothing that she or anyone else could ever do.

Moonwalking backwards through the main living area and into the hallway, the boy chattered loudly at the door of each room her passed whether or not someone was inside. He was alive, always electrified, going one-hundred miles every minute, or so the nurses said when he was doing backflips and round-offs in front of the desk. It was the only place in the entire facility that seemed to have any space. If his roommate slept that night, he tossed and turned in bed. Otherwise, they both danced into the night to a beat no one heard.

Curled on her bed, the dark-skinned girl needed to prepare herself. To prepare herself for the morning to come and for her one-on-one session with Dr. Beatie, the next morning, and the block session that would follow it. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to talk, or to make revelations about her depression, or to smile at the others. She didn't even feel that she had the energy to sleep. Instead, she wanted to lay with her blankets wrapped around her.

I want to go home.

I've been here longer than anyone.

It's only been a month.

It's really kind of cool, y'know?

I don't know when I'll leave.

I keep count.

Just keep smiling.

I think.

They think I'm getting worse.

What did I get into?

No one mentioned to the new girl that one you were placed in Yellow Unit, no one was trying to save you anymore.

--

notes from your author;

Hey, it's Roby, back from a very long hiatus during which I finished high school. Now, I have plans for a few fanfictions, one for Sky High, another for Gossip Girl, a prequel to that Gossip Girl story, a High School Musical story, and a Jonas Brothers story. I also mean to work on some of the pieces that have stalled - namely Xiaolin Remix, Rest in Pieces, Summer Days, an unreleased half-written triquel to those stories called Hierarchy, and if I get inspired, a few of the others. So, expect sporadic updates.

As for this fic... Lawlz.

I know this idea is way overused as a basis for stories, but I haven't seen any of them in the Camp Rock section yet so I'm declaring myself the first to run away with the Camp Rockers as crazies. I've always wanted to write an asylum story and I began stories in Yu-Gi-Oh! and Shaman King too. I still have a finished outline for a Kingdom Hearts asylum story, but this is the first time I've posted one of my asylum ideas, because I think I can put some more interesting twists into this.

Also, I want to cover a few of the things that were introduced, but never tied-up in Camp Rock - Tess' issues with her mom, Caitlin's random anger, and why Peggy clung to Tess. And even though I only mentioned girls, there will be plenty of male Camp Rockers too.

Connect Three will be related in this fic - Shane and Nate Gray as brothers and Jason Black as their cousin - Brown will not be related to them though. Mitchie won't be related to her mother either.

As for pairings: I'm certain I want Smitchie, but the others are hanging pretty loose right now. I know Naitlin has a big following and I would never pair them with anyone else, but I don't know if I want them to find romance in this fic. I'm already planning a sequel anyway. As for Jason, he's probably not going to pair up with anyone in specific, but there will be some moments between him and most of the girls. He's a big lovebug. Barron and Sander will be fighting for Lola's heart too, but I haven't decided if she'll make her choice this fic.

In this chapter in particular, I included a lot of my experiences and there will be more of them in the fic as we go on. I've been in those mental wards three times and I wanted to make the one in this story seem very realistic to anyone who's been to one. The characters, especially in this chapter, are going through moments that I or someone I met at the hospital went through.

Finally, because I'm picky like this, I want to mention that Camprock is pronounced "Cam-prock," not "Camp-rock." Yeah, even though I clearly just shoved the name of the movie together, I think it should be announced differently.

Boooooooyah.