I stared at my arms. Again.
It seemed to be the only thing I could do correctly. Stare. After all, I ended up here. Hell. Mental hospitals are hell. The one place I loathed more then this mental hospital was being in my own skin. I hated myself and with good reason.
"Hello, I'm Edward Cullen." I started again.
"Hi Edward." They all chimed.
"Tomorrow will be the five month anniversary of me killing my girlfriend, Alice, by drunk driving." I looked down. It was still a very touchy subject. "After she died, and I was convicted, I was given five hundred hours of community service, which I completed over 3 months. It was supposed to be a year sentence. After Alice died, life felt incomplete. I had nothing better to do. I had nothing to do, nor nothing I wanted to do. I started to cut myself constantly. I have over 400 scars on my legs and arms. Three weeks ago, I took 34 pills and slit my wrists. My mother found me unconscious on the floor. She shipped me here after I got out of the hospital. I've been here for sixteen days."
The looks of the people around me showed no pity, only the self conscious feelings they obviously had. I was the newest here, one of 7 in this therapy. The others had a variety of issues. There was James, who tried to kill himself and his girlfriend with a gun. Jasper, who had panic attacks and had cut himself, and who was surprisingly anorexic. Rosalie, who was a bulimic and had anxiety disorder. Me, who…well, you know. And finally came Jacob. Jacob had been here the longest, 4 months, and he was here for drug abuse and alcoholism. He had overdosed and nearly died. Jessica was here for reasons no one but her counselors knew. Esme was here for cutting herself.
This was my 13th time in group therapy. We each had to go to individual therapy after but, group was once a day with Dr. Rubenstein to discuss our issues, to come to "accept them so we can move on".
Jasper came next. Jasper Whitlock. His story was…odd.
Rosalie was the last one. She's been here for a month. She started off the same as every other day.
"Hi, I'm Rosalie Hale. I'm that girl who hates food. I was sexually abused by my boyfriend, who would also emotionally abuse me. He'd call me fat, and eventually cut my stomach with a knife," she lifted her shirt to show long scars running across her stomach. "I believed him. I stayed with him for months. He would cut me when HE was feeling stressed. My mom figured it out eventually, but it was too late. I believed him, I hated food. I would eat, just to throw it up later. I could no longer stop myself. My stomach seemed to have shrunken, and whatever I put in my stomach, just came back out. My beauty turned empty, my face gaunt, my teeth yellow, and my hair stringy. I grew hair everywhere, was constantly shaving, and starving myself to feel better." She looked down. "I've been here for 29 days, and four hours."
We all breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. After a while, you just learn to inhale their secrets as if they were your own. Their stories become yours.
The whole group stood up and left. We all sorted into our hallways to go to individual therapy, but we would all meet up for dinner in a couple hours on floor three. This was our home now. Hampstead Psychiatric Hospital. Hell on earth.
Dinner. One of the hardest parts of being here was dinner. Why? That was one of the easiest questions to answer. Nothing was like home.
The food. The food was bland, or worse, too much salt. Not that I had a preference, I would prefer to die anyway.
Watching the others struggle though, is the worst. Rosalie can't eat with us watching her. We all turn around while she quietly eats. Half the time we still hear her gagging, before she runs to the bathroom. Mrs. Bublic goes with her every time.
Jasper is the same way though. He can hold down food a little more than Rosalie, and he can stand people watching him, but he just he doesn't like it. Although, a week ago, he was having a terrible day and his panic attacks set in. I looked at him once, ONCE, while he was eating his dinner. Big mistake. One look at him eating cause his body to start to sweat unlike anything I'd ever seen. He threw it up immediately, almost like Rosalie, except this was purely out of nerves.
He started to shake. His eyes became unfocused. He collapsed onto the floor. They had to calm him before he could even stand again. He was in his room for two days.
Today though, for a reason no one could explain, the entire crew was…dare I say? Happy? Rosalie messed around with Jasper, Jacob, James and I all messed around, throwing a little plastic ball around. Sometimes, we just forgot we were still kids. Laughing and joking, we all just smiled, before the end of dinner arrived. After dinner, each of us headed to our rooms which were one by one next to each other. Girls on one side of the hallway, guys on the other. There was one empty girl's room in this hallway. There were other wards for juvenile patients, but each person was put into a group, where they attended everything with their group, almost like a class. The empty room though, was unsettling. Angela had moved out of their two days after I moved in. "Cured". She had been anorexic.
We all went into our individual rooms, as the normal schedule rolled by. One down, too many more to go. How could I have ever been happy when I killed my girlfriend? Remorse took me over. I stared at the ceiling, and suddenly it was like I could see Alice's face. Tears flooded my eyes as I cried privately in the dark. I could almost hear Alice's voice. If I hadn't been such an irresponsible, idiotic human, she would've never have died. It's my own fault I'm miserable. I remember the scene. Alice was the only one of the both of us severely injured. She died on the scene. I could remember it as if it was today, and as if the blood still stained my shirt.
We was going 90 in my Porsche sped along faster then a bullet (okay so not really, but still). All of the sudden, we sped across the main intersection at the exact time a truck was. It hit us. It hit her. The truck went right into Alice's side. We sped off the road. I heard her screaming. I looked at her, still somewhat drunk, but sobering quickly. I saw her chest and blanched. Something had stabbed her in the chest and deeply. Blood soaked her arm in a matter of seconds. She started to gargle. Blood spurted out of her throat like a geyser, cutting off her screaming. Within a matter of minutes, her eyes lost all light. They rolled to the back of her head. Her heart galumphed one last time before falling, blood squeezing out of her before the flow slowed. The paramedics arrived minutes later.
screaming seemed so…real. I could almost feel the bitterness and
sheer pain. I heard her. "NO! LET ME GO! I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE.
I PROMISE… I'll be good! Just, PLEASE, let me go!" she
screamed. Wait, what? That was not Alice. I ran to my door and peered
through the window, alarmed.
Ah. New girl. Her eyes were wild and dark hazelnut. Her hair was tangled around her head, chestnut, mahogany, brown, but had red tints. She was skinny, almost too skinny, but still looked sort of healthy. But only sort of. I watched as they took her into the room across from mine. I could watch everything with her. I watched as the placed her on the bed, the nurse stuck a needle in her arm, and soon after, she stopped fighting. She lay there.
They put a small straightjacket on her, and then left the room. They pulled down the outside shade, and locked the door. I understood. That happened to me too. A small sign hung outside her door. Isabella Swan, Age: 16, Sex: Female, etc. I knew the drill. She was on suicide watch and solitary confinement until she could calm down. Apparently any one who is out of control the first forty-eight hours of being here gets this, she was no exception.
She was beautiful though. Even as detestable a person as I was, and my interests in the world were lacking, I still wanted to meet this beautiful creature. I wondered why she was in this hell hole. My imagination spiraled crazily, and for the first time in months, I felt alive without cutting myself. It was sort of nice. I barely started to notice when I heard a slight movement, before realizing, she was waking up!
"SHIT!" she screamed. "Let me out! Get me out of this thing!" she screamed wildly. No one ever listens in confinement. They just ignore. She started sobbing. "It's dark! I'm afraid of the dark!" she cried. She kicked the door several times. You were only locked in while in confinement. I couldn't bear this fallen angel's crying.
I opened my door and went over to her room. "Hello?" she called, "Is anyone out there? Or am I all alone?" she said quietly, mostly to herself.
"I'm Edward. I'm with you and I live here too. You're in confinement for 24 hours before they let you out. Just don't struggle or they'll keep you in there for longer." I said quietly.
She gasped at the realization I was there. "I'm so happy I'm not alone." She breathed, relieved that she wasn't alone. "I'm so scared," she whimpered.
know. I know. Hold on." I replied, fiddling with the lock. Damn. I
needed Isaiah's (the janitor's) pliers or just Rosalie's hair
clip. I was getting her tomorrow, but for the time being I couldn't
Bella whimpered. I told her to imagine me hugging her. She giggled, reminding me she didn't know what I looked like. She didn't know I'd seen her. She started describing herself, bagging on herself with every sentence. I didn't describe myself, or it would be terrible, and I wanted someone to like me. Maybe Bella would be the one to like me, despite everything. I'd take it. I stayed with her 'till I heard her snoring on the floor on the other side of the door. I returned to my room and laid on my bed. Bella.
fanfic in a while. Others I have taken down. :D
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