Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans


The walls were a bright white I took notice. The room was small. It was a square. No books, no paintings, no decorations, nothing except white.

A small bed (Also white) with blue sheets was in the corner. The room had its own restroom, thankfully. The worst part about this was the building.

It wasn't too loud, or too quiet. There were lots of people. Everyone there was either scared of you or tried their best to ignore/ stay away from you.

Of course this was a mental hospital…

How did I get here? Well it wasn't right for me to be here, I was completely sane. But my parents thought otherwise.

My father, Trigon Roth, hates my guts and wants me dead but needs to keep up his solid image. Plus I am the only kid he has and the family business needs to go on. My mother, Arella Roth, loved me but was afraid of Trigon. He would beat us senseless if we didn't do something right.

I usually took the blame for my mother, wishing for her not to get hurt. After the beating, and after Trigon left, she would tend to my wounds.

I got beat a lot.

School was another reason why I got beaten. My grades were perfect but I always got into trouble because of my attitude or silent treatments. I was never allowed to stay out late and was expected to be home at a certain time.

I was to keep my distance from people.

My father had drilled that rule into my head. People were (clearly) clueless as to how my father was at home, in public he kept up his golden image.

Whenever I got a new bruise and the teachers would ask if I was alright (for I always got more than one, and they were big). I would reply with a Oh I'm just really clumsy or I hit a door.

Those teachers were real gullible.

I had no friends, for I was different, an outcast.

I had purple hair and eyes. My skin was almost grey and my lips were a dark grey. People usually kept there distance. For that I was grateful, that made the rules easier to follow.

When I got home I was expected to all the chores. Clean every room in the mansion and make dinner. I was an exceptional cook, but when my father actually ate dinner with us (Usually Saturdays and Sundays) I would be cooking all day. The perfect meal for the "perfect" person.

That was my life. In my free-time I would do my homework, eat, and, sleep.

I was sleep deprived but hid it. Anyways nobody really cared about my well being. Not even my own mother could stick up for me.

The reason I am here is because I had a suicidal episode. Nothing big. I have to see a therapist now. His name is :

Dr. Victor Stone

He is a tall, African American, bald, nice, and is going out with a nice girl named Beatrice. He calls her Bee. He is really kind to me. He asks me about my life and I lie.

That's all I know, I had been sent to him a month ago. Before I was dumped in this Hellhole.

I wonder what adventures I'll have here…


Hope you liked this nice little intro. I will introduce the others later…

Happy Super Bowl Sunday Everyone!

I cheer for both teams!