This was a bit tricky to write. I've only read The Catcher In The Rye one time, and since I don't have it there's a lot of stuff I might have been wrong about, or haven't been able to write well enough because he's a hard character to write from his POV, seeing that he's a bit indecisive and corrupt (I still love you, though, Holden xD.)

I figured that if Holden ever really loved any girl (besides his sister) she'd be childish, because he only really feels happy, or at peace with himself when he's around children, and he's always trying to keep himself from maturing and always protecting innocence and such.

I don't know, that's just my opinion from what I read. And please feel free to review and comment, but be nice about it! :)

This is probably going to be a oneshot, but let me know if you want more!

"Alright, Holden. I'll see you next week." DB smiled at me, shaking my hand firmly. I just let him.

I just gave my brother a half-hearted smile and watched him stroll out the doors without a care in the world, wondering if one day I'd be able to do the same without someone watching over me. I didn't belong here with these psychos.

In fact, I was getting convinced that being in this mental home was making me insane, and the longer I stayed in, the harder it would be to get out. Jesus. It'd be the death of me, this place. It really would be.

Sure at first it was great and all, I got to lay low and do nothing, but they treated me like a madman. I wasn't a madman. Well, maybe I was a madman sometimes but not as much of a madman as some of the other kooks around here. It was crazy.

I don't have friends here. It's not like I could. I don't want to talk to anyone. When I try I always feel sorry and get depressed. Even when I try to talk to the staff I get depressed. They treat me like I'm not even human, like I'm not even a person. But I am. And that's what drives me crazy. I just like to talk to someone sometimes. A real goddamn conversation. Not one with a therapist. What are they good for? They're just phonies anyways. They don't give a shit about what I have to say. That really annoys me.

As I walked down the hallway I planned on heading up to my room. My brother had got me a couple packs of cigarettes, and I wanted to hide them before I got caught with them. We weren't allowed to smoke in our rooms, and if we wanted to we had to go outside with someone who'd make sure we didn't go wild and burn the place down. It was a whole lotta trouble for one cigarette. Usually I'd have to smoke it at night, when no one was up. I'd just crack a window and smoke out it so no one would smell it if they came in. I didn't want to know what would happen if I did.

There were too many rules here. It was like being back at Pencey, for Chrissake.

I put the cigarettes in my room, underneath the mattress where I usually hid them. Then I decided to go to the sitting room.

The sitting room isn't nice or anything. I don't know if sitting room is the right word for it, but that's what I call it. I don't even really like it there, but sometimes, when i don't want to go outside, I go and sit there and look out the windows. It's real pretty outside, with the palm trees and all. The sun always shines. It's not like New York, though. I always wonder about the ducks, still. You don't see a lot of ducks in Hollywood. Maybe it's because ducks can tell where all the phonies are.

A lot of times, the sitting room is where the real loonies hang out with their visitors, or just alone. I always feel a bit strange myself, staring out the window alone. DB only visits me once a week. He's too busy writing and being Hollywood's whore for anything else. And all he usually does is give me cigarettes and talks to me, looking at his watch like he doesn't really care and can't wait to leave the goddamn place. It's real nice of him to think of me, the old chap.

I don't have friends here. So I get all depressed with no one to talk to.

So as I'm sitting in this room, I'm watching all these people talking to their visitors and all. Some are laughing, some look upset, and I saw a guy who looked all frustrated talking to some girl.

He was speaking in a low voice and holding her one hand. He was a real big guy, and he kind of reminded me of old Stradlater in a way. Old Stradlater, I smiled to myself. The phony. I couldn't see the girl real well, because the back of the chair covered her up. She had red hair, though. It was wavy and reddish gold, and it of reminded me of a fire. I couldn't hear what she said in response but he stood up, dropping her hand and pointing at her.

"You're not making sense, Anne! Don't you understand? Everything was fine before! What happened to you?" He picked a briefcase up from beside the chair he'd been sitting in. "What do they do to you in here?"

A nurse came over and tried to quiet him down, but he just shoved her away and walked out. I couldn't stand that. Like he owned the place. The nurse turned and talked to the girl and then she helped her stand up and turn around to leave.

Anne. I think I knew her from group therapy. Group therapy. It kills me, it really does. I never listen. I always pretend and smile and act like I care.

But anyways, I knew her from there mostly. I noticed how her hair was tangled and it reminded me of Allie, kinda. It made me pretty depressed looking at her. She was real pretty underneath all that hair.

"Holden?" I asked the nurse and I looked up. Most of the staff know me around here.I horse around a lot and get into trouble all the time.

"Yeah?" I said all quiet-like. You have to be all shy and quiet around here if you want anything. You raise your voice over a whisper and they think you're planning on shooting up the place for Chrissake.

"Do you mind if Anne sits here?"

"If she wants to, that's fine. That'd be really great actually."

The nurse just yawned and helped Anne sit down. Than she walked away. Anne didn't say anything. She just stared at the table in between us. Than she stared at me. Her eyes were gray.

It was one of those times when I wished I could have had a smoke. It makes me feel a bit cooler when I have one. It calms me down and all. I could feel my lighter in my right pocket and I pulled it out. I looked in my right pocket and found a single cigarette.

I lit it and looked up at Anne.

"So what was that all about?" I asked her, taking a puff. Man would the nurse go nuts when she saw me.

She didn't say anything for awhile. Than she just ignored my question. "Aren't you not allowed to be smoking?"

I shrugged. I didn't know what to say to that. I mean, gee. I knew I shouldn't be smoking but did

"You're Holden?"

I nodded slowly, taking another puff and sliding down in my chair. I wished I had my red hunting hat. I missed that old hat, I really did. It killed me sometimes. I could've just pulled it over my eyes and kidded around, just like that one time when I was talking to Ackley. Old Ackley and I. We always had such a great time together.

"What are you in here for?" She had a high-pitched voice that reminded me of tinkling bells. But it wasn't annoying. It made me feel a bit less depressed.

I didn't know how to answer. "I thought I would come just for kicks. I'm having a helluva time, really."

She looked at me, she was confused for a bit, but then she smiled a bit. That killed me, it really did. We were quiet than.

"My brother thinks I'm crazy. That's why I'm here."

She started to smile and tap the table and look around all nervous-like.

"That's a shame. I got kicked out of Pencey Prep."

She giggled, and it was a sound that made me smile too. You don't usually laugh at someone who got kicked out of a school, but she did. Hell, she reminded me of Phoebe. Her laugh at least.

"Holden Caulfield, put out that cigarette this instant!" I heard the nurse scream at me from across the room.

Anne laughed even harder at this. I just smiled, flicking my ashes on the floor before putting it out.

Anne laughed for a while, and I could see now why she was in here. She was just a little crazy, is all. Just a bit loopy. And she acted younger than she really was. But it was okay, because she was the only person who had made me feel sane in a while. Me and Anne kept talking for awhile. It was real nice and all, just talking to her.

"Holden, what are we doing here?" She asked me, serious now.

"Just passing the time." I smiled.

"No..." she frowned. "I don't always like it here. I never do." She looked so upset than, and I started feeling depressed again.

"Don't you worry about it Anne. You really shouldn't worry about it at all. You'll get out alright, you'll see. You'll get out okay, just fine." I assured.

She didn't say anything. She stared out the window for awhile, with her pale hand on the table in front of me. She just looked sullen and sad. I reached out and put my hand on hers. Most girls like it when you're gentle and all. So I did that. It was nice, I thought, but she didn't say anything.

"You should sit by me tonight at dinner Anne. You really should. It'd be my pleasure to have you there."

She didn't say anything.

"Anne?" I asked her.
"I will, I'd like to." She said quietly. She was quiet for awhile again, looking outside and I squeezed her fingers. After awhile, she yawned and looked at my hand on hers. "I'm glad I met you, Holden."

That killed me, it really did. "Gee, thanks, Anne. I'm glad I met you too."

"That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can."

So hate! Holden's not easy to write for!