"Good afternoon, dear. How are you?" Angela said smiling and walking over to my bed. How do you think I am? I'm stuck in this hospital with no way out.
"Fan-freaking-tastic!" I replied smirking, my words dripping with sarcasm.
Angela chuckled and handed me my cup of medication. I stared at the cup in disgust. I hate taking medicine.
"Spencer, not again. I know you don't like taking your meds, but you have to. It's the only way you're ever going to get better, and getting better means getting the hell out of here." Classic Angela, she's always looking out for me.
Angela is one of the nurses here in the hospital. She is the only nurse who can make me obey her, probably because she's the only nurse who isn't terrified of me.
Angela had long, brown hair, which she kept in a pony-tail and bright green eyes that make you wonder what she's thinking.
I stared at her for a while before I gave in and downed the pills. Ugh. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.
"This crap gives me extreme dry mouth, you know." I said through my hacking and overreacting.
"It's one of the side effects, Hun. You would have known that if you wound listen to Dr. Smithson once and a while."
Ah, Doctor Smithson. She's the brain of this whole place. She hates me, but it's not like she can kick me out, I'm only 17. Until then, she has to put up with me. I visit her office three days a week and rant to her how I feel. She obviously doesn't care, though; she just nods and writes down information on her stationary bored-like.
"Honey, Its dinner time, you can go down to the cafeteria now." Angela said as she left my room. I sighed heavily and walked down the hall in my shorts and socks, not even bothering to put on sweatpants or Chuck Taylors.
As I passed, everybody looked at me in fear and pity. I hated even leaving my room, because of this. I'm fine with them being scared of me, but pity, heck no. I hated people seeing me as someone you should feel sorry for. I hated the sympathy. I looked down at my feet and tried to ignore them. I would have said something to them or gotten in their faces about it, but I wasn't in the mood.
I'm terribly lonely nowadays. I had Angela, sure, but she wasn't really a friend. She was the only person who challenged me, and didn't judge me for why I was in this institution.
As I reached the cafeteria, I started to look up again. There were many people there this morning, more than usual. I walked over and got a tray. I filled it with the food that didn't look like it had already been chewed up, and sat down at an empty table.
The food here sucks, almost as much as at my school. I almost miss my school. I didn't have many friends, but I loved learning. I like anything to do with reading and writing. I love reading and luckily the hospital let me bring and keep all of my books with me. They lay in stacks across my room; most of them have been read at least 3 times.
While I was eating my burrito, when Sally, the head of the therapy group, walked up to me with her almost too perky smile. I put my burrito back on my tray and looked up. She was smiling from ear to ear, and it made me nauseas.
"Spencer, how are you? You look so pretty today! I love what you did with your hair!" She is so full of crap.
"Thanks Sally, and you look up-tight as usual, maybe you should try loosening the pony tail." Smiling, I went back to my burrito, ignoring her embarrassed expression. Her smile dropped and she looked at me bored.
"Here's the deal, Dr. Smithson thinks you're doing better and your being nicer, nice enough to not have to live alone anymore. You're getting a roommate."
"No!" I stood up and practically scared the heck out of her. "I can't have a roommate, I'm mentally unstable and I could hurt them."
I really wouldn't hurt them; I just don't want a roommate. I'm the only person in this whole mental hospital that doesn't have one, and that's a privilege.
"Yeah, right, you couldn't hurt a fly. You're not unstable, you're in control now. Besides, we have too many people coming in and out of here for you to have a room to yourself. You're getting a roommate." With that, Sally stood up and walked away.
This is not happening. This was my hospital; I used to be the queen. Nobody messed with me, and if they did, I would pound their face in.
But ever since Dr. Smithson prescribed me my new meds, I haven't been up to starting a fight. I'm tired all the time, and sometimes I feel depressed.
I finished my burrito, and left, not even bothering to put my tray up. Tomorrow, I take back my hospital.