"It will be three months at most," My caretaker, Charlotte said, "I promise." I looked away from her, forcing myself not to flinch. Promises were meant to be broken. Each and every one of them which I had encountered had merely been a thinly concealed lie.
Instead I focused on my torn up black hoodie- it was unzipped revealing a loose light grey shirt adorned with a handful of black necklaces linked to little silver trinkets. My jeans were as castoff as my jumper; more than a dozen holes sprinkled over the fabric. Lastly, were the black combat boots which I rarely parted with. To say that they were used was an understatement, however they fitted the purpose they were created for and that pleased me enough.
With a barely audible sigh, I tore my gaze from my recycled outfit to the large, daunting building in front of me.
A school for freaks. Just like me.
I found my hands tensely playing with the cuffs on my hoodie, wearing holes into the fabric, as we ascended the large staircase which lead to the front door.
Charlotte skittishly informed me that all the paper work had already been filled out and that the time would 'fly by'. I kept my gaze fixed on the corridor in front of us, my expression giving no indication to my feelings.
We were met by an elderly man by, yet another, staircase. He introduced himself as 'Hodge, the proprietor of the school'.
"Clary, I assume." He regarded me thoughtfully, "Seeing as I've already received all the necessary paperwork, you are all set to join the other students for dinner. I'll get someone to take up your bags." I narrowed my eyes at his suggestion. He knew my condition, I could only assume that he was challenging me.
Inside my heart flipped, but I forced my appearance to remain neutral as I answered, "Great idea."
The sooner I could convince them that I was sane, the soon I could get out of this place.
Charlotte left and I was given directions to a dining hall while Hodge informed me of the fact that he had 'business' to do.
The stretch to the dining hall was horrible and my movements became sluggish as I attempted to waste time walking, hoping I would miss dinner, hoping I wouldn't be forced to consume.
However, despite the eternity I had taken to walk there, I could hear the sounds of humanity through a pair of doors as teens munched through their food and conversed.
I took a couple of moments to stand outside and breathe heavily. The thought that food would soon be entering my system made my hand clamp down on my mouth, revolted, and I leaned against the wall, forcing myself to compose my appearance.
After a minute of stalling, I put a shaking hand on the door and pushed the giant oak door open, almost wincing at the giant groaning sound that it made.
Once I had entered the room, it felt as though every eye in the room was on me. Heaps of students intently concentrating on my lame figure. I had known that this was the largest school of its kind in the country, but I had not expected so many people.
Before I could take a step further into the room, a hand was on my shoulder-which I immediately recoiled from and a young man's face was inches from mine.
For a moment, I could have sworn that I saw sparkles in the eyes of the man who spoke, "Sleeves up, Scarlet." I growled quietly at the nickname and my frustration. Sometimes mental homes forgot to check food hidden up sleeves, or believed that it was up to the patient to choose whether they lifted their jackets. Those were the best loony-bins- they allowed me to hide food from my plate.
Lifting my chin a little higher, I pulled my sleeves up, squashing the urge to launch myself out the room. The entire action seemed far too intimate, as though I was sharing my most personal secret.
The man's grin spread further at my bare wrists and he introduced himself as Magnus Bane. I nodded instead of exchanging my own personal details- not exactly in the mood for light-hearted small talk.
"Today, you'll be sitting with me." Magnus explained. I knew the protocol, they wanted to see me eat, analysing whether I could be trusted to sit alone- something I craved more than anything. So I stuck my chin up, and followed him to a table set out with plates-one of which was particularly full, which I assumed was mine.
The plastic chair scraped loudly on the wooden floor as I sat. I glanced around to see that some of students had begun to lose interest, turning back to gossip in their groups. There were many students sat alone, that had barely bothered glancing up when I had entered. I pegged those for the ones I would have most in common with.
Unfortunately, my eyes were forced back to the plate in front of me- spaghetti bolognaise. 600 calories, at least. I gulped nervously, it would take several hundred sit-ups at a slow pace to burn this meal off. My eyes danced around, up at Magnus, to the sickly white table cloth and finally to the silver cutlery which glinted up at me, threateningly. I felt my hands creep up and grasp at the cold, piercing metal. I could feel Magnus' stare burn into my head.
I forced myself to think of what eating this meal would allow me to do- I would be able to sit by myself, have more freedom. On the other hand, it would only add to the great hulking mass that was my stomach. My carer had told me endlessly that what I was seeing was an illusion, but I couldn't deny my own reflection.
Finally, I forced myself to cut off the tiniest bit of pasta and stuff it into my mouth. I tried to chew the prevailing taste as much as humanly possible before the dreaded swallow and the feeling of the food travelling down my oesophagus.
And so, the process continued, until I was satisfied that I had eaten enough not to be harassed for it.
"May I go?" I asked, craving mouthwash. I imagine my mouth to look repulsive.
"I'll get your roommate to show you the way." He replied. Roommate? I thought, it was going to be harder to burn off calories than I thought.
He called forward a girl called Isabelle, a perky girl who was nervously wringing her hands as she greeted me.
Her condition was clear to my expert eyes- OCD.
Great.
If I didn't want her to hate me I was going to have to keep my shit tidy, not that I really cared.
"Hey, Clary isn't it?" She smiled, but I didn't reciprocate the look. I noticed how her hands shook, I knew she was picturing us shaking hands and flinching from the thought.
"Sure." I replied, rolling the word. I was still focused on the food which seemed to burn my insides. I needed to work out…and soon.
"This way." She smiled, clearly relieved we weren't going to have to touch.
We walked down a couple of corridors and I vaguely kept track of where we were going. Every time we had to pass by a door, Isabelle let me go first so as not to touch the door handle, I heard her mumble numbers in a certain order under her breath and she picked at her skin nervously.
When we got to our room, she immediately crossed to the sink and furiously scrubbed at her hands.
Shrugging, I went to do some push-ups on the floor.
I was on my hundredth one when she was first able to tear her gaze from her hands to my slightly sweaty figure, "Are you sure you should…?" She trailed off. In response I lifted an eyebrow at her red raw hands.
"I guess we're both messed up." She muttered.
We were both done around the same time I had done my five hundredth push up.
I glanced around the room. It was plane, cold, with one window, two beds, two wardrobes and a sink. My suitcase was at the end of one of the beds.
Isabelle immediately went to straighten every single coat hanger in her wardrobe and I collapsed into what I assumed was my bed, messing up my covers and in turn making Isabelle flinch.
"Look, you can put my clothes into my wardrobe if it makes you feel better," I was in a better mood after working out and she grinned gratefully.
"Thank you so much." She gushed, turning to my suitcase, "You're clothes are…clean, right?" I raised an eyebrow at her response, making her blush and scurry to open it with a tissue.
As she sorted my clothes, muttering numbers. I stood up and paced. I needed to shower and clean out my mouth.
Seeing as there was no shower in our room, I opened our door, toiletries in hand, and decided to find one myself. I had taken several turns before realising how stupid it was trying to find a room in a building this large without directions.
"Hey!" I waved over a guy walking in the opposite direction to me, only after he jumped five foot from my sudden greeting. He might have been good-looking if he weren't so pale, with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes. Trauma patient, possible self-harmer.
"Hi?" He rubbed the back of his head, nervously.
"Where's the bathroom?" I demanded, not in the mood for manners.
"Err… keep following this corridor and on the left you'll find one." He fidgeted under my gaze.
"Thanks…" I trailed off.
"Alec."
"Alec." I confirmed, "I'll see you around."
Finding, the girls bathroom was relatively simple after that- despite the fact that Alec had accidently given me directions to the guys' toilets.
Thankfully, it was empty, but the shared showers did not escape my attention.
I began to thoroughly disinfect my mouth with mouthwash when I noticed the giant mirrors placed around the room. Flinching, I directed my gaze back at the sink. My reflection wasn't exactly my biggest fan.
Once I was satisfied that my mouth didn't reek of spaghetti, I stepped into a cubicle. I say cubicle, but the only thing separating me from the next shower head, was a thin cheap cardboard-like material. A-part from that- nothing, one only had to walk past to see…everything.
Embarrassment of my body led me to the decision to keep my bra and undies on as I flicked on the scalding water. I rubbed every ounce of sweat from my body, scrubbing until my skin was scoured raw. While under the blistering water, I found myself absent-mindedly singing 'Take me to Church' by Hozier. My voice was sometimes the only thing I could stand about myself. Of course, every therapist I met attempted to use it to 'cure' me. However, no matter how passionate my love for singing was, it was never enough to pull me back to sanity. It did allow me to practise though.
After a good half hour, I turned the water off and grabbed for my towel. I exhaled a sigh of relief once I had it safely around my body- covering my stomach. I dried my body and my hair before I tied it up in a messy bun.
Next I grabbed for my clothing and cursed when I realised it had gone from where I had left it.
This was common in crazy homes like this one. People with many anxieties or paranoia often felt the need to assert dominance through silly stunts like this one- except it wasn't so silly to me. The clothes I picked were specifically tailored to not give even the slightest hint to my gigantic, deformed body shape. This small towel did hardly anything to cover any flesh.
I groaned and swore a couple more times. I cursed once more after I realised they'd taken my favourite jeans. It sometimes took weeks to get my stuff back, if at all.
I rubbed my hands over my face, tiredly, before pulling the towel around me as securely as possible. Using the toiletries I had brought earlier, I applied winged eyeliner and some lipstick which was as dark red as my crimson hair. The makeup increased my confidence and I tried to convince myself I could find my way back without bumping into anyone.
Taking one final long sigh, I grabbed my toiletries and exited the room. Of course there was no sign of the perpetrator- they were usually too cowardly to stay about and witness their work.
I rushed back towards my room and mercifully no one had seen me. Before long, I realised I was lost. Close to screaming, I retraced my steps and finally found what I hoped was my corridor. I flung open our door to only realise, it wasn't our door at all.
The room was exactly the same as ours, a part from one small difference. Instead of Isabelle sitting on her bed. A blonder-haired male did.
He stared at me in shock, and for a moment we both stood staring at each other. I realised with a deflating sigh how devastatingly good-looking he was with a hard jaw line, golden waves which just touched his shoulders and molten golden eyes. It wasn't hard to recognise his lean, athletic body.
After the moment had passed, he schooled his features into a cocky grin, "Well, usually it takes a lot more persuasion to get a girl naked in my bedroom."
Narrowing my eyes, I pulled the towel around me tighter and declared, "Fuck you." Before striding out of the room.
Hey! Please review and tell me what you think :D
I'd like to reiterate that I'm no expert on mental health, I've done some research and I have a few friends who've had mental illness' but this doesn't mean that I know everything and something I've said is bound to be incorrect. I'm sorry if this is offensive in any way, I just had an idea which I wanted to write about.
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