A/n: yet another new story, gang! Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I'm not V Roth.
Chapter One:
Four:
The woman who picked me up from the airport is raddling on and on about something; I didn't catch most of it, but I can gather it's about Dauntless Treatment Center, the place the social worker sent me to as soon as she met me.
When we reach the building, I have to resist the urge to bolt. This is so stupid; I'm not in need of this place.
I'm led through the halls to a white door, marked with the name Amar. The social worker raps on the door, and turns to face me.
"Good luck, Tobias."
"Four." I say, striding over the threshold of the door without bothering to knock.
"Hi, Four." Amar smiles at me. I don't return it.
"Why am I here?" I ask, rolling my eyes.
"You're here because Candace Shepard was worried about you."
"Well, tell her not to be." I say, biting my cutical absently.
"Anyway," Amar says, smiling at me, "the goal of the center is to help you recover. Cell phones are allowed here, and there are only a few rules: one, be respectful. We're open to debates, and if you feel you need to lash out, there's a training room on the bottom floor. Second, be where you're suposed to be, when you're supposed to be there. And third, you have to submit to charting, which is simply your vitals, weight, and any medications you took that day, or injuries you aquired. Here's today's schedule." Then he hands a piece of paper across the table. It looks something like this:
12:00 to 1:10: lunch
1:10 2:10: free time and reflection
2:10 to 3:10: group
3:10 to 4:10: individual therapy
4:10 to 5:10: free time
5-10 to 6:10: dinner
6:10 to 7:10: srrts center; free time
7:10 to 8:10: pool; free time
8:10 to 9:10: vital check
9:10: curfew
I stare at the print-out in my hands. I can't believe how tightly they control you here. Amar must be reading my thoughts, because he says, "Four, we aren't prison, okay? Lunch is in ten minutes. Allow me to show you to the cafeteria."
The cafeteria is a small room, with one long table, which can seat twenty, or so it seems. There's already a girl there.
She's got long, mousy brown hair, and dark brown eyes. She's picking at a hangnail on her right hand, and looks kinda out of it.
I wind up across from her, waiting with her for the others to arrive. We don't speak. She's far too occupied by the earbuds in her ears.
The next person to arrive is a guy who looks about my age. He has broad shoulders, and a jokular face. He drops down at the end of the table, and taps his fingers against the wood. I wait for him to introduce himself, but I guess they're not big on intros here.
Two more people enter together. Both girls; one in a wheelchair, with short brown hair and brown eyes, and a tough looking girl with a shaved head, who looks like she could beat my ass. She wheels the wheelchair-bound girl and to the table, and heads towards the lunch line.
A carbon copy of the first boy enters, sitting next to him. I guess they must be twins.
Three others straggle in together; a tall girl with long black hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, and dark skin, who's wheeling an IV pole along beside her. A boy with shaggy blonde hair, green eyes, and a jacket on even though it's summer. And a tiny wisp of a girl with long blonde hair and gray blue eyes. A clear tube snakes out of her right nostril and hooks over her ear.
The lunchline is opened, and I notice that everyone but the girl with the shaved head, the girl with the feeding tube, and the girl in the wheelchair, are rading it. I join the line, taking a hamburger back to my seat.
It's awkward. Everyone's silent. Feeding tube girl is pinching at her non-existent stomach like she wants to make herself somehow smaller. The football brothers (so called because they were both probably on the football team at their school before coming here), are in the middle of a low, urgent discussion. Earbuds Girl hasn't looked up. Wheelchair Girl is eating. Jacket Boy is stirring his soup around and around, but isn't eating any of it. IV Girl is carefully eating, as if she has to eat, but also has to count the callories.
And then there's me. I'm wondering what nickname the others have already come up with for me. I eat my hamburger, even though it's dry as hell, force myself to eat some pudding, even though it looks disgusting and doesn't taste much better, and then pull out my cell phone, and turn on a YouTube vidio, determined to forget I'm here for a few minutes.
A/n: okay, so let's play a little game, y'all! Can you figure out who each of the gang is? One point for every one you get right. The person with the highest number of points gets a shout-out. Alrighty, audios amigos!
Bianca.