"Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest."

—Ellen Hopkins

What is an impulse? The urge to do something reckless? But really, if you don't take chances, you're wasting your dreams.

But what if your dream was to waste your chances?

The Takasaki Institution for the Mentally Unbalanced Youth.

Unbalanced is an understatement.

Unbalanced as in watching the skin part slightly, the walls of flesh that were divided, and the red elixir starting seeping up.

Unbalanced where someone different everyday takes advantage of you so that you could feel loved in your life.

Unbalanced is when you feel like wrapping your arms around someone's neck to the point where they turn blue in your arms.

So that you can regret everything you did afterwards…

Unbalanced…

More like so down on the side of the seesaw there is no up.

We are the psychos.

Rukia's POV

Home. This is where I belonged.

So dark you can't even find the door out.

Thinking about those days where you were the girl in the yellow dress, brown sandals, and the cute hair clips. Thinking about those days where you got kisses, balloons, and trips to the zoo.

Thinking about those days where you were the perfectly happy popular-yet-not-popular-type in your first year in high school, living with her sister and her husband. The popular that was not popular because she was a rich blond she-dog. But because you loved everyone, everything, and life itself.

Thinking about those days where things got so screwed and you were stripped naked of your happiness, sitting in the hospital watching your motherly sister turn into a corpse with her eyes bugging out. Feeling the icicles your perfect brother shot into your back with his eyes. The accusations that the beeping life-machines were shrieking at you.

Thinking about that day where you tried so hard to run away from him. The day you didn't want to hurt him. The day you killed with your own hands the person you loved the most. The day you became a monster. The day people kept trying to tell you it's not your fault. Lies. It was all lies. You were a demon of the worst kind.

The day you decided it was enough. No more kids at school whispering "she killed…she killed." No more Byakuya nii-sama chewing his food in disgust as he looked at you from across the table. No more sympathetic looks gifted to you by Ukitake-teichou. No more Kuchiki elders insisting on you being disowned if you couldn't "buck up". It was you, the pills, and God.

Thinking can be your killer if you wanted it to be.

"Rukia. Prepare yourself; we've arrived to your new boarding school."

"Hai, Nii-sama."

Home is a huge building waiting to swallow you whole. That wanted to suck your emotions till you were as dead-grey as Hisana and Kaien.

Ichigo's POV

This is the fucking institute? Looks like a university where geniuses go and study. Wonder what freaks roam the woods here.

Keep biting the piercing on the side of your lower lip until its raw.

As raw as the ripped skin that digs and makes blood curdle you get when you fall of your bike.

As raw as the lies your therapist tells you as he insists that you'll "break to the surface".

As raw as your soul is now, trying to heal the gunshot and grip on to life.

As raw as the screams you choked as your mother fell into the water that was destined for you.

But that is a different story.

All you have to do is walk to the intern, flash her a smile, give the specialists some emotional shit, and you're on your way out.

Because this place is a waste of time.

If you can't fix yourself, no one can.

So deal with it.

This is your world. Your nightmare. You screwed it up. You pay the price, even if the price is your life.

And you keep walking with your head high as the freaks of this school –patients, doctors, and employees- stare at the fiery orange newbie as he chews on his lip.

Orihime's POV

You can't help but feel a pang in your heart as you stare at the cutsie kids that come in here every day.

The ones with the long scars running up and down their arms like rivers.

The ones with puffy, permanent marks on their faces from God-knows-what kind of abuse they've been through.

The ones who look completely miserable with the sunken eyes and yellow skin.

The ones who lose control at the mirror, swearing that they gained two pounds when they were walking sticks of bones.

And sometimes I wonder, if Ulquiorra wasn't the one who dragged me her because of his job, would I even be here to see this mess of sadness. To see these young people who can't connect their hearts to others?

Would I even know of them if I wasn't working here?

Sigh…If they only made me in charge of the cooking here, I'm sure I could spunk them up.

Especially with my red bean paste noodles and buttered sweet potatoes.

Mmmm. I am starving.

"Woman, what are you doing with your mouth open and eyes closed?"

Ulquiorra's POV

Trash. All the unbalanced kids here have seen trash. Trash that's made them trash.

Opening this institution brought money, fame, sadness, and trash.

This is a new year. New kids being given a tour. The higher level ones returning from their vacations to their families. The others who stayed here during the summer were leaning on the doors, watching everything else in silence.

Trash.

(A/N: Yay! First chapter! It's a bit short, but they'll grow bigger. And it will probably become darker. I will try my hardest to update, but please keep in mind that this fanfic is in a delicate spot. Arigatou!)

Review, review, review! XD