I'm not crazy, it's just that my reality is different from yours
Prolouge
Scorching, blinding hot anger pumped through my veins and I dared to hit him again. He was on the ground for a few more seconds before he seemed to beg for more. Blood poured from his nose like a faucet and it pleased me. It made me feel happy to see him in so much pain. It dripped onto his mouth, staining his lips which enticed me to also want to knock his teeth out. My fists were throbbing and my knuckles were bruised.
He had about one or two good hits on me. One on my lip, a cheap shot from him. Another one at my jaw. My girlfriend seemed to love it. She was laughing at the both of us, drunk as ever, screaming for a round two. I never realized how annoying her voice was as she squealed and screeched. This surprised me as she is mostly reserved. She works part time as a librarian and spends the other half of her time at the computer lab, printing paper after paper. Her name was Barbra, and anyone named Barbra shouldn't be cheering a fight; That isn't normal and I should have been worried. But I wasn't in the slightest. In fact, she was in the back of my mind. Punching Ryan's lights out was my top priority.
And since that was the fifth fight of this month, I would be spending the rest of my summer in a mental facility for supposedly having anger and violence issues. That is why I was sitting in another expensive suit and tie with my billionaire father shooting me glares. This was why the paparazzi was going crazy outside and why my girlfriend requested to take a break even though she was the main one egging me on. And so in simple words, I have to kiss Dr. Wilson's ass if I want to get the hell out of here in eight weeks.
Bruce, my adoptive father, talked to him; asking if I really had to do this. Dr. Wilson, an old horny man who was blind in one eye, said yes so quickly I knew he just wanted me here to piss me off. And to top it all off, I would have to receive therapy from Dr. Canary and I hear she is the worst. Rumor has it that she is a baby talker and if she talks to a twenty-two year old man that way, we're going to have some problems.
"So son, you'll have to stay in room L219 with Mister Logan. Here is your key and schedule. Your therapy room is in 500 and you will see Dr. Canary two days out of the week. You are to participate in all the activities, eat, take your medication and respect all the residents in this building. You are not on a pedestal just because you are a celebrity. Do you understand? Oh and no sunglasses."
Through clenched teeth I managed to agree. A few signatures later and I was given a tour.
Everything was more depressing than me, which made a statement.
A cheap cafeteria that reminded me of high school, cliche dorms that reminded me of college and a small television with a VHS and no cable. It currently showed the news and probably could only show about two other channels. One of them most likely PBS and the other static. We walked through more grey and blue with the occasional faces I would pass.
I wasn't humiliated, just angry. Fucking pissed. Especially when they dropped my suitcase that I didn't pack off by my new room. I wanted some idiots to pop out of no where and say,"Heh, we got you! This was just a prank!" And I would be dumbfounded and relieved laughing,"Where's the camera?"
But the only idiot I met was my roommate, Garfield Logan. Son of Marie Logan, owner and founder of Gotham City Zoo.
He was a short, clumsy man with brown hair and freckles. His green eyes sparkled, stunned to meet me. His side of the room was sloppy and he laughed sheepishly as he scurried to pick up after himself.
"I didn't know you were coming today, my bad."
Dr. Wilson shook his head and I gave Bruce a look. We shook hands and half hugged as he left with Dr. Wilson, leaving me alone with Garfield.
He exhaled when they left and finally stopped his weak attempt at trying to tidy up. "Man, that was close."
I simply raised an eyebrow and began to unpack. The room had one window and was extremely divided, you could see the invisible line down the center. Good, hopefully it stays that way.
"So," He said and I groaned at the sound of him trying to make conversation,"What did you do?"
"I got mad."
He nodded as if he understood. Luckily, he dropped the subject,"I see. So, did you know we share the building with high-schoolers too? I mean, the chicks are pretty hot but it sucks because they're too young. But yeah, it's fun because its fifteen to twenty five so it's a party. You know, yeah. So, yeah."
Great, now I had to stay around a bunch of bratty, hormone induced teenaged girls. As if I hadn't had enough of them as my fans.
"Cool."
He chuckled,"Yeah. So, seen any chicks you dig?"
"How old are you?"
He looked taken aback,"Nineteen, why?"
I shrugged,"You're just so excited and young. Is there a bathroom?"
"Communal ones in the hall. I can take you if you want?"
"I'll manage."
He stood,"No, dude, it's fine really. Come on."
He reached for the doorknob and then stopped. "Uh, just so you know, I'm not-Yeah, if..never mind."
Just trying something, There is no update schedule on this. bad is still in progress just a case of writer's block. Review for more.
