I'd like to give a special thanks to ErisandDysnomia for her wonderful review (and for talking to me all day about the glory that is Norman Reedus and Sean Patrick Flannery, neither of which I own). I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!

I'm so sick

Infected with where I live

Let me live without this

Selfishness

-"I'm so Sick" by Flyleaf

The next day was group therapy day, so, as much as I wanted to slip out of the psych wing all day, I couldn't risk it. They'd already written on my chart that I had a problem with authority.

"I hate group therapy day," Val was saying as we dressed that morning. Her voice was thick; I could sense an attack coming on. Group therapy usually did that to her. Crowds in general did that to her.

I pulled my denim shorts over my hospital-issued panties. They didn't let us wear our own underwear; for the life of me I couldn't figure out why other than the fact that one of the Crazies, Allison, had a terrible fear of nylon. "Why don't you bring Mr. Bear?" I suggested, gesturing to the worn teddy bear that she slept with every night.

Val smiled that vicious sneer at me and snatched the bear up. In six months I'd learned to manipulate her. I should have been the doctor.

There was a knock on the door as I pulled my gray t-shirt over my head and one of the nurses appeared, two little plastic cups in her gloved hands. "Val, Mimi," she called, taking a step into our room. "Time to take your meds!"

"We haven't eaten yet," Val pointed out, not that she ever ate much anyway. It was just an excuse to not take her medication.

The nurse frowned at us. "It's eleven o'clock. You'll have to take them on an empty stomach." She handed us each a cup with our names clearly labeled on it.

I tossed back my handful of pills all at once and gulped them down without water. So much medication, I thought, and yet no one was getting better. "Come on, Val," I muttered, tossing my cup in the garbage bin. "Let's go get some breakfast."

She slipped her hand in mine as we crossed the walkway into the main part of the hospital. The cafeteria was located on the first floor, near the overpriced gift shop and the hospitality office. It wasn't very crowded; mostly doctors on break with a few tired visitors picking at their cardboard-tasting food.

Though there was a wide array of food available for purchase, we weren't allowed to eat it. We didn't have the money to buy any of it, anyway. We walked up to the patients' station and showed the man in the hair net our identification bracelets. He handed us each a tray, identical down to the fruit cup and cartons of orange juice in the corner.

We took our trays and carried them over to a square table in the corner, where we could be out of the way. I looked down at my three pancakes, granola bar, and fruit cup. There was no butter and no syrup. The pancakes almost weren't worth eating. Val settled Mr. Bear into one of the empty chairs.

"Are you going to bring your artwork to group?" Val asked, tearing her pancake into little pieces without eating any of it.

I grimaced. I hadn't actually done any artwork since the last group therapy. I'd skipped every art therapy. "Yeah, I'll bring something." I pushed my pancakes around and reached for my fruit cup. At least it had flavor.

Val tore off the tiniest piece of pancake and put it in her mouth, chewing it for much longer than was necessary. She gazed into nothing.

I took a bite of fruit, my thoughts wandering. I never really felt like I belonged at St. Rose. I wasn't like Val or Bex or Patrick or any of the rest of them. I was part of the Crazies, but I wasn't crazy. Was I? I glanced down at my wrists. They were no longer bandaged. The red, puffy scars were clearly visible.

"Mimi?" the voice interrupted my musings, and I quickly shoved my hands into my lap. That Irish voice was unmistakeable. Val's eyes had gotten as wide as saucers. An attack was imminent; she hated strangers.

I turned to look up at him. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand and bags under his eyes; he must have had a sleepless night.

"Hi." I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice. I felt strangely stupid to be sitting there with my patients' portion of breakfast.

He glanced at Mr. Bear and Val for the briefest of seconds. Val had begun drumming her fingers on the tabletop frantically, her wide-eyed gaze never leaving the Irishman's face. "Mind if I sit?"

There was a squeak as Val's chair scooted back several inches. The plastic salt shaker toppled over, spilling salt across the Formica tabletop.

I got to my feet. "Just give me a second," I said softly. He nodded politely and retreated a few feet. I plucked Mr. Bear out of his seat and handed him to Val. "Hey Val," I said with an air of surprise. "Does Cinderella ever marry her prince? I can't remember..."

"Of course, dummy!" she answered immediately. "She kept the second glass slipper, remember?"

"That's right." I put a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you go watch it real fast before group so we can talk about it?"

Val, innocent, naive Val, smiled. Crisis averted. I was a pro at this. "Okay. See you at group. Don't forget your artwork." She took Mr. Bear and left, smiling to herself.

I caught Murphy's eye and he came and joined me, sitting in the seat Mr. Bear had just vacated. He was wearing the same blue jeans and black t-shirt from the night before. The blood had been scrubbed clean from his skin but I could still see some on the cotton shirt.

"Murphy, right?" I asked, though I hadn't forgotten. I never forgot. "How's your brother doing?"

"He's doing as well as can be expected, I guess." He took a sip of his coffee. "He came out of surgery okay, but he hasn't woken up yet. They've got all sorts of tubes and shit hooked up to him." He paused to shake his head. "Can I buy you a coffee?" he offered.

I forced a smile and showed my bracelet. "Not allowed." It was almost like an apology.

"So you're a patient here," he commented, leaning back in his chair.

I nodded, pushing my tray away from me. "Yep. For six months now. The ER is like a theme park for me."

"That girl a patient too?" He was obviously referring to Val.

I nodded, running my fingers through my loose hair. "That's Valerie. She's been here longer than I have. She sort of needs someone to look out for her."

"That's a right nice thing for you to do," he commented in that thick accent of his.

I shrugged. I didn't feel like telling him she was my roommate. "So what really happened last night when your brother got shot?" I asked instead.

"What do you mean?" He seemed to tense up at once, the hand holding his coffee clenching.

I leveled my gaze at him. "Please. I've been sitting around that ER for six months now. I know a typical mugging. And I also know when someone's lying."

"Alright." That weary smile was back. "I'll tell you what happened if you tell my why you're in the hospital."

I pursed my lips. He was good. "Fine. But I'll get it out of you eventually. Your brother's going to be in here a while, so I'll have enough time."

Murphy lost the smile as he thought about time. "Fuck. I don't even want to think about how long he's going to be in here."

I was going to apologize for bringing the subject up when his watch beeped. I felt suddenly panicked. "What time is it? Is it noon already?"

He glanced down at it, as if he'd forgotten he was wearing it. "Aye, I guess it is. Time flows strangely in here, doesn't it?"

"Shit," I grumbled, getting to my feet. "I'm late for group and I'm going to get in trouble. And I still don't have any artwork! This is what happens when they don't let me wear a watch! I'm late to everything!"

He was surprised to see me so agitated. "They don't let you wear a watch? Those bastards!"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks for the company. I hope your brother gets better soon." And I turned and fled.

When I arrived in the therapy room back at St. Rose's, they were all sitting in our customary circle with Dr. Mendoza at the head. My chair, the one between Val and Luke, was conspicuously empty.

"Nice of you to join us, Naomi," Dr. Mendoza said with that fake smile I had come to loathe. "I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason for your tardiness."

I sidled into my seat uncomfortably. "I was eating breakfast and I lost track of time." Val caught my eye and winked. At least she wasn't going to say anything about my new friend. I should have given her more credit.

For a moment it looked like Dr. Mendoza was going to ask me more questions, but then she returned to the group conversation. I let out a sigh of relief.

Until the topic turned to our therapy. "Let's share what we've been doing this week," Dr. Mendoza suggested, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands neatly. She was absolutely gorgeous. She should have been a model, not a doctor.

I fidgeted nervously, tying and untying the star laces of my sneakers, until it was my turn. She looked at me, fully expecting my lack of anything to share. "Well, I learned how to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch in culinary arts," I tried to lie.

"Chocolate chip cookies were two weeks ago," Gina spoke up in that whiny little know-it-all voice she had. "We made appetizers this week."

Dr. Mendoza took off her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose wearily. "Naomi, did you go to any therapy this week?"

My fidgeting became more pronounced. "Of course I've been to therapy. I've met with you every day this week, haven't I? And I'm here now."

She sighed again and for a moment I felt sorry for her. After all, she had to deal with my stubbornness on a daily basis. Instead of reprimanding me right then, however, she said, "I'd like you to stay after group therapy, Naomi."

There was a chorus of "ooh"s like we were still in kindergarden and I felt myself sink lower in my seat.

Though therapy usually seemed to take forever, boring me to the point of counting the ceiling tiles, it was over all too quickly today. And then the rest of the Crazies were filing out and I was left alone with Dr. Mendoza.

She settled herself in the chair beside me. "Naomi," she began. "You really need to attend therapy. It's for your own good."

"It doesn't do any good," I burst out, frustrated. "I've been here for six months! I'm not insane, Doc! I'm not."

"Nobody said you were insane," she replied diplomatically. "But the fact of the matter is that you suffer from a serious disorder."

"I had one little screw up," I groaned. "Once. I stopped taking my meds once and had one teensy little episode."

She fixed me with that doctor look. "A teensy little episode, Naomi? You tried to kill yourself."

"You make it sound like I'm a walking time bomb," I muttered. "Like you're all just waiting for me to go on a suicidal rampage."

Dr. Mendoza frowned. "We don't think that, Naomi. Everyone knows you're doing well. I just really need you to attend therapy."

"Fine." It was a lie. I wouldn't go and I'm sure she knew it.

She sat back with another little sigh. "Alright. You're free to go."

I couldn't have escaped any faster.

Val was waiting for me at the end of the hall, Mr. Bear clutched in her twig-like arms. I didn't think I wanted to talk to her just then, face her probing questions about my private little chat with Dr. Mendoza, so I turned on my heel and went the other way. I heard her startled cry but ignored it, picking up my pace and heading for the walkway leading to the main part of the hospital.

I avoided the ER for now. I was troubled enough on my own today. I bypassed the wide corridor leading there and headed instead for the center of the hospital. That's where the courtyard was. You had to go through the hospital to get to it, so we were allowed there for fresh air sometimes.

It was drizzling when I arrived, but that didn't matter. It was mid-August and scorching; the heat was so oppressive it felt like a fist hammering me into the cobblestones of the courtyard. I looked around at the doctors and visitors smoking their cigarettes or drinking their cups of coffee.

And then I saw him. Murphy. He was everywhere, it seemed. He was standing with his back to me, talking to a tall man in a dark-colored suit. Though I couldn't see Murphy's face, I had a clear view of the other man's. And I was a damn good lip reader.

I settled myself on a window ledge under the overhang of the building, out of the drizzle, and watched the man's face closely. I didn't catch every word, but enough that I got the gist of the conversation. They were talking about some sort of deal that had gone awry, and that Murphy and his brother should lay low for a while until things blew over. The conversation seemed very serious. I wondered again just how his brother had gotten shot so many times.

The man in the suit shook Murphy's hand briefly, seriously, and headed back inside the building. Murphy leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette, sighing heavily.

I sidled up without being noticed. "And just who was that?"

He jumped, then shrugged and took a long drag off the cigarette. "Just some detective. Apparently it's protocol when someone's shot."

I sat on the ledge next to him. "Yeah, but usually they just send a couple of lowly cops. Why'd your little incident merit a detective?"

"Couldn't say." He was good, I had to admit.

So I decided to change the subject. "Can I have one?" I gestured to the cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.

He chuckled. "Are you even old enough to smoke?"

"Of course I am." I pretended to be offended. "I'm twenty. I'll be twenty-one in October. I think that's old enough. And how old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

I let out a low whistle. "Geez, and you're not in a retirement home yet? Good for you."

He laughed again, even if it sounded weary. "Are patients even allowed to smoke? If you can't have coffee, I'm sure they don't let you have cigarettes."

"Of course I'm not allowed," I muttered. "They don't let us do anything here."

He took another drag, silent for a moment, then held the half-smoked cigarette out to me. "One puff. That's all you get. I can't be aiding and abetting here."

I didn't smoke. I don't even know why I asked. But now that he was offering, I had no choice but to take it. I brought it to my lips, inhaling the sweet smell of tobacco. I took a long drag, holding it in my mouth without actually inhaling. Then I passed the cigarette back, letting the smoke seep out of my mouth slowly.

"Thanks."

He brought the cigarette back to his lips and we were silent for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts. Then he was crushing the butt beneath the heel of his boot and running his fingers through his hair.

"I guess I better get back to my brother," he said, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.

"Has there been any change?" I questioned, falling into step beside him.

He shook his head, holding open the door for me. "Nah, he's still unconscious. The doctors say his vitals are going up, though, so that's good."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Once that happens, it won't be long before he wakes up." I was lying through my teeth now but whatever. It brought that ghost of a smile to Murphy's face. I couldn't believe I was so eager to see it.

"Good news, then. See you later, kid." He ducked into an elevator and was gone.

Okay, there you go! Please review!