Note: This is the last update probably for the weekend 'cause I have a shit tonne of College work to do. In other news, the UK can experiance a whole years worth of seasons in one day. Sun in the morning, rain in the afternoon and friggin snow in the evening. Freaky stuff. Anyway thanks for the awesome feedback on the last few chapters, you guys are the best!


(This is the best thing for you)

(Is it really)

(Yes Spencer, you know yourself that it is)

(I don't think so)

Spencer lay still, he barely registered the nurse walking into the room. There were so many nurses, talking to him, trying to get him to communicate but it wasn't working. Being where he was weighing on his mind. Psychotic depression flashed in his mind as he watched the nurse fluttering around the room like an obnoxious butterfly. One of the odd things Spencer noticed was that the badge on the nurse's shirt wasn't held on with a pin but a plastic clip.

"Pins too dangerous?" Spencer asked, he needed something to get his mind off things.

"Could be used as weapons, just a precaution," the nurse replied with a giggle. "Rather silly I know."

The nurse turned and held out a small paper cup with small pills inside. Spencer eyed them careful before closing his eyes and turning away from the nurse. He mumbled something along the lines of 'I don't want them'. The nurse sighed and placed the small cup down on the bedside table, Spencer glanced up.

"They are to make you better. To treat your illness," the nurse said impatiently.

"No, they are to sedate me. They don't make me better because I'm not sick," Spencer replied, he sounded like a child.

"Spencer when are you going to realise that you need help," the nurse said irritably.

Spencer sighed, the same words over again on constant repeat. He was ill. He needed medication to help him. He needed to accept he was ill. The medication was making him better. This, to Spencer, was all a lie. He was sick of darkness, he was sick of forgetting and he was sick of being told things that weren't true. However, he wasn't sick. Not in the body, not in the head. Why did they keep telling him that he was. Spencer sat up again and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Why do you insist on it?" Spencer asked.

"Without it the depression and the anxiety return. Don't you remember?" the nurse asked.

Spencer closed his eyes as an image of him shaking, crying and unable to fight the feeling of panic from deep within him suddenly came to the forefront of his mind. Feeling as though he wanted to tear his skin off to relieve some of the pressure, crack open his skull and escape the dark feeling. He also remembered screaming out in panic, people running, the sick feeling rising in his throat, being held down and the spread of medication sending into a spiralling pit of unwanted oblivion. Spencer buried his head in his knees.

"Do you want to end up like that again?" the nurse replied

"No," Spencer mumbled, holding back tears.

"Then take the medication," the nurse said holding it again.

Spencer took the small cup and swallowed the pills dry, just wanting to get it over with. The nurse patted Spencer carefully on the shoulder, of which he flinched and instinctively away from the touch but the nurse didn't even noticed the reaction.

"Good. Now how about something to eat. Hm?" she asked.

Food? How long had it been since he'd had a proper meal. Spencer mental note of his body, he'd always been skinny but now everything seemed like it was stretched over his bones like an odd layer of silicone. The bones of his elbows jutted out, and his upper arms had lost all of the little muscle that they used to have. It had obviously been a while, even so Spencer still didn't feel like eating. He lay back down and turn away from the nurse, he head the click of the door and a cool breeze enveloped him before Spencer fell asleep once again.

-0-

When Spencer opened his eyes again he noticed the awfully familiar shape of Dr Wolff sitting by his bedside, a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. Quickly closing his eyes again, Spencer hoped she didn't notice that he had woken up.

"It's very hard to fake being asleep, I thought you knew that," Dr Wolff stated. She already sounded exasperated.

Reluctantly Spencer opened his eyes and sure enough, the long skirt, starched shirt and tight jacket meant it was, in fact, Dr Wolff sitting by his bed ready to document anything he said. No doubt she'd write down that he pretended to be asleep so that he could avoid talking to her. That was Spencer's legitimate reason for pretending in the first place, he didn't like Dr Wolff and sure enough, she probably didn't like Spencer much either. He was considered a difficult patient, it was unfair to say so however.

"You already know how I am, why do you insist on coming back?" Spencer asked avoiding all eye contact.

"When you begin to engage in these sessions Spencer, until you open up. I have to come and talk to you," Dr Wolff replied.

Spencer sighed, he forgot about that. The ridiculous notion that Spencer had to open up to a person he didn't know well or particularly like was both unfair and a little weird. All forms of therapy was weird, one person talking to another person who they didn't know and expect to tell them everything that happened to them, how they feel and so on. It wasn't an inviting prospect to Spencer, never was and never would be.

"How are you feeling Spencer?" Dr Wolff asked.

"Standard question, why do you really care?" Spencer replied bitterly, already sick of Dr Wolff and her questions.

"I believe that it's normally considered a polite question to ask," Dr Wolff replied.

Spencer glowered through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. He didn't want to deal with Dr Wolff today but he was being forced to engage with her until he accept that he was sick. Sitting up, Spencer continued the grudging conversation with Dr Wolff.

"Why so angry Spencer?" D Wolff asked.

"You're not the one being held here against your will, now are you?" Spencer snapped.

He never meant to snap at Dr Wolff it just happened, he was tired, annoyed and just wanted to be left alone to piece together his thoughts. He didn't want to be bothered by somebody he didn't want to talk too. He didn't want to be drugged ever four hours. He wanted to be able to stay awake and not feel sick. Spencer just wanted to be away from where he was.

"Spencer, are you listening?" Dr Wolff asked.

"No," Spencer replied honestly.

"Why not?"

"I want to remember, I want to be left alone. I don't want to talk, I'm not sick and I hate it here. That's why I'm not listening," was Spencer's answer.

The snap of Dr Wolff's book was music to Spencer's ear. It meant she was no longer logging what he said, she stood up and looked down at Spencer.

"If you cooperate, you will remember but if you don't then you'll be here even longer, it's your choice," Dr Wolff said.

Spencer refused to answer any more of her questions and since the conversation became so strained that eventually Dr Wolff just left Spencer to what he wanted. To be alone.

(I hate it here)

(So you've said)

(Then let me leave)

(I can't do that Spencer. I'm sorry)