Goosebumps Chapter 19: Reflection Speaks, I Respond, a goosebumps fanfic

Chapter: 19: Reflection Speaks, I Respond

I walked with him as he showed me around, pointing at everything. I have to admit, he was a really good tour guide despite his...cute nature of his that my face would just keep turning pink or red every time I looked at him, having him giggle. Not in a mean way like Travis would do after I get beaten by Jeff, in a humorous way. However, and to be honest, I can't really tell if a boy likes me. The like where you...want to be in a relationship with that person. Just like Zach did with Hannah when she was written back to our world. And I should've paid a lot more attention in front of me then to keep looking at Jackson when I bumped into someone, landing harshly on the floor, hitting the side of my head.

I sat up, wincing when I felt pain on the spot that I landed. I would've been crying due to this, except I didn't have time when I heard a harsh voice right in front of me. "Watch where you're going, you idiot!" Slowly, I looked up to see a girl glaring down at me. "Hey! Are you deaf?" she exclaimed, clearing not sorry for what she did. "I said, watch where you are going, you prick!" I flinched when she said that word. It was the first time I heard someone call me that.

"I'm-I'm-I'm sorry," I tried to apologize. "I-I-I didn't see-see y-you-"

"Sorry?!" the girl fumed. "You bumped into me! I didn't do it! Now get lost or I'll-"

"Hey!" Jackson stepped in front of me, blocking my view from her, like he was protecting me or something. "You do not talk to her that way, Linda," he defended. "You need to watch where you're going. It's not her fault!" he refuted, changing his kind smile into a frown.

"Why are you blaming me, Jackson?" She pointed at herself. "I'm your girlfriend, remember?" Girlfriend? "And why are you with...ick...her?" She made a disgusted face as if I'm some kind of disease.

"You're my ex-girlfriend." He didn't move an inch. "Plus, you shouldn't talk to people that way, either," he added.

"Pft, whatever." With a final scoff, she walked away after she gave me a death glare, sending chills down my spine.

"Are you okay?" Jackson questioned in full concern, helping me up to my feet. "Let me see the side of your head," he requested.

Feeling upset for what just happened, I let him since he said it so...kindly. He used his fingers to lightly brush my hair behind my left ear. I winced when he touched my face. "You do got a bruise there..."

"I bruise up all the time," I explained, flinching when his fingers lightly touched it due to the pain from it, not from physical contact like most of the time. "Don't worry...all bruises and marks heal. I'll just keep it covered up with my hair." I placed my hair on it, covering it up like I mentioned. "Are you going to continue the tour?" I asked.

"Sure...sure. But are you dizzy or anything?" Clearly he was worried about me. "You should sit down," he advised, placing his hands on my shoulders. He tried to take me where the couches and chairs are at, so I took hold of his wrists, gently taking his hands off me.

"Jackson... I'm fine, alright? Besides, that was your ex-girlfriend?" I said.

"Yep," he bluntly returned with hatred. "In fact, it was her fault for giving me depression in the first place, too. But...I shouldn't blame her. She has a problem of her own." He began walking again with me by his side. "She has a lot of anger issues, and it seems like the treatment isn't helping." He smiled. "Don't worry about her, Hazel," he reassured me. "She's going through tough times like you are..."

I bit my tongue with my teeth, chewing it a bit. Now I understand why she blew her tone at me. It's like how I screamed at Stine and everybody else. Especially at Hannah... Oh, I hope she isn't afraid of me... Then I remembered the teddy bear she gave me. To me, she also gave that stuff to me to also assure me that I didn't hurt her feelings, and not just for it to be just a soft comfort that I have to cuddle every night now while I'm here.

Plus, I can't wait to go home... Do people get visits by other people? Well, since I'm far from the town of Madison, I'll not get any visits whatsoever. Don't get me wrong...I don't mind a tad bit. I don't want Stine to drive for two days to visit me and then have to drive all the way back home...

Starting to feel homesick, I glanced over at Jackson. "Is it okay to stop the tour?" I begged "I...don't feel good right now." I was honestly feeling sick to my stomach, beginning to feel nauseous to the point where I can actually feel the pancakes in my stomach starting to churn.

Noticing my current state, he took it the other way. "Do you want me to get the nurse for you so you can lie down?" There was care in his voice.

"No, no. I'll...just head back to our room and rest," I declined, not wanting to make a scene that would embarrass me for the rest of my life due to my...disorders. Not only that, I began to feel...a little dizzy. Not badly. Just...a little that I can still walk. "I only have half an hour before my first therapy session so...yeah..."

I can feel him stand there, then heard him come up to me. "I'll tell Rosy that you aren't feeling well," he offered with great concern. "She can reschedule it for you. She does this all the time when other patients are not at their...best state."

I thought about it and returned with a nod, giving him permission to do so. "Alright..." I responded, my sickness getting slightly worse. "Go ahead..." I waved my hand like I'm shooing him away. "...go on and tell her if that's what you want..." My stomach continued to churn, but I manage to keep walking, not wanting to look like a complete weakling.

Rest is what I need now...

Once I got to the room, I laid on my bed despite with nothing on it after I grabbed the stuff bear off of Jackson's bed.

Sadness overwhelmed me to the point to where I was sniffling and softly crying... Adding to that, I can feel something was up at the Stine household. I hope it's just my imagination... except, I don't think it is. Now I'm thinking that now only that I'm homesick, but I'm also sick from...something else.

Clutching the stuffed animal close to me, I breathed in from my nose and out from my mouth when I hand twitched with nervousness... which didn't happen in a little while ever since...Slappy got trapped in his book. But why?

That's when I remembered. I totally forgotten that thinking about him makes me...ill.

"Just don't think about that wooden demon," I told myself out loud, resting my eyes shut. "Stine would never let him out of that new manuscript." I put my face on the stuff bear's fake fur, feeling my sickness going down a notch.

Eh, I'm just overreacting. I trust Stine. He's like...another...dad to me. Much nicer than Jeff. Hell, if me and him were arguing, he'll never beat the crap out of me for sure like Jeff would do when I was very little.

With a sigh, I kept my eyes close with the tears making me feel even more...tired, waiting for my first therapy session.

I woke up to feel someone shaking me lightly. I opened my eyes to see Rosy taking her hand off of me. "Do you want to start therapy now?" she smiled. "It's been three hours ever since I reschedule it," she told me. "Or do you want to wait until tomorrow?"

"I'll do therapy," I decided, sitting up from my bed, brushing my hair behind my ear when I heard a tiny gasp. "What?" I looked up at her to see her staring at my bruise. "Oh, um..." I put my hair back on it. "Some girl...ran into me," I explained. "And...I hit my head pretty hard on the floor..."

"Oh my." The shock looked didn't leave her face. "Do you feel dizzy?" Oh great, it's the same question that Jackson gave me. "Maybe you should wait until tomorrow," she suggested.

That's when my paranoia kicked in, mixing in with anger, as I lifted myself off the bed. "Why?" I proclaimed. "Are you keeping me from getting any help!? Is that what you are doing?! Huh?!" I stormed up in front of her, starting to get extremely aggressive, not acting like myself at all. "You don't want me to get help," I accused, pointing my finger in her face. "You people besides the ones I trust are complete liars!" My face began to turn an angry red.

"Hazel...no. No, I just thought it would be a good idea to wait until tomorrow. Since you said that you hit your head hard on the floor, it's probably best for you to just re-" She was cut off when I went over to the dresser and kicked it. "Hazel!" I ignored her, kicking the dresser again. "Hazel, stop it!" she cried, grabbing ahold of me. "You're going to end up hurting yourself!"

Through my aggressive behavior, I forced her to let go of me, grabbing the lamp, and throwing it down at the floor.

That's when it all stop. It was like someone paused a movie or something out of the blue. I froze, my anger slipping away from me, my mood doing a whiplash of depression and sorrow. I sat down next to the broken lamp, not being able to control the tears that are now dripping onto the floor, creating two puddles in front of me, one of them looking like...a heart. A broken heart.

I began to feel...remorse inside my own...heart.

The tears kept on splashing onto the floor when she knelt next to me, placing her hand on my shoulder that I flinched from being touched that I ended up scooting away from her like a shy child.

I got on my bed, grabbing the stuff bear in my hands, putting my face on it. I don't want her to see me cry... even though she knew I didn't mean to...act like that around her.

If I don't get my head back together...I'll never go home. Home to Stine and Hannah and everybody else... My life is...horrible. I'm starting to not trust this place anymore. I'm going to be here...forever.

I heard Rosy pick up the jagged pieces. Luckily, the lamp only broke into large ones, so there isn't any small ones on the floor.

After she cleaned up the mess, I can feel her eyes on me. "I'm going to leave you alone, okay?" she spoke, breaking the silence that filled the room. I couldn't answer because I was sniffling too much, and speaking would be a challenge. "I'm going to get your bed stuff out of the dryer, so when I come back, you just need to get off your bed for a few seconds so I can put everything on it. Or..." Even though I wasn't looking at her, I know she was giving me that pleasant smile of hers. "...you can share Jackson's bed." At least she didn't mind what she saw hours ago with me laying next to Jackson that very morning. "It seems like he cares for you...a lot." Once she let out her final words, she walked out of the room.

Laying there on the bed, that remorse feeling wouldn't go away at all. Why can't I be...normal? I hate feeling this way, I hate having these stupid mood swings, and I hate...hearing voices and seeing things that are not there...

You should run away…

I sat up quickly with a startled look. "Who...?" I looked around the room. "Who said that?" I questioned out loud in a soft voice.

I did, it spoke. I talked to you before when you had to help those fools stop Slappy and his monsters. I almost let out a yelp when I finally recognized it. It was the same voice that has always been in my head. If you're wondering why I didn't speak to you is because I...was taking a break, the voice spoke. But I miss talking to you, darling, and I have one request for you.

What? What request do you have for me?

The voice laughed. Run away from here and never come back, the voice demanded.

What?! No way in hell! I can't just...leave this place. I need help and lots of treatment before I can even go home.

Ooo, such great bravery from you, Hazel. The voice seems like it's mocking me for the greater. Just like those fools that are your damn friends! I can't BELIEVE that you are now living with that writer BAR. L Stine who is complete psychopath.

It's R.L Stine and he's not a psychopath!

Don't correct me, missy! The voice seemed to scold me like a parent. Now why don't you get out of this stupid mental hospital? Clearly this place isn't going to help you at all. Lots of people committed suicide, unable to go back home. You're weak and never recover from your illnesses is because guess what? The voice paused, doing it on purpose. There is no cure… No cure, Hazel! Yes, there is medication and treatment for this, but these problems would last...forever!

Shut up! I covered my ears. I'm not going to listen to you, you damn freak!

Freak?! The voice seems to get angry. You're calling me a freak!? I'm NOT a freak!

Yes, you are. Now I'm arguing with the voice that surrounded inside my head. I refuse to listen to you! I'm not going to trust a stupid voice that tells me bad things on what to do.

Too bad, Hazel! This place is for crazy people just like YOU! Now run away from here, or else those thoughts of suicide will get worse!

No, I'm not going anywhere until I get better. I'm not crazy! This place isn't for crazy people, it's a place where people like me can get... I sighed with defeat, knowing that I won't win this battle. Help, I completed my final thought, my head lowering, feeling tears running down my face.

That's what I thought... So are you going to do it?

I'll think about it... Just then Rosy came back. I quickly dried my eyes and got out of bed. I watched as she got the sheet and everything ready. "I'll...I'll do that for myself," I spoke up, not wanting her to do things for me.

"No, I'll do it," she insisted. "Besides, it's my job to do so." While she set the bed up, she turned to me. "Just to let you know, I'm not angry with you. I see this all the time," she told me.

My eyes drooped with sadness. "...really?" I replied, not believing a word she is saying. "I thought you'll get...mad at me for my...behavior that I...just did," I sentenced out in full of guilt. "And...I've been hearing this...voice in my head," I finished, adding that to the sentence as well.

Rosy arched a brow. "You...were hearing voices?" she repeated my words.

"Voice," I corrected. "Just one. But sometimes I'll hear more than...just one voice." I ran my fingers through my hair. "Can I just do my therapy session?" I requested. "The one back in Madison said that you guys might have stronger medication because how bad my bipolar and schizophrenia really is." I looked at her with my hazel eyes. "If you guys have any, that is," I mumbled, thinking that they don't have it at all.

"Hm..." She bit her lip, thinking about what I said. "Sure." She gave me a small smile. "You can do it after lunch." Her left eye did a quick wink. "Plus, someone is waiting for you," she beamed with lots of happiness.

"Jackson?" I guessed, not surprised at all, but can't help it as my face got warm. "He's waiting for me at the cafe, right?" I said.

She nodded. "Yep," she informed me, "he's waiting for you and as already got food for you to eat, too." Her smile didn't leave her face. "I can tell that you like him from that red face of yours," she pointed out.

When she said that, my face turned even a brighter red. "Uh, um, I," I stammered. "I...uh..." But I just gave up, walking to the door. "I'm heading to the cafe," I announced, walking out of the room until I was stopped by Linda. "Oh great," I muttered.

She brushed her toe against the carpet, slumping her shoulders down. It seemed like minutes ticked by when she looked at me. "Listen," she managed to say. "I'm...sorry for getting in your way and bumping into you," she apologized, flicking her hair onto her right shoulder. "If you want to, you can sit with me during lunch," she offered with a kind smile.

"Sorry." I shook my head and declined. "Jackson is waiting for me at the café... what?" I saw her eyes narrowing, making them look angry.

"You sitting with that damn boy who broke up with me?!" she raged, letting out a swear word that burst out of her mouth. "You know what? I take my apology back," she declared, her eyes burning into mine. "I'm supposed to be his girlfriend, but he decided to breakup with me for no reason!" she yelled.

I just stood there, crossing my arms. "The reason he broke up with you is because you-" I pointed a finger at her. "-were the one who gave him depression," I responded, not wanting to be afraid of her, even though my insides shook like crazy. "It's pretty much clear that your treatment isn't helping you," I stated.

She glared at me that sent chills down my spine.

Then with a heavy breath, she calmed down. "...You're right, Hazel. The treatment isn't helping me at all. At first it would but..." She looked away from me with a gloomy mood and... I can just...feel it. It's almost as if I can feel it, making me feel all sad. "...it never works for me, and I've been here since last year of my life... Also, if Jackson becomes your new boyfriend... I don't care..." I think you're lying, Linda. "I'll...see you later?"

Thinking that she's still lying, I nodded. "Yeah, maybe." With that, I walked past her, heading to the cafe so I can eat...with Jackson.

When I arrived at the café , not a lot of people were there. Just a few hanging around and talking, so it was easy for me to spot him at the same table because he waved me over to him with that same cute smile of his. I didn't hesitate, I just went up to him, and saw that he had already pulled out my chair ahead of time. I sat down and saw what was on the plate in front of me. Two slices of pizza with pepperoni.

I picked up my first slice, peeling the pepperoni off. I'm not a...spicy type of person.

Jackson seemed to notice. "Oh... I didn't know that you don't like spicy food," he frowned, thinking what he did wasn't a mistake.

I shook my head. "It's fine. You didn't know." I took the last pepperoni off, setting it on a napkin, taking a bite of my first pizza slice. "Linda came up to me," I reported.

He stopped chewing his slice mid-way. "What did she do?" Jackson asked.

"Well..." I swallowed. "She walked up to me, apologize for running into me, then requested that I should sit with her, then I declined, she got mad when I told her that I'm going to be with you at the cafe, then I have to tell her what you told me on how you got your depression, she agreed with me, telling me she's been here last year, and said that she wouldn't mind if I was your new girlfriend-" I stopped my listing when that word popped out of my mouth, feeling my face getting warm by each second, seeing his silver eyes staring at me. "Forget that last part I said." I continued eating, forcing my eyes away from him.

When I finished, I got up from the table. "I'm going to my first therapy session." I was about to walk away, when Jackson placed his hand on my shoulder. "I'll ask who my therapist is and ask for directions."

"Okay." He slipped his hand off of me. "So you're going to do it now?"

"Uh huh," I returned. "Rosy suggested that I should wait until tomorrow, but I wanted to do this as soon as I can." Turning around, I walked out of the cafe, going up to the first counter that I spotted. "Excuse me?" The lady lifted her head up, revealing the red-rimmed glasses that is on her face with a gold chain attached to each end. "Who's my therapy doctor here and what room is it at?" I asked, drumming my fingers on the countertop.

She didn't answer right away because she looked through the computer, clicking her tongue. To me, it seemed like hours went by. "I need your name and why you are here," she informed.

"I thought you already know why I'm here," I frowned.

"We do know," she responded. "We only ask that in case we wrote our patients health issues all wrong, along with their names. Just tell me your name and why you are here."

I told her my name, feeling annoyed inside of me and told her the reason why I'm here. She nodded at my words.

"Your therapy doctor is Dr. Snyder, he's in room one-twenty seven. You just go straight, make two right turns, and the door will be on the left side," the lady directed.

Simple enough, and following what she said wasn't too hard to catch. I gave her a nod and left the counter, mapping out the directions in my head, hoping my therapist here can help just like the one back at home.

Slappy

"This all your fault, you dummy!" the Lord High Executioner declared, glazing down at me, gripping his axe tightly in his hand. "You let Stine suck us all in. Not only that, but Hannah managed to get free!"

"My fault?!" I cried. "It's not MY fault that we're trapped in this damn book!" I argued. "And it's NOT my FAULT that Hannah escaped from me before we can even kill her!"

"We?" Professor Shock questioned in a disgusted tone. "What do you mean we? You made us all do the dirty work, dummy!"

"Stop calling me that!" I covered my wooden ears. "I couldn't do it alone. I need you guys to get rid of papa-"

"Why do you keep calling him papa?" the Haunted Mask sneered, walking up to me, putting her hands on her hips. She didn't give me a chance to answer. "Why do YOU get to call him papa?"

"Hey, the Sadler ghosts calls him dad and so did the Boy!" I tried to defend myself, backing two inches away from her. "Even Hannah gets to call him dad, too. So...I'm not the only one." Of course, they kept glaring at me, their eyes turning...red.

"He betrayed you, and you did the same thing to US," Madam Doom accused. "Just like Shock said, you made ALL of us do the dirty work!"

"Yeah, now we're trapped in a book," Louisa added. She then smiled. Only it wasn't that friendly smile she gave me when I released her and her siblings out. "But hey, at least it ALMOST looks SIMILAR to the OTHER world."

"...I don't know how to respond to that..." I mumbled.

"Of course you wouldn't, you stupid dummy," one of the Creeps hissed, his tongue flicking out of his mouth.

"STOP CALLING ME THAT D WORD!" I screamed out desperately, not wanting to hear it anymore.

"What D word? Dummy?" Cronby taunted.

I snarled at him and went to open my mouth when Murder the Clown let out an insane laugh.

"Why do you get SO offended when someone calls you that word?" he giggled. "You ARE a dummy!" he proclaimed with another insane laugh. "You even betrayed us!"

Dr. Maniac and Purple Rage blared their eyes at me. Dr. Maniac pointed a finger in an angry manner. "You were supposed to make that hazel eyed girl sick, but you didn't!"

"And that makes ME very, very, very..." Purple Rage's face turned an angry purple, henced on why he got his name. "...ANGRY!" he exploded.

"It's not my fault that I failed! At least I end up BITING her and left words on her, before papa kept her safe from me! Why are you friends blaming me on our failed attempt to get rid of him? It's not MY fault!"

"Yes, it IS your fault!" Muglani tormented. "And you made us ALL look like complete fools!"

"You betrayed us," Madam Doom repeated her harsh words at me.

"I..." I took a deep breath, filling up my non-existing lungs up with air. "DIDN'T BETRAY YOU!" The words burst out of my mouth, scratching the inside of my throat, just like normal humans would have when they get the flu or a horrible cold. "Really, I didn't," I insisted.

"He's lying!" the Snake Lady exclaimed.

"Let's tear him apart!" Nila Rahmad clenched her fist.

"And rip him from limb to limb!" The Lord High Executioner lifted his axe, and swung it at me.

"Ah!" I teleport to avoid the blow from his weapon. I started running, my formal shoes kicking debris behind me, wanting to get away from my... the words didn't come to my mind. I jumped from each chapter to the next chapter. I know I told papa that being inside a manuscript, you can't even move, but the truth is...you can unless you go from one chapter to the next. So I...kinda lied to that part as I watched Blobby consume him. However... I was right about with the word of being trapped.

"I got get out of here!" I gasped, not stopping to take a break, hearing the others go after me. "Go find a place and hide until this all over," I instructed myself. I ran faster, and I felt like I was flying. This is all papa's fault! Since I didn't get a chance to kill him, I tried doing the same with Hannah who had replaced me because she's so nice and friendly, who doesn't scare away papa's bullies away nor play any pranks.

I stopped when I got to the old amusement park that is similar to the real world outside of the manuscript.

Turning my head all the way around, I spotted a candy shack not too far from me. Quickly as I could, I matched my body with my head, scurrying over to the old, wooden shack before teleporting into it.

Breathing deeply from all that running, I opened the riggedy door just a bit. I almost gasped when I saw the werewolf that I use to track Hannah down with her scent...

Scent! Oh, no! The werewolf can smell my scent! I gotta hide somewhere else before he-

The shack door got ripped off the weak hinges by the snarling werewolf, baring its sharp teeth at me, drool dripping down is chin, puddling the floor from between me and him.

The werewolf got on all fours, prowling towards me as if I'm his prey...

I looked around, seeing if I can use something against this monster dog. Except there wasn't anything.

"Back!" I commanded. "Bad boy, back!" The werewolf growled. "I said back!" I continued to command, feeling the panic rise in my chest. Why isn't he listening to my orders?! Hell, I was the one who got the silver chain off his neck from papa's favorite! "Get back!" I yelled.

Snarling, the werewolf let out a deep bark and, before I even knew it, his furry hand grabbed my left leg, almost pulling it out of my wooden body as I was thrown back outside.

"Ow!" I couldn't help but to let out a cry of pain when I landed on my back, hitting my wooden head on the ground.

"There he is!" Sitting up, I saw them running at me like an angry mob, led by the Lord High Executioner. "Get him!" he declared in his deep voice. I heard growls, snarls, laughter, and all other sounds coming from...them.

"Exterminate! Exterminate!" the Annihilator 3000s spoke in robotic voices.

"Get the dummy, get the dummy," the lawn gnomes chanted, raising their tiny weapons.

Fifi, who is the vampire poodle, barked, then let out a roar as her fangs grew longer, her eyes the color of...blood.

I scrambled to stand up and went to run again when the plant vines slithered in front of my like snakes, the Venus fly traps snapping so close at me that their 'teeth' almost bit my face.

Then the plant vines, along with Dr. Brewer's vines, wrapped around my midsection after I was forced the face forward.

"No! Stay back!" I warned, struggling to get free, only to feel the vines tightened around me like a python would do before it consumes its victim... Like me. "Stay back!" I raised my voice and warned them again.

They kept coming closer... and closer... ready to give me my 'punishment'.

I couldn't help let out a scream as darkness swept in front of my eyes.

"Get away from me!" I flung the pillow across the study room, gasping for breath, trying to regain my composure that I always have, but... fear got the best of me. No. I shouldn't be afraid. I'm a monster. An evil monster who doesn't care for anybody but for himself, which is me, of course.

Once I calmed down, I slid out of the sleeping bag, wondering if my creator is awake.

I jumped to reach the doorknob, only to fail at it. So, being the smart one that I am, I teleported out that room right to my creator's bedroom with the door wide open. I walked in there, my shoes clomping on the floor, only to be muffled by a carpet beneath me.

I walked over to his bed, placing my wooden hands on the mattress, and stood on my tips of my shoes to discover that the bed is empty, actually.

My wooden brow raise up on my forehead. He left me and wants to keep ignoring me! He just wants to spend time with his favorite that I should've killed when I was in that new manuscript with my so-called 'friends'.

Growling in my throat, I stomped out of the room, passing by the other ones, when I suddenly felt strange that I had to stop right away when the house began to tilt and sway, like I'm on a boat out in the middle of the ocean.

Is this how Hazel feels when she sees me...? No, Slappy, do not feel any remorse, I told myself. Fine or bad, you can keep on moving. Come on, you're a monster, not a hero, I berated in my thought, getting my non-existing gut to keep on walking, fighting against the strange feeling, the walls on each side of me dancing around like drunken dancers.

It only lasted a few seconds. The weird sensation wore off and the house stopped moving oddly. But I still don't feel like myself. Is it caused by the scratches on my face? Or am I being crazy? Creations like me shouldn't have this...odd feeling. Only humans get this, not me.

Getting to the staircase, I used the wall for support, making my way carefully down the hall, afraid to get that feeling again... Ugh! Quit thinking that! I scolded myself in my thoughts, not wanting to say it out loud in case he's downstairs somewhere and not want to wake up his stupid daughter since Hazel is at a damn mental hospital. I mean, what kind of place is that?

Once I got down to the last step, I touched the floor, walking towards the kitchen to see if my creator is there. I don't think he wants me to call him papa ever again... The thought of it...made me want to cry...

But I narrowed my eyes, not wanting to show any weakness as I called out to my creator. "Stine." I used his actual name. "Stine," I called out again, kinda hoping he's in that room, my raspy voice coming out into a whisper. "Stine." When I got into the kitchen, he was nowhere to be found. Except for a piece of paper taped to the counter. "What's this?" I questioned, taking the paper after I jumped for it to see what it was. It was a note, I realized. Of course, I read it.

I'm at work at the high school... High school? He's over at the high school where my 'friends' wreaked havoc in that building and got a job? I rolled my eyes and continued reading the note. And I just wanted to let you know. Even Hannah is in high school and she's a student there now, too. I didn't tell her that I let you out... Wow, good choice. Pretty soon when you two get home, she'll end up discovering that herself. I kept on reading the note. Nor tell anyone else, either. Plus, when I get back, I'll make sure that Hannah goes over to Zach's house... I rolled my again when he mentioned that kid who foiled my revenge, and finished reading the note since it wasn't a long one. So we try to patch things up and try to heal the scars from our last relationship. Not only that, I want to check if you're going to apologize to Hazel, considering how stubborn you are... No offense.

From, Stine.

"Stubborn?!" I tore the note into shreds. "I am not stubborn Stine! And there is no 'we' in this relationship! I wanted to pull the strings!" I exclaimed, lucky enough that I'm the only one in the house.

I then teleported back to study room, going back into the sleeping bag, crawling into it to the point where I'm actually hiding. The truth is, I don't believe we're going to fix the scars in our 'relationship'. I don't want to feel remorse for what I did to Hazel, my creator, and everything else that I did from the past and the present.

You can say that I don't...want to feel that way because all monsters like myself are evil.

I couldn't help as green tears slid out of my eyes, not being able to control them. And it didn't help when I felt strange all over again, too. Inside the sleeping bag, I can feel the floor moving around that I had to clutch onto the fabric, even though I'm lying down on the floor, hoping the feeling will wear off soon like it did before...

Hazel

By the time I got to Dr. Snyder's office, I knocked on the door.

"Come on in, Hazel," his voice invited, surprising me greatly, like he knew that I was coming over for my appointment. So I opened the door and saw him sitting on one of the leather chairs that is across from the other one that he pointed at. "Have a seat," he said in a relaxed voice. I obeyed and sat down on the other chair. "Heard that you are having mood swings like bipolar and are experiencing hallucinations like schizophrenia, and have a fear of being touched, correct?" he recorded.

"Correct, um..." I tried to think of what to say, except a question just came to me first. "How did you..?"

"All of us therapy doctors have been told yesterday," Dr. Snyder informed me. "Now...to start off...how do you feel now?" he asked, holding a clipboard in his hand, the pen in the other that is attached with a silver, link chain.

"Sad," I sighed, squirming in my seat. "Then I'll get mood swings like you mentioned. I keep hearing this voice in my head...telling me I should leave..."

"Do you want to leave?" he questioned further, interrupting me.

I was annoyed at that, but the mood quickly changed before I even knew it. "...no. I have to stay here until I get better again. My therapist back in Madison said that you guys might have a stronger medications for me to take because the last ones won't work. Then I got one that started to work... I almost smiled...until it stopped," I explained, dipping my head forward. "I...also end up cutting myself with a knife..."

"Why on earth would you do that?" I picked my head up to see a shock look on his face. "Were you trying to kill yourself?" he kept on questioning.

"No! I wasn't trying to kill myself," I protested greatly. I avoided his eyes, turning my head away from him so he wouldn't see the remorse on my face. "I've...been thinking about death a lot. Just like I told my therapist back home," I admitted, the remorse feeling growing at the pit of my stomach.

"Are you also here for suicidal watch, as well?" To answer his question, I nodded. "Do you see things that are not there?" I thought about it and shrugged my shoulders, not speaking as he continued talking. He asked question after question with me answering each one. "Well, I can put you on a combo on both treatments," he told me. "Also," he added, "there are other therapy sessions that I encourage you to try out. Start off with group therapy. Some have the same problems that you have."

Thinking about it, I agreed. "Sure, I'll go to that one next."

He smiled and nodded. He then got up and brought me two bottles of pills for each of my illnesses. "Take these tomorrow," he instructed.

Nodding my head, I took them. I wish I had pockets. But since I lacked any of them, I guess I have to carry them. I'll put them in the room and then I'll head to group therapy.

I got up from the chair and right before I left, I turned to him. "Thank you," I thanked, almost mumbling.

"You're welcome," he replied, getting things ready. Possibly for his next patient.

With a sigh, I made my way to the room that I sleep in, praying that this combo and the treatment would work.

Of course, I ended up bumping into someone. I felt both angry and humiliated for not watching where I was going since I had my head down while I was walking. I heard a chuckle not too far next to me. I gave that other person a stinging glare and he stopped, proceeding his way to somewhere. I then looked up to see who I walked into it. And my face turned hot red when I saw who it was.

"We really need to stop bumping into each other like this," Jackson joked, doing his best to light up the mood. It didn't help. "Are you okay?"

I gritted my teeth together, the redness getting warmer on my cheeks. "I'm fine," I clenched out, ignoring his offering hand, getting up off the floor on my own after I picked up my medications. "I was taking this to my- I mean our room. Dr. Snyder told me that I have to take these tomorrow, and then I'm going to group therapy."

"Group therapy?" I saw a surprise look in his eyes. "That's where' I'm going," he exclaimed, pointing at himself.

"That's...great?" I responded, raising my brows. He then chuckled. "What?" I asked disoriented, clearly not in a mood for laughter. Even though I never laughed. I don't remember when I stopped laughing... Probably after I lived and left my god family.

"Nothing. It's just...your face is all red again."

"So? It's because I bumped into you."

He gave me a smirk. But instead of that nasty type that Travis would send me, Jackson gave me a friendly one. "I don't know..." He winked his eye. "I'll see you in group therapy," he waved, walking past me, giving me that smile of his.

I watched him leave and continued on my way to our room. And by the time I got there, I set my medications on my dresser, still hoping that they would work.

I stood there for awhile, taking a quick glance at the window, turned, and walked out of the room, making my way to group therapy.

It wasn't hard to find the room that holds group therapy. Also, another reason why I knew it was the one is because Jackson saw me and smiled, pointing at a chair next to him that is across from Linda who had her arms crossed.

Sighing and trying not to show my blushing face, I sat next to him. Linda didn't seem to like that and spoke.

"I wish you'll end up sitting somewhere else," she said in a snobby tone.

"Um, excuse me, but you wanted to see me sometime later, right?" I said back. "Or did you end up lying to me when you said that?" I asked her, my mood swings going all over the place to the point where I don't know what I'm feeling now. I can't wait to start on my medication combo... "You know, I had so many frauds back when I was really little," I told her. "And that's what you are." I pointed at her.

She seemed to glare back at me, not responding back to my words. Instead, she just simultaneously scoffed, adding an eye roll to it. "Fine. Sit wherever you want."

I flinched and decided it was best to ignore her so her attitude can change or else she'll end up screaming in my face.

"Don't worry about her, Hazel," Jackson assured me. "She just found out that she won't get to go home until next year," he explained.

"But that's no excuse for her to act like that. Not only that, she just lied to me when she wants to see me sometime later," I answered, my eyes pointing down at the floor so my face doesn't turn that blushing red.

"She's not lying, she's just angry," he informed me. "If you want to, I can finish that tour around this place after we're done here."

I thought about it and nodded my head. "...sure." Then I just sat there, listening to why our group is here at this place. A couple of them are like me, others are here because they've been abused back at home and have nowhere else to turn, so they decided it was a good idea to come here so they can heal their emotional scars that are inside of them. As for the rest, they only have a few to no friends at all to mental illnesses that they need help to cope with. I even found out that some have phobias that they need to conquer before they can be released. After they told their problems, I told my problems. But the more I talk about it, the more I feel remorse inside of me. I know I shouldn't feel this way, only... I can't help it. The tears tried to force out my eyes and I refuse to cry in front of these people. No need to start acting like a baby now...

When we were done, we left the room. Jackson stopped, giving me that kind smile. "Still thinking about having this tour finish?" There was humor in that voice, like he was trying to break the dullness out of me.

I looked towards him and nodded. "Alright, let's finish it, or else I'll end up being lost in this building..." I let out a sigh. "And I really like you," I muttered, my face getting warm by the hundredth time.

"What?" he questioned, stopping in his tracks, turning to me. "I'm sorry. It's just..." I waited for him to finish his sentence. "Did you say that you...like me?" he responded, his face filling up with total shock and surprised. "That's great!" he declared, throwing his arms around me into a tight hug. "I've been waiting for you to say that ever since I...bumped into you." He released me. "I've been wanting to tell you that I like you, too. But..." His silver eyes gleamed into mine. "...I never had the courage to tell you." His face brightened up. "Hey! Why don't I ask the person at the front desk if we-"

I turned around and began walking off to our room, changing my mind on finishing this tour. I was then stopped when he carefully spun me around.

"What's wrong? Don't you want me to take you out on a date?"

I stood silent for a moment. "Jackson, forget what I just said..."

Confused, he replied. "Forget what?"

"Forget what I said," I told him, feeling very sad.

"You just said that you like me... and I just wanted to see if I can take you out on a-"

"Forget about it," I cut him off.

"Come on," he encouraged, placing his hand on my shoulder as if he doesn't want me to leave. "A date with me would make you feel better."

I took his hand off of me. "Listen," I began clearly. "Forget what those words that I just said to you. I wasn't thinking straight. I don't think a... date would make me feel better. I have enough people in my life now." I placed my hand on his chest, my hazel eyes locked into his own. "I'm sorry, Jackson, but... I'm not ready to have a...relationship yet. I end up quitting school back when I was five. None of the boys called me pretty..."

"That's because they don't know what a relationship is!" he proclaimed. "Please, Hazel," he begged, taking both my hands into his own, gently squeezing them. "Just let me take you out to eat." His face filled up with anger. "Or do you want my depression to get even more worse?"

My eyes widen with shock. This is the first time he got mad at me. "You're on medication!" I raised my voice. "I'm not making your depression worse!"

"Then why did you say 'I really like you'?" He too, raised his voice at me, throwing my hands away from him.

"I wasn't thinking straight!" I was getting agitated by each second. I can feel people stare at us. "It just came out of nowhere! I never meant to say that! I don't want to be your girlfriend just yet!" I threw my hands in the air. "You know what? I wish I never saw you! I wish I never ran into you!"

"Are you saying that you don't want me to be your friend!?" he argued. "Well, that's fine by me, considering that you hate me like my ex!"

"No! I don't hate you. I-" I stopped. "Ugh!" Jackson backed away from me as I let out a scream and pulled my hair, ripping out a few strands out of my scalp. I cast a glare, but that glare turned into sorrow.

Then without anything else to say, I made my way to the bathroom that is not too far from us.

"You only have until five." I stopped at the bathroom door to see a large man. "You got five minutes," he repeated, gesturing his hand at the bathroom. "If you don't come out of that bathroom, I'll have the nurse come and check on you," he told me.

"...I won't be long..." I pushed the door open.

Inside the bathroom, I sat down at the corner, letting the tears out. Now Jackson hates me... No, he despised me. He's not going to feel any remorse just like those kids back at school. Even my god family never had that feeling when I'm around them.

When all the tears seemed to be out of my eyes, I stood up, making my way over to the sink. I turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto my face.

Nice going.

"Huh?" I stopped what I was doing. At first I thought it was the voice inside my head.

I said, nice going. Looking up slowly, I almost screamed when my reflection grinned at me. I backed away, to see if it would copy my move like all reflections do. However, it stayed where it was at. What? the reflection said. Never talked into your OWN reflection? it asked, referring to what I was now seeing. Seems like that boy hates you now.

My eyes narrowed as I began throwing my thoughts at my own self that is in the mirror. I don't think so...

You don't think so? Oh please, Hazel. Think about it. He's only being nice to you because he feels bad for you. My reflection blinked at me when I didn't do it at all. Everybody feels bad for you, girl. Even that writer who brought you here into this insane asylum...

It's a mental hospital, I corrected in my mind, sending it to that reflection.

Don't correct me, the reflection snapped aggressively. You're alone here, she accused, pointing at me.

I made angry eyes, facing away from the mirror. No, I'm not... I got friends back at home... And they're not using me...

The reflection scoffed. Using you? You never had friends in your life. The people that you are with now feel bad for you since you told that lie to that ugly girl.

Don't call Hannah ugly, I defended, still talking to it in my mind. She's a very nice girl and I see her as a sister. She cares for me along with everyone else.

She doesn't care for you. But you didn't listen to that dummy nor that Boy. You'll NEVER get out of here. That medication won't work and you'll be stuck here forever. She paused and began thinking. You shouldn't be ALIVE at all. I walked away from my own self, who continued throwing harsh words at me. You'll be stuck in this hell for the rest of your life. You'll never get out of here. People like you never get to leave. And if they do, they end up coming BACK! You're a total mess up, Hazel. You're nothing! Your story of getting beaten by your god parents is a total lie!

What makes you think I was lying? Why would you think I make something up like that? It's all true! I was bruised everyday ever since I lived with my god parents before I ran away.

Oh really? Then what happened to them?

Happen to what?

I felt her eyes burning behind my back. Bruises. Duh. What happened to them?

Gee... I don't know, I returned sarcastically. Maybe they end up getting healed! I shouted in my head, tossing it at the reflection. And so would my cuts on my arms, I added in as well, not facing the mirror.

Aw, you cut yourself? the reflection mocked in fake concern. Have you been thinking about death? Or are you afraid that so-called 'dream' of Travis will end up coming true.

I slowly faced the mirror with an aggressive look, going back over to it. Don't you ever bring him up...

Why not? The grin grew wider. Suddenly, the reflection reached out, grabbing me by the back of my shirt, lifting me up onto my tip toes. I struggled to breathe as the front part of my shirt was lifted towards my throat. Don't you miss him? Don't you miss Travis? Through my struggling, I saw my reflection's grin grew wider and wider to the point where the skin on the cheeks began to rip and tear, showing more teeth than the average human would have, turning into sharp ones, showing three rows like a great shark would have in its mouth. I bet he misses you, Hazel. Someday you'll end up meeting him.

I...don't...want...to... meet him, I choked out a breath, forcing the image to release me. Just leave me alone, I begged.

I'm not going to leave you alone. I'll be with you and talking to you every time you look into a mirror. People like you are complete idiots! You're going to end up here for the rest-

"Shut up!" I cried out loud, slamming my hands on the counter, leaning towards the glass. "You're not real! You're just an image of my own self!" I pointed. "I'm going to take those medications and beat you!"

Medications? You're on more than one?

"Yes," I seethed through my gritted teeth. "It's a combo. I can't take it until tomorrow. I'm hoping that they'll work."

The reflection stretched her smile so wide that the corners of her mouth touched her ears. You think you can stop me like you did with those monsters? Do you? Try to stop me, the reflection provoked. Jump in and fight me! she challenged, pressing her hands on the glass. Come on! You want to fight with me? Huh? Do you?! You are a coward. A stupid-

I slammed my forehead on the mirror, causing it to break into millions of cracks instead of shattering onto the counter. Something wet and warm dripped into the sink that is the color of red. I raised my hand to my forehead, finding where it was coming from. To my shear horror, my forehead was spilling out blood, running down my nose and on my cheeks. I pressed it and regret in right away when pain shot down my whole body. I tore some paper towels when I began to feel sick to my stomach. Was it the sight of blood? Or is this my bipolar going to anxiety? I can't tell.

In a weak state, I lifted my head to see a million of my reflections grinning at me. I formed an angry expression and pointed.

"You... You're a monster, too!" It came out weak and slow, not affecting the images at all, giving me that sadistic smile... "I command you to be gone!" I ordered, trying to act tough. It would've happened, except the nausea began to get worse by the minute.

Getting...sick? I growled as the million of my reflections broke the long silence between us, speaking in echoes. Wow! I didn't know you have a hard head, they expressed evilly, speaking all at once. The reflections began snickering until it was full blown laughter. They seem to surround me, making me cover my ears with my hands, one of them covered in blood from the cut on my forehead.

"STOP!" I let out a raging cry. "Stop laughing at me." I placed my hands on my head. "Do you realize that you are torturing me?" I said, beginning to get extremely upset from this experience that I am now in, the laughter growing louder by each second.

I clenched my eyes shut, straining them, grabbing my hair in my hands. Hahaha! Look at you. You're a coward. The reflection pulled itself out of the glass with that very wide grin on her face getting much bigger as more of the skin along with the muscles kept tearing away, the tongue slithering like a snake that ended up turning black. Most people never make it out...alive, my own self said, jumping off the counter. Most people can't STAND being here and go insane to the point where they end up killing themselves. My reflection walked towards me with me backing away until my back hit the wall. I bet you want to do that, too, the reflection mused with a creepy sneer.

My teeth were clashing so hard together, I was almost afraid that I'll end up breaking them off my gums. I opened my mouth only to start gagging when my reflection put her hand on my throat, lifting me off the floor with such strength that I don't even have.

Do you want to kill yourself? she snarled in a deep voice that was not my own. You can stand up to monsters, you stood up against Slappy... well, sorta. But... YOU'LL NEVER GET RID OF ME!

"Let go..." I struggled against the choking sensation and screamed in agony when the fingers squeezed tighter around my neck. "Let go!" The words cleared out when I forced them out of my mouth.

Fine, the reflection said with a simple shrug before throwing me down on the floor. I let out a painful induced cry as my head hit the tiled floor.

While I laid on the floor, I shakely lifted my head only an inch. "I hope I'll never see you again..."

Don't worry, you'll will someday. That medication MIGHT help with some of your symptoms, but... A snicker slipped out of the reflections lips. I'll be back. Someday.

"You're...not real," I repeated. "What do you mean that you'll come back someday? You're just part of a schizophrenic illness, just like the voice or voices that I keep hearing."

Don't worry, the reflection fakely assured me. You'll find out why I said that.

I opened my mouth to give myself a piece of my mind when it vanished before my eyes. Weird... Why did it do that...? No answers came to me. I slowly picked myself off the floor, only to feel a sudden dizziness. I slowly walked, using the wall for support, carefully making my way out of the bathroom.

I was only inches away from the door when I felt a splitting headache erupt my entire head, making the walls and floor tilt and sway. I didn't want to stop. I pressed on, seeing if I can find someone to ask where the nurse is so I know how bad my cut is. I don't want to end up passing out since I'm in a new place.

I grunted when the headache got worse. And just as I continued to move on, the same guy saw me and came up to me.

"What happened to you...?" he asked. His eyes widen after he observed my forehead and the red substance. "Oh, my God! Did you... Did you cut yourself?" he exclaimed in shock.

"No, I just painted my forehead red," I corrected sarcastically. "Yes, I cut myself!" I said, changing my sarcastic voice into a annoyed one. God! It's not hard to tell if someone is bleeding! People these days. "Just direct me to the nurse's office." And hurry up before I faint... "I need to get there so she can see how bad it is," I responded with a flip of my hand.

"Do you need any help?" he offered. "You're all pale," he observed. "Why don't you sit down and I'll get the nurse," he suggested. "I don't think you'll make it by her office," he reasoned with me.

"I... I can manage..." I groaned, feeling the sickness in my stomach getting more rough.

"Sit down." I flinched when he firmly, but gently, pushed me onto the floor, forcing me to sit down. "Stay there and do not move," he instructed me.

I rolled my eyes. "If you insist..."

"And put your head between your knees," he added, slightly jogging to get a nurse.

I did I what I was told, placing my head between my knees. It helped a little. The only problem is my painful headache.

"It's from smacking my forehead too hard on my creepy reflection," I told myself, thinking the positive side... Only...I don't have that kind of side and end up thinking negative instead. "I can't wait for tomorrow to start my combo…" I sighed, closing my eyes. The dizziness faded away when I heard high-heels clicking, my ears catching the sound of them. Carefully, I picked my head up just a bit, peaking my eyes out to see a lady wearing white, a washcloth in her hand.

"Let me see..." she spoke softly and gently, like I was a frightened child who got lost in the woods for two whole days. I lifted my head up, getting it straight. "I just want to see how bad it is," she assured me. She put the cloth delicately on my cut. As soon as she did that, I couldn't help but unintentionally flinch when I was met with the wet rag pressing against my forehead. She kept it in place for just a second with me squeezing my eyes shut in pain. I want to shove her hand off, but I know she was just doing her job. "How did you cut your forehead?" she asked, taking the rag off me, studying my injury.

"I...ow... smacked my forehead on the bathroom mirror," I explained.

"Why? Did you trip and end up hitting your head on it?" She folded the rag, placing it back on my forehead again.

"Ow," I let out. "No," I replied. "I was...washing my hands..." No way that I'll tell her that I was crying. "...and my reflection was...talking to me."

"Your...reflection spoke to you?" she questioned.

I nodded my head and sucked in a breath when she took the rag off again. "And my reflection...started to change. And- Ow! Okay, stop placing that on my forehead."

"Sorry, I would but you just keep on bleeding," she said. "It looks like you need stitches..."

"What?! Stitches?!" I slightly panicked. "Are you saying that I have to go to the E.R.?"

"We have stuff here and room that you can go into," she told me. "I would give you a bandaid, only..." She cleaned my face when she took out a new rag out of her pocket. "Your cut is really bad."

I stood up. "I don't want stitches..." I started walking off when I was pulled back. "I don't want stitches!" I snapped in an angry and pain induced tone.

"Hazel, if you don't get them, your cut will get infected." I pushed her hand off my shoulder. "You have to," she insisted, trying to reason with me.

I snatched the rag out of her hand, taking it. "I don't want stitches," I hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yes, you do." I turned around and began heading to me and Jackson's room. "Wait! Hazel, come back," I heard her call behind me. I just ignored her. My only plan was to get to my room and rest before I do any other therapy sessions and before dinner starts.

As I got to my room, I saw Jackson going through my books and he didn't look towards me until I approached him.

"Hey," he said softly, then squinted his eyes at me. Great, he's still mad at me. At least, I thought he was until he pointed at the rag that I just put on my forehead. "Why do you have a rag there?"

"I cut myself..." I mumbled.

"Really? Let me see." Still upset at him for getting angry at me, I merely took the washcloth off my forehead. "Oooh, and got a good one there," he commented, examining it. "How did you cut yourself?" he asked.

"I...smash it on the bathroom mirror..." I lowered my head. "It's no big deal. Except a nurse wants me to get stitches... And I refused."

"How come?"

I lifted my head, trying my best to not look into his silver eyes, only to fail miserably. "...I never had stitches," I answered glumly, sitting down on my bed, placing the rag back on my forehead. "I'll just let it heal on its own," I decided, thinking it was the best option.

Jackson clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. "Not a good idea, Hazel," he replied, scratching his head. "I know I'm not a doctor but... cuts, serious cuts, can make you get a high fever and cause you to get sick," he cautioned. Hm... Maybe he should become a doctor... "And if you do..." He hung his head. "...I might never see you again."

At first I was confused when he said that last sentence to me before I figured it out.

"Wait..." I realized, shifting on my bed. "Are you saying that...you're...not mad at me? After we had our argument?"

"Hey, it was my fault for getting mad when you don't want to go out with me, thinking a date would make you feel better. Although..." He sat down next to me. "I just have one question."

"What?"

"Do you still like me?" His question got me off guard. "I'm just wondering," he explained. "If you do, maybe we can go out on a date someday?" He grinned awkwardly, presenting his hand towards me. "Do you want to go out on a date someday?"

Even though I said that I liked him without thinking straight, I answered. "Someday. When I'm ready that is." I looked away sadly. "However... I can't tell if a...boy likes me," I said, my face turning that bright red, getting all warm. "Since I stopped going to school... I avoided people of my age when I go out and do chores for other people to earn money because I used to live by myself, so I never had any...experience around boys. Except for Zach and Champ, and they have girlfriends now."

"Are you jealous?" When he asked that, I turned my head to him. "Are you one of those...jealous type of girls?"

"No," I shook my head. "I'm not." I took the rag off my forehead, only to feel the red liquid just keeps on bleeding out. I let out an annoyed groan when I can't control my injury, and just as I was about to put the rag back on, he took it out of my hand. He looked at my cut, gently poking at it, having me flinch a little. "Ow. Don't poke at it," I seethed with a hiss.

"Sorry... Looks like you got a hard forehead." He started to chuckle and quickly stopped when I gave him a disapproving look with my eyelids halfway down. "Sorry," he repeated. I rolled my eyes. "But you do need to get that injury fixed..."

I let out a breath out of my mouth. "Do I have a choice?" I didn't mean to say it with an attitude, it just came out that way. Instead of waiting for his response, I slumped my shoulders in defeat. "Okay, I'll get them. Let's just hope I don't get ten stitches," I declared, being slightly dramatic if not at all.

Jackson smiled. "I don't think you need that many," he assured me. "Here, I'll go with you." He gave me the rag back, standing back, getting up from my bed.

I began to think about it. No matter how much I didn't want to have it fixed, I believed he's right. If I end up getting sick because of a stupid, deep, bloody cut, I may not be on earth anymore. Plus, if I...well, you know, I won't see the people that I trust. Including Jackson.

Lightly placing the rag back on my cut, I agreed by just nodding my head. I got up from my bed, having him take me to where they fix patients injuries, just like mine.

This is not going to go well.

My prediction turned out to be right. Although my cut was pretty deep, it didn't need like ten stitches to close it up, so I was lucky enough to have three, but the beginning part was just awful. If you had to go get stitches, you know what they do first. Yeah... you can guess what the doctor gave me so I wouldn't...feel a thing. Did I scream when he injected the needle in my forehead that was filled with clear liquid? Quite frankly, yes. I almost punched him in the face when my bipolar mood went from nervous to aggression if Jackson hadn't come and pinned me back on the table. Don't blame me, I just couldn't help it. Everybody has different reactions to those types of injections. Some can handle it, while others can't. So if you end up screaming like I did... don't be ashamed. I bet if I was still living with my god parents at this age, and if I had a similar injury that I have now, Kelly would scream at me for being a coward and Jeff would take me to that room and give me my 'punishment.' As for Travis... he would end up calling me a big baby.

"You're such a scaredy-cat, Hazel," I imagine my god brother scoffed in a bully kind of way. "You're sixteen years old and screamed like a baby. Oh, boo-hoo-hoo," the imagined Travis faked out, sticking out lip to make his face look all pouty before bursting out laughing.

It's a good thing I'm away from those...creeps just like I mentioned from the start. I don't actually want to see them ever again for the rest of my life. Only... I couldn't get the dreams of Travis out of my head, still. It's hard to believe, but I have...strange feeling that he's gonna end up living across the street from Stine's house. Also, I did noted that Travis in the dreams that I had several times looks like he's in his early twenties, so I'm gonna guess twenty-one or twenty-two.

You can guess that I'm pretty good at figuring out people's ages which is bizarre in my opinion, just like how I mentioned that Hannah looks to be my age, which is sixteen. Even Zach and Champ, including Taylor are the exact same age as me. Even Jackson. Except he's almost seventeen and his birthday is literally in three weeks. Not only that, he wanted his birthday to be at his home and not in a mental hospital.

Want to know when my birthday is? July thirtieth. Basically, I'm a summer kid, one of those lucky people to have a birthday outside unless it doesn't rain on that special day. Now a lot of people of all kinds of ages would be...happy on their birthday. They get presents from friends and family, they have cake and ice cream and all sorts of food… And they get lots of attention...unlike me. I used to have birthday parts when I was with my biological parents from age one to five. In fact, during my fifth birthday, that's when I got my Goosebumps books. I was...happy, joyed, and was just...smiling. But ever since my parents died in that car crash, and when I started living with my god family, things went bad because of my childish mind, thinking that living with them would be fun and great, just like I told Hannah back in Horrorland in Vampire Village when she found me and promised she won't judge me...like a real friend would do. And she didn't break that promise. She didn't betray me nor her father nor my other two new friends unlike the kids back in kindergarten who would tease and bully me, judging the things I like.

There had been times where I want to...stand up for myself. Just like I did before I ran away from both school and home. Living with my god family was hell and going to school was hell before I ended up quitting.

Before I ended living on my own and before I ended up living with Stine and his daughter, whenever I get screamed at, beatened, or get tortured, I would try and stand up to my god parents, telling them how I feel…

But when my five year old self would come into a certain room, Kelly would let her fume out before I can even get a word out, Travis would shove me or push me away, and as for Jeff. Well, he would be in kitchen or in the living room reading a newspaper, lifting his direction towards me, giving me his haunting stare that would leave me paralyzed with me staring back at him since his eyes would grab mine, that I would inch by inch go to my room to avoid any bruises and pain from his leather strap that he would always have in order to beat me with whenever I'm alone with him in case Kelly is out doing errands and when Travis is out with some friends. And when I don't leave to my room, he would quickly get up from the chair or couch, put the paper down and would send me a hard, stinging slap to my face or any part of my body in order for me to flee to my room. So I stopped trying to stand up for myself and let them...do bad things to me. Especially Jeff who would continue to hurt me until he tired himself out after he 'punishes' me. And whatever room I'm in such as my bedroom, the living room, kitchen, he would startle me and hit me over and over with his weapon. Hell, I was even beaten outside in the backyard when Travis messed up the flower bed that Kelly worked on during the summer before I started school, and told his damn father that I was the one who did it. And boy did I get hurt badly from that. Jeff had aggressively pulled me to the ground where I would be laying on my side and just...hit me. I would scream and cry, begging him to listen to me, only to get a bad result from him.

During that time, I was outside with my body thumping in agony, tears pouring out of my eyes. It only took me until dinner time until I was able to move again. And when I enter the kitchen, my god brother would give me that signature smirk at me, as if he was pleased at what he did.

Instead of eating at the table, I'll just take my food upstairs to my room...eating...tears rolling down my cheeks, stuffing food into my mouth, chewing slowly. At least they never starve me… But that's no excuse for what these people had done to me.

Now I'm walking towards the door once I received my stitches, the black threads that closed my wound, making my forehead itch like mad.

"Don't scratch or pick at them," the doctor told me even before me and Jackson left the room. "If you do, you'll end up ripping them off and you'll have to get them replaced," he warned in a cautious manner after he put his tools away. This isn't going to be easy for me to do... "And come back in four or five weeks once you're completely healed and I'll take them off," he completed with a happy grin.

I formed a frown. "If I'm here that long..." I responded, hoping that will not be the case. I'll take them off myself... It can't be that hard... "Thank you," I thanked, fighting against the itchiness.

"Wasn't that bad, right?"

I rolled my eyes a little when the doctor said that. Nothingless, I just sent him a shrug. All doctors say that to every patient...it's their job to make them look...comfortable. "Yeah... wasn't that bad..." It was horrible! Dammit, my forehead feels like it's burning! How can people possibly live with frickin stitches sewed on them?! I'm trying not to scratch it but... I don't want to ruin them... I looked back at the doctor. "What if I leave before four or five weeks?" I said. "What do I do then?" I asked, my saddened state creeping up on me.

"If you have a parent or guardian, they can take them off," he answered. I'm not sure if I see Stine as a guardian...or a father figure towards me, even though he admitted that he sees me as another daughter...

When I thought about it, I should tell him how I feel about him... He did protected me, just like all dads do to their children, including their wives. It's like...they're the alpha in the group. Moms feed the kids, and the dads keep them safe. And if the dads are out working or doing anything else, it switches towards the moms. If both parents are out, they hire a babysitter. It's like...a pack of wolves... Sigh. Stine is like a...dad to me... just like how I see Hannah as my...sister. Actually, I don't when her birthday is nor if she's older or younger then me. Then I remember the month when her...book was released. August... She's actually...younger than me... even though she encouraged me to tell her me story like most older siblings do and comfort them when they needed. Hey, they never say that younger siblings can't do the same thing, right? I was born in July, making me a month older than her since she was 'created' back in August.

Maybe Stine can adopt me...? I thought. And if he did end up doing that... I don't know how I'll feel... Great? I'm not sure, to be honest, frankly. How can I feel great if I can't...smile? I know I almost smiled until that last medication instantly stopped working.

With me feeling the threads on my forehead, I replied. "Okay. Good." I looked up Jackson. "Let's go to our next therapy session." I paused. "What is our next therapy session?" I then asked.

He sent me a smile, adding his happy face with happy eyebrows. "Art therapy," he beamed his answer. "It's my favorite." You're favorite, huh... "It's like...the best one of all time..." Really? Best one of all time? "People get paint and do all kinds of arts and crafts," he grinned as I raised a brow, thinking that kind of therapy sounds... "I know it's kinda childish..." Kinda childish...? "But you are never too old to unleash your imagination." Never too old to unleash your imagination... "I made a lot of art paintings ever since I first came here and there like the best ones," he boasted, putting his hand on his chest in a proud manner before noticing my expression. "Oh..." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head. "I didn't mean to...brag about it," he said apologetically, his cheeks turning bright pink. "I just get so...happy whenever I finish a painting or something." Happy... "And I bet it'll have the same effect on you," he predicted. "Actually..." He tapped his chin. "Do you like arts and crafts?" he asked.

"I used to love it back when I was in school," I told him. "But a lot of my classmates would either steal my 'masterpiece' and claim to the art teacher that they made it, leaving my art teacher to believe them." I snorted out of my nose. "They even got me in trouble by spilling paint all over the art table and I have to stay behind and clean it up!" Jackson jumped back when I yelled out a little. "Come on, let's go to...art therapy." Hope I still have my...artistic skills. I haven't painted or crafted anything in years. "And don't be too hopeful on your prediction," I added with warning.

"Why?" he responded.

"Just don't," I simply answered back.

We then left the room to go to art therapy, with Jackson leading the way. And during that time, I wanted to scratch my forehead. So when I try to do that, I'll hear the doctor's warning, making me stop right away.

It wasn't easy to cope with. Man, I was so stupid for smashing my head on that bathroom mirror! It's all my reflection's fault!

"Remember, don't scratch the stitches," Jackson reminded me, as if I didn't remember having them.

"...I'll try not to," I grumbled, feeling the weird sensation. It felt like needles for God sake! Pretty soon I'm going to end up going crazy. It's hadn't been ten minutes and I'm battling myself to not touch them or pick at them. "If I have the urge to scratch at them, stop me."

"That's cool with me." He then sighed a little. "Is it okay for me to ask you a...personal question?" He waited for my answer, so I allowed him to ask his question by nodding my head. "How come you never smiled?" My eyes widen and he caught my reaction. "What?" he questioned. "Was that too much to ask?"

"No... No. It's just that... um..." I stammered. "You just surprised me... that's all." He raised a brow in confusion. "One of my friends asked me the same question," I explained in order for him to understand. "He asked me why he never saw me... smile. I believed it was because I was traumatized during the time when I started living with my god family before I left them." I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm not sure if they even remember me..." I murmured. "Hell, if they do, they probably would end up taking me back and punish me for good for running away," I scoffed. "I'm going to head to the bathroom in case the doctor missed blood stains on my forehead. I'll find the art therapy room or area," I said, before walking towards the nearest bathroom.

I heard Jackson reply with, "Okay, I'll be waiting for ya."

You don't have to wait for me... I thought.

Entering the bathroom, I went over to the sink, checking my forehead to where the stitches are at. There was no blood, which tells me that the doctor did a great job of cleaning the red crimson off my skin. The stitches were an inch or two away from the hairline, and the spot is red and swollen. The swelling isn't too bad. Nothingless, it'll go down as my forehead is healing. I'm just so lucky to have three threads close it up. And since stitches can be painful, the one spot felt like it's on fire. So I turned on the sink, making sure it was icy cold, splashing it on my forehead with me sighing with relief, feeling the burning sensation go down, even though it's not going to last very long. I should go see if a nurse as an ice pack I can use, I thought. I grabbed some papers, and gently dried up my forehead, lifting my head up slowly, taking the paper towels off me, placing my hand on the mirror, giving myself a sour look.

"Why can't you ever smile?" I asked myself out loud since no one else is in the bathroom but the reflection of myself in front of me. "You got friends, you defeated the monsters and Slappy, Stine took you in, and you still can't smile. Not only that, you're battling those mood swings that keep coming on. First you're sad, then you're mad, it's just..." I clenched my eyes shut, smacking the mirror with my hand in frustration, feeling the glass vibrate. I glared at my reflection, hating myself. "Tell me!" I screamed, still talking to my own self. "What else do I need to get me to be happy again?" My chest heaved with heavy breaths, gritting my teeth tightly together. "Damn..." I cursed.

Watch your mouth! I let out a short cry when my reflection spoke, grinning that creepy grin, the teeth getting sharp and pointed. The reflection's eyes stopped at the stitches. Aw, what happened, Hazel? she asked, acting as if she cared. Sorry that I have to...come back of all a sudden. But I do have one quest for ya...

"What kind of quest?" I questioned, not keeping the words into my head, speaking out loud. "And it better be something good," I added, speaking through clenched teeth.

Oh, it's a good one, alright, she sneered, locking her eyes on me. Remember the cuts on your arms that you gave yourself? You know. On your arms? she reminded. The quest is that you need to go into the kitchen, and look for any small, sharp knives, and then- She made a slicing motion on her left wrist. -cut to where your pulse is. And when you're gone... I'LL take your place. She began laughing with me standing there in confusion before narrowing my eyes.

"That's my quest!?" I finally exclaimed. "To kill myself!? And what do you mean by 'taking my place'? No way in hell would I do a thing like that!"

The reflection shot me with a piercing stare. Fine by me... I'll just have to find ANOTHER way to get rid of you... She pointed a finger at me. Hazel... After that last word, the creepy image of myself went back to normal, looking like my old...self.

"Why did my reflection say that to me?" I scratched my head and wondered. "Why on earth would I do a thing like that? And what did my reflection mean by 'taking my place?'," I wondered, then shook my head. "Forget what that thing said to you, Hazel. That reflection is just being...a fraud to me. I shouldn't listen to it, at all. It's all part of my illness... And my forehead is burning again." Turning the faucet on again and letting cold water run out of it, I splashed it on my forehead, cooling that area down again. "After art therapy, I should go to the nurse and ask her for an ice pack," I said, making a note of if.

At least I didn't smack my head on another mirror...

Turning the water off, I let some drops of water fall in the sink. The stitches itch like hell, almost as if they're torturing me. I wanted to scratch them so badly, but I shook my head, telling myself not to.

"It's only for four or five weeks," I assured. "Not only that, you'll get out of this place soon," I promised myself.

Did that help at all? Well... you know the answer. Even assuring myself won't make me...happy. I just wanted to know why I can't do it. I mean, that last medication almost made me smile again, only to fail miserably. God... What else do I need? A boyfriend? No, no. A boyfriend won't help, but... I let out a sigh. Maybe I should go out on a date with Jackson. Only he has to ask me again since I declined the first time. This time when he asks me out, I'll just say yes and see what it's like. I have never been on a date in my life whatsoever, so...it might make me...smile this time.

Walking out of the bathroom, I looked for the art therapy room or area. Jackson told me he'll be waiting for me. That name made my cheeks turn red. Not by anger, by... I don't even know the answer since I never experienced this feeling before. I have other feelings despite my sudden mood swings... except for being... happy.

While I searched for him, I heard him call out to me.

"Hey, hey, over here." He waved his hand and I walked up to him. "What took you so long?" he asked, standing at the door that is closed. "Art therapy is almost about to start. Come on." He didn't give me a chance to answer since he literally pulled me into the room. He then looked at my forehead. "Why is your forehead all moist? Are you nervous?"

"N-No, I'm not nervous. I just splashed cold water on my stitches to cool them off," I told him. I stopped for just a second, looking around as if I didn't want anyone else to hear this. "And the reason why I was in there for so long is that..."

Jackson waited patiently, and encouraged to say what I have in mind. "Go on."

I stared down at the floor, avoiding his gorgeous eyes. "My reflection...spoke to me...in the bathroom. It looked like me, only creepier. It said bad things to me. It even told me to...commit suicide so she can take my place..."

"What does that mean?"

I gave him an annoyed look for interrupting me. "I don't know what it means," I answered. "All I know is that my creepy image of myself is a total liar, and that's all I'm going to say." I'm not going to tell him that my image told me that she'll have to find another way to get rid of me. I don't want him to get...overprotective like Stine did to his daughter before she had her freedom.

"I'm glad that you decided not to do that," Jackson said, agreeing with me. "Besides, some people will think it's better off if they're not living anymore," he added.

I nodded. "Those people were stupid to do that..."

"They're not stupid, they just don't think straight." I ignored his defense, going over to one of easels that had something on it. I don't remember what it's called, but it's for people to paint on and for you to 'release your imagination'. I also saw paints and brushes.

Right before I picked one up, the therapist came forward. "Welcome to art therapy, dear," she welcomed, giving out a bright smile. "I don't think I have seen you before..." she mentioned, studying me with her eyes, looking up and down. "Are you new?" she asked.

What a stupid question to ask. I thought all of therapists know that I'm new here, is what I wanted to say. However, if I say that, I'll get in trouble for it and gave her this answer instead. "Yes, I am."

"Great! I'm Dr. Jones." Her eyes beamed with excitement and the sunlight seemed to make them twinkle, after she gave out her name to me. "You're gonna love art therapy. Jackson here..." She pointed at him. "...is the best artist ever. Just look at all those paintings and crafts that he made." She directed towards his paintings and all sorts of art stuff that he made. "Aren't they wonderful?" she gushed with astonishing look. Boy, another one of those happy and go lucky people. No offense by all means. Eh, I should be used to it now since Champ and Lorraine have the same personalities. Except Champ is more of a coward from time to time.

Before I can get to chance to think of anything else, she led me to where there's clay. "Do you want to make a pot or do you want to paint?"

I blinked, thinking about the two answers before making my decision. "...I'll paint."

"Great!" she repeated. "Just don't worry if you get paint on your clothes, okay?"

"Sure," I responded, going back to the easel that is next to Jackson's. "What are you going to paint this time?" I said.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. It takes me a little bit to think of something," he explained, smiling. "What are you going to paint?" he repeated my question.

"Just like what you said..." I shrugged. "It'll take me sometime to figure out what I want to paint." Picking up my brush, which is the small one, I dipped it in one of the first paint jars. I hope I have my artistic skills... I placed the brush on the canvas... Canvas. That's what this thing is called on the easel. How can I ever forget? I guess it's because I hadn't done anything...artsy in a long time.

"Aw no!" Just before I even made one stroke, I heard someone cry out, sounding very upset for some reason. "I just used the wrong color for the stem of my flower. The stem is suppose to be green, not red." I leaned back to see a girl who is a year younger than me, dropping her paintbrush that has the color red on the bristles. "What am I going to do?" she panicked, tugging at her curled hair with both hands. "Now I have to start over!" Tears were coming at the corners of her eyes.

Dr. Jones seem to notice and went up to her.

"What seems to be the problem?" she said.

The girl pointed. "I used the wrong color for the stem to paint a flower. Now I have to start all over."

"You don't have to start-"

"Yes I do!" I can tell that the girl was really upset. "Flower stems are supposed to be green not red."

"Hey." Dr. Jones got her attention. "Remember what we talked about? That nothing needs to be perfect? Well, that's the same with painting. It doesn't matter what colors you use. Here, I'll show you." She took her to another area and I switched my attention the canvas in front of me.

"Wow, I feel bad for her," I commented on what I just witnessed.

"I do, too," Jackson nodded, painting on his canvas. "Only we can't blame her."

I looked over my shoulder and watched the therapist talking to the girl, pointing out different paintings like trees with pink and purple leaves and the trunks being the color of blue. "Not to be rude or anything but… does she think that everything has to be the same and perfect?"

"That's right." Dipping his brush in the paint jar again, he left it there for a tad second before taking it out of the jar, which the color of bright blue. "She has very bad OCD." He swiped the brush on the canvas, making the top half blue. "To her, everything has to be just perfect and right for her everyday life." He then put his paintbrush in a cup of water, took it out, and used one of the paper towels to clean the brush off. "The reason why she's here is because not only she thinks everything has to be perfect, but she has very bad thoughts that make do things. Now I don't like rumors because not all of them are true." He put his paintbrush in the green paint, bringing it up to the canvas. "I heard with my own ears that her parents had to drag her here because they saw her put something in her mouth which turned out to be sewing needles."

I almost dropped my paintbrush and quickly gripped the handle of it. "She put sewing needles into her mouth?!" I almost shouted out loud, not wanting to draw attention towards us.

"Yes," he replied, looking around the room in case anyone was staring at us. They weren't. "That's the reason she's here because of those bad thoughts. She was lucky to not swallow those things."

"If she did, she could've died," I brought up. "So what was the first thing the doctors and employees did?"

"They 'purposely' messed up her room when she was having lunch, such as making a picture on the wall, like, in a slanting position, opened up all the dresser drawers at different lengths, and all that other stuff. It drives her crazy since she's not allowed to fix them up. They even messed up bathroom, too. It's hard for her not to fix anything up, and she's going to have to learn that nothing needs to be perfect. She even cleans a lot and doesn't like germs so don't be offended if she doesn't want to shake your hand. It wouldn't be a problem with you since you don't like physical contact." He almost smirked a friendly smirk. "Except when you offered your hand to me to help you off the floor and for me hugging you during last night. Also, that leads me to a question. Are you going to start having physical contact with other people?"

"Um..." I stopped painting midway to what I was creating. "I'm not sure yet. Maybe Dr. Snyder will do a session on that for my next appointment tomorrow."

"You can just start off with simple handshakes," he suggested.

"I'll think about it." I continued to paint.

"Is this therapy session wanting to make you smile?" I gave him a frown. "Oh, um, I guess not," he stammered with a slight chuckle. "Hey, you were right. I shouldn't be too hopeful on my prediction."

I merely rolled my eyes as I faced back on my painting. My cheeks kept turning red every time I look at him with the corners of my eyes. He seemed to notice, sending me that smile of his that is so cute, adding a chuckle here and there.

I tried not to look at him all the time, only I can't help myself to this...feeling that I keep having every time I'm with him. And I bet he has the same feeling that I'm having.

Sighing, I spoke. "Just to let you know, I do like you. I'm just not ready to go out and have a relationship you. So if you try to ask me out again and if I say no it means no."

"What if you said yes?"

"I'm not sure I'll say that word..." Even when I do say yes, I'm not sure a date will make me happy again. It'll be an...interesting experience, I should say.

"Are you sure that my painting doesn't have to be perfect?" I looked over my shoulder again when I heard the girl with OCD spoke, walking back to her canvas. Dr. Jones smiled, picking the paintbrush off the floor, handing it to her. "Alright..." The girl took the brush and went back to painting.

"What are we having for dinner?" I asked Jackson, breaking the silence that was between us.

"I'm not sure," he answered with a simple shrug. "I hope they have tacos. Spicy foods are my favorite. What about you, Hazel? Do you like spicy foods?"

I almost made a disgusted face when he asked me that. "No... Not really. Spicy food...blah! I can't stand any kind of food that burns your tongue and throat. It goes for all spices. Except for cinnamon. That's the only spice I like."

"Oh... I forgot that you told me that during lunch time." He chuckled a bit. "No worries. Everyone has their own different tastes when it comes to different food. I remember my mom gave me Brussel sprouts for dinner along with steak and corn," he recalled. "I like steak and corn. But I don't like Brussel sprouts. I mean, yuck." I turned my head to see that he stuck out his tongue when he mentioned that vegetable. "Who likes little cabbages that taste all...gross?"

I went back to my painting. "...some people do..."

"And there's another vegetable I never liked when I was a lad. A tomato." When he said that, my head turn towards him a tad slowly. "What?" he asked. "Do you like tomatoes? I didn't offend you, did I? If I did, I'm so sorry," he quickly apologized.

"No, I like tomatoes... But they're a fruit."

"Huh?"

"A tomato is a fruit," I repeated my correction.

"Really?" he responded with surprise. "I always heard that it's a vegetable."

"It's not." I shook my head. "It's a fruit, not a vegetable."

"Oh, um..." He pursed his lips together and grinned at me. "Thanks for correcting me," he smiled.

"You're welcome..." I sighed, focusing my eyes back on the painting, which is now becoming more difficult with him standing next to me. I'm not saying that to be mean since I'm not that kind of person. It's just that he's very cute and I really...like him. I think I have a...crush on him. Wow, my first crush. Plus... he likes me, too. So he also has a crush on me, as well. That's the feeling that I keep having. God, why didn't I realize that sooner? Mm, probably because I quit school all the way back in kindergarten, I thought.

By the time I finished my painting, I stared at it. I can't believe I painted this! Why did this picture came into my mind?

"Who's that painting of?" I almost yelped when I heard Dr. Jones behind me. "Is that a friend of yours?" she directed to the painting that I finished.

"Uh, no. It's Travis...my god brother..." I answered, not liking the painting at all. "I don't know why I painted that..."

"I know why." She gave me a smile. "It's because you miss him," she told me.

Miss him? Miss him?! You think I miss my cruel god brother that tortures me everyday?! I wanted to scream when my mood changed to anger until it went back to sadness. "Yeah..." I fibbed. "I do miss him..." Not really. "I hadn't seen him in years, and I want to see him again..." No way in hell will I end up seeing him, praying that those dreams won't come true.

"Well, it's very nice," she praised. "Alright, art therapy's over," she announced.

A lot of people let out unhappy sounds besides me and Jackson. For me, I just rolled my eyes. Besides, we get to come back tomorrow, so chill out.

By the time all of us walked out of the room, I stopped. "Where are we going next?"

"Music therapy. Only it's just a one on one session. I have to get there before I'm late. I'll ask Dr. Williams when he can see you. You just go on ahead to our room," he instructed lightly, walking backwards before turning around to face forward.

"Good luck..." I called out softly, not wanting to shout. "I'm going to the nurse first to get an ice pack to cool my forehead down since it's starting to burn again." I looked around, spotting the nurse's office, feeling relieved that I won't have to spend my day searching for it.

Walking over to it, I peaked at the window, seeing her on the computer. I knocked and she looked up and saw me. She smiled, gesturing her hand, telling me to come in.

"Yes?" she asked. "Oh, I see you got your stitches," she realized as soon as I came up to her. "Are they bothering you?" she said.

"Yeah..." The burning feeling got worse to the point where I want to go find a bathroom again so I can splash freezing water on it. "I just came here to see if you have an ice pack that I can use on my stitches." I stopped for a second. "Unless you have any that is."

"I do have ice packs for you to borrow." She got up from the chair, going to the back of the room. A few seconds later, she came back. "Here," she offered, "take this and you can bring it back to me whenever you're done with it."

I took the ice pack and thanked her before I left the nurse's office. She seems very nice... just like all nurses are.

Placing an ice pack on my stitches, I felt them cool down right away again from the cold compress. I didn't press hard on them, just firmly enough where it won't hurt or ruin the black threads as I walked to me and Jackson's room to rest before I start music therapy.

I'm not sure how well I'll do since I never played an instrument before. What if Dr. Williams yells at me for playing a wrong note? The thought of it made me feel very anxious about it. I should just skip that therapy session and stick to the ones that are more suitable for me. I don't want to be a bad player.

Once I got to the room, I went over to my bed, laying down on the mattress, covering myself up with a blanket.

Making sure the ice pack is placed on the right spot, I hugged the teddy bear with both arms, staring at the ceiling, thinking on when I can go home.

Sighing, I sat up and grabbed one of my Goosebumps books. The Scarecrow Walks At Midnight.

Opening to the first chapter, I began reading the book while I waited for Jackson to come and get me so he can take me to music therapy.

Stine

I grabbed my suitcase once my last class left the room. "Don't forget to read chapters one through ten on The Hobbit," I called out from down the hallway. I'm not sure if they heard me or not, and I know that all my classes do their homework. There had been times where one or two of my students would 'forget' to do their assignments. Was I disappointed? Yes. I was. So to make things fair, they'll just lose half of their grade. On my first day here, I let all of my classes loose for one day without giving them homework and warned them not to get used to it since the monster mayhem that we had months ago.

Walking down the hallway, I saw Zach with Hannah walking together and I approached them. "Hey, you two," I greeted. "Are you two heading to the study hall?" I asked.

"No, we're gonna do our homework in the library and catch up on studying," Hannah replied. "We don't always do it in that classroom. Plus it's quiet," she added. "Hey, dad, you know that Spring Dance that's coming up?"

"Yeah," I responded, raising a brow.

"Well, Zach asked me to be his date to the dance." Hannah smiled, shuffling her right foot on the tiled floor. "Can he, dad? I have never been to a high school dance. And the one I saw before doesn't really...count since we had to warn everyone about the monsters," she said.

"Hey! I was the one who warned everybody and was in charge of keeping the school safe," Zach playfully whined in a joking manner.

"Whatever." Hannah kept on smiling. "So...?" she spoke. "Can he?"

I rubbed my chin in thought. "I don't see why not," I answered. "I'm going to be one of the chaperones there so I can keep an eye on you two," I pointed.

"Dad," Hannah laughed. "We won't get into trouble. We're good kids."

"Yeah..." I rolled my eyes with a smirk. "Right. You kids are really well behaved." Hannah opened her mouth to protest. "Kidding," I exclaimed. "I'm just kidding. But really." I gave them a serious and strict look. "Behave during the Spring Dance."

"Don't worry, dad," Hannah assured me. "By the way, where are you going?" she then asked.

"I'm going to ask my boss to see if it's alright for Hazel to do school online. Then I'm going to go the teachers' lounge before we can go home. So meet me at the school entrance in a half an hour," I told Hannah.

She nodded, taking Zach's hand. "Okay." With that, they both walked down to the library. "I'll see you later, dad," she called over her shoulder.

After they disappeared around the corner, I made my way to the office to talk to my boss, who is the principal of this school, and the one who asked me if I can have a job here and I said yes, why not. I don't need to hide from people anymore that I did all those years. And since I took that job offer, I enrolled Hannah so she can go to school with her friends. She was very happy because she got a little tired of being homeschool with me teaching her about the monsters that I created.

When I arrived, I walked into the office to see Principal Harrison sitting at his desk. I didn't even get a chance to knock on the doorframe since the door his wide open when he looked up from his computer.

"Hey, Stine," he said in his casual tone. "What brings you here?"

"I want to ask you something." I walked over to his desk, raking my fingers through my hair. "Is it alright for Hazel to do school online?"

"Who's Hazel?" he questioned with a confused face. "Does she come to this school?"

"Oh, uh, no. She doesn't come to this school, Principal Harrison. In fact, my daughter explained to me why Hazel doesn't want to go to a real school. Turns out she had a rough time at her last school when she real little," I told him.

"Okay... But that doesn't answer my first question," Harrison mentioned.

"Oh! Hazel is one of Hannah's best friend who is living with me right now," I explained, realizing what he meant.

"Are you her father?" he asked next.

I shook my head. "No...but I have to admit, I do see her as another daughter. Even though I hadn't adopted her. Yet."

"Alright." He seemed to understand what I was telling him. "Is there a reason why she's living with you?"

"Yes, actually. Long story short, she used to live on her own."

"Why is that? Was she an orphan?"

"Uh, n-no. She used to live with her god family who treated her badly," I told him. "I think she was about five when she ran away from them and ended surviving on her own at a house that she found that was empty."

Harrison took off his glasses off his face. "That's just terrible," he commented. I can tell that he felt bad for her even though he never met her. "Just...terrible. Where is she now?"

"She's at a mental hospital." Harrison looked at me with a stunned look. "She's fine, it's just..." I rubbed the back of my neck, biting my bottom lip. "She has several problems," I said. "Anyway, is it okay for her to do online schooling?"

Putting his glasses back on, he leaned back in his chair. "Hmm..." He breathed in and out of his nose. "How good are her social skills?"

Confused, I responded. "Huh?"

"Her social skills," he repeated calmly. "Does she talk to anyone?"

"She talks to me..." I pointed at myself. "...my daughter... Zach... Champ... even Taylor. I'm not sure if she talks to Lorraine or to Ms. Cooper. I'm not sure if she talking to anyone at the mental hospital," I answered in all honesty. "Why do you ask that?" I questioned.

He leaned forward, drumming his fingers on his desk. "I prefer her to start real school. Since she ended up quitting school back when she was a lot younger, chances are that her social skills aren't fully developed nor her learning skills. Now I'm not saying that she has to force herself to walk up to new people everyday since everyone has their own 'circle' when it comes to talking to other people. I don't want her to homeschool herself and not get to know others by not going to a real school. So whenever she gets home from that mental hospital, sign her up to this high school. I'll have one of the students give her a tour, and if it's okay with her, I'll sign her up for the classes that Hannah, Zach, Champ, and Taylor that they are in."

I was quiet, biting my tongue on what he had told me. I sighed. Hazel isn't going to be happy about this... I thought. But it's for the best and Harrison's right. She has to start real school and not lock herself up inside every, single day. And as long as she's in the classrooms that either Zach, Champ, Taylor, and Hannah are in, she won't have to worry about talking to people that she doesn't know. Also, when I think about, I believe she's kind of...shy. I did notice that she doesn't talk that much. She'll talk, but she only talks when she wants to. God, and I promised her that she'll do school online. Well, Stine, not all promises can be kept. Some can be broken... just like you did to Slappy... Not only that, I don't want to argue with my boss and get fired since I love my new job. With a sigh, I looked back at him.

"Okay, I'll let her start actual school as long as she's with her first friends," I agreed with a nodding head. "Since Zach is one of my students for English class, I'll have her as well."

"Good idea," Harrison also agreed. "I'll order her school supplies so you won't have to go shopping for them," he smiled. "And I can't wait to meet her," he added.

"Yeah, she's very nice." Looking at the clock, I saw it was already a half hour. "Gee wiz, time sure does fly," I complemented. "I wanted to go to the teachers' lounge before me and my daughter can go home." I gripped my briefcase and gave my boss a small wave. "Bye," I departed.

"Bye, Stine. And have a good evening," he returned, going back on his computer, presumably to get everything for Hazel whenever she gets back home from the place she's so she can start school here.

Walking out of the office, I made my way down the hall to the school entrance to see Hannah giving Zach a kiss on the lips. Smirking, I went up to them. "I thought you knew better then to do PDA in school," I scolded playfully.

Hannah and Zach let out a laugh. Zach placed gave Hannah a hug and spoke. "I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered, pretending that I'm invisible for his own amusement. I just let out a soft chuckle when he released her. "Bye, Stine," he waved, not wanting to leave me out. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"You too," I returned with a friendly smile. "Don't forget to do your homework tonight," I reminded.

"Don't worry. I won't forget." He then left the school, giving us a final wave, walking to his mom's car.

Once he got in the car, Ms. Cooper started the car and drove off while me and Hannah went to my car. I opened the driver's side with Hannah going to the other, getting into the passenger seat. She put her seatbelt on while she waited for me get in the car.

Getting into the car, I set my briefcase between us before putting my seatbelt on. Then I took out my car keys, putting one of them in the ignition, starting the car up and drove off the driveway to our house.

"Is Hazel going to do school online?" Hannah broke the short silence.

"Huh?" I answered, stopping the car when I saw several high schoolers on the sidewalk. I singled them to cross the street. They did, waving at me once they crossed the road to the other side, making their way to their homes.

"Is Hazel going to do school online?" she repeated.

I didn't answer right away as I started driving again. "No..."

"What?" I didn't have to look at her since I know that she's shocked at my short answer. "What do you mean no?" she mentioned, not sounding upset but disappointed. Very disappointed.

"Principal Harrison told me that she has to start real school. Have you noticed that she never talks to anyone else besides us?" She thought about and nodded. "That's the reason she has to start real school," I continued, stopping at a red light. "I know that you are upset but it's better if she starts school whenever she gets back home." The light turned green and I went back to driving. "Don't worry," I reassured Hannah, "my boss will sign her up for classes that you and your friends have. I also told him that she can be one of my students in my English class that Zach has with me, that way she won't have to worry about walking up to people and start a conservation. He'll also have one the students give her a tour around the school." I looked over at Hannah then switched my eyes back on the road. "Is that okay with you?" Please don't argue with me.

"I am disappointed..." Hannah admitted slowly, not wanting to argue with me since she knows what will happen. "But as long as she's in the classes that me and my friends are in, that's fine by me."

"Good. Oh, and you have to go over to Zach's house because I have something important to do," I told her.

"Um... okay..." She gave me a strange look. "Why can't I be with you while you do your 'important thing'?" she said, sounding curious.

I released a breath. "You just have to."

She didn't reply back for a long time, her eyes squinting at me. "Is there something that you are hiding...?"

"What?" I quickly said. "Uh, no. Nothing. I'm just going to be busy with something..." More like someone. "...and I don't want to bore you with anything. Anyway, did you and Zach caught up on some studying?"

"Yeah," she nodded. I can tell that she wanted to keep asking me what I have important on my mind. "Hey, dad, can I ask you something?" she spoke.

"Yeah, sure." I parked the car onto our driveway, grabbing my briefcase.

"Well, I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or not, but...um... I heard you talking to someone..." I raised a brow as she continued on. "Because it sounded so...real. Not only that, I heard a different person with a raspy voice..." My eyes widen, hoping she won't figure out who it was. "...that started...crying. All I'm trying to say is..." She combed through her hair with her fingers. "Was I actually dreaming or was I not?"

I grabbed the car door and answered. "You were just dreaming, sweetheart." I smiled at her. "Now go on over to Zach's house while I take care of something..." I wish it was something… "Also, make sure Zach does his homework," I told her as she was getting out of the car.

Hannah chuckled. "Don't worry, dad. I'll remind him."

As she walked over to Zach's house, I got out of the car and walked into my home. Even though I love my job as a teacher, I do love it when I get home.

Hanging my car keys on the little hook, I made my way upstairs to the study to grade all my classes' three pages stories that are for teenagers. However, before I do that, I have someone to take care of first.

I opened the door, poking my head into the room. "Slappy?" I walked in. "Slappy?" Setting my briefcase down on my desk. "Slappy, are you awake?"

A short mutter replied back. "No, I'm not." Slappy pulled himself out the sleeping bag. I did my best not to look at his scratched up face. "I was just resting," he said. "I saw that you left me a note about healing our scars in our 'relationship'."

"And about the apology to Hazel," I added.

"Whatever," Slappy replied in a rude tone. "I don't care how bad our last relationship was, and I'm not going to apologize to that girl," he snarled. "Plus, I feel offended when you said that I am stubborn."

"You kind of are..." Slappy gave me an icy look. "Hey, you're too stubborn to even feel bad for what you did to Hazel," I proclaimed.

"Feel bad!?" He got up from the floor. "You think I feel BAD!? I don't feel bad at all! I gave her what she deserves for trying to stop me! I hate her. Just like how much I hate-" He stopped all of a sudden and fell back on the floor. "Ohh..." he moaned.

"What is it?" I became concerned about him.

"I don't know why...but I keep getting sick. I was actually getting dizzy ever since I woke up this morning," he explained. "I'm not sure if it's from the scratches on my face..."

"I think you should rest more..." I suggested. "If you want to, I can take you to the other guest room that you can get more sleep," I offered.

He scoffed. "Why would I want your help? I can get there myself." He carefully got up, his fabric legs shaking like crazy. I reached out to help him. "I said NO!" he snapped angrily. "I can get there myself," he repeated with a snarl.

"Slappy, buddy, let me-" I reached out to him again, only for him to smack my hand away.

"I am not your damn buddy!" He took one step at a time. "If we were buddies, you wouldn't locked me in a book all those years." He eyed me, narrowing his brows to make him look enraged. "And I don't want to fix the scars in our relationship..." he hissed, turning his head around. "And there's no way I'll apologize to Hazel..."

"Slappy, just let me-"

Not wanting to repeat himself, he teleported from the study room, going to the other guest room. I shook my head and sighed.

"This isn't going to be easy..." I muttered, going over my desk, opening up my briefcase and taking out all my students' homework to grade. "I hope Hannah doesn't found out that Slappy is released before I can even tell her," I wished, clicking a red pen and began grading everyone's stories.

Turns out my wish ended up failing.

Hazel

I finished my book when Jackson came into the room. "He's waiting for you," he announced, going over to my books. "Do you mind if I read one of them?" he asked, picking up a book titled Bad Hare Day. "It's been awhile since I read these kinds of books," he told me.

I closed my book, placing it on top of the other ones. "Sure," I allowed. "Just don't ruin them. They have to be in good condition," I slightly warned, getting out of bed. "Um…" I looked around. "Where do I put my icepack at?"

"Are you done with it?" Jackson said, sitting down at his bed.

"No." I shook my head. "I'm not. I just want to put it somewhere." I then set it on my dresser. "Oh well," I shrugged. "If it melts, it melts. Besides, it'll still be cold." I shoved my hands into my pants pockets. "Aren't you going to show me where music therapy is?" I reminded him.

"Oh, sorry about that," he remembered, placing my book down that hadn't been opened yet. "Come with me." He gestured his hand for me to follow him, which I did. "It's right over…" He then pointed. "There." He walked me over to a door that was opened. "She's here," he reported before turning his attention towards me. "Have fun. You're gonna love it."

"But... I don't know how to play an instrument," I said softly. The only reply I got was a gentle push from him. "Okay," I sighed. "I'll do it." I'm gonna fail. "I'll see you later."

He snapped his fingers and pointed. "Same goes for you, too." After that, he went back to our room, whistling a catchy tune.

My face turned back to its normal color once he was out of my sight.

"Hello, Hazel." My eyes went over to a middle aged man who set up two violins on the table. "It's so great to meet you," he spoke in a relaxed voice. "Come in, take a seat," he invited.

I did so and then remembered what Jackson told me on how to get used of physical contact. I stuck out my hand. "It's nice to meet you, too, Dr. Williams."

He shook my hand, and to my surprise, I didn't flinch at being touched for the first time. Was it because Jackson kept touching me? Was that why I didn't flinch this time?

I stared at the violins that are in front of me. I was afraid to tell him that I don't know how to play any instrument, not wanting him to be one of those really strict music teachers. And before I even opened my mouth, he spoke.

"If I'm not mistaken..." he began to talk. "I heard that you had a rough childhood back when you were with your god family and heard about your illness. That is such a shame; a tragedy for what you went through." He let out a chuckle, as if to make it humorous and opposite of what I went through. I didn't laugh or chuckle with him. He then cleared his throat, once he noticed my facial expression. "Does thinking about them make you frustrated?" The only answer I gave him was a simple nod. "Do you ever kick at walls to let out your anger and frustration?" he questioned next. I nodded again. "Do you always feel down?" I thought about it and nodded my head, answering each question that was thrown at me. "Look at me, Hazel." I did so, forcing my eyes off the violins. "You know what I do when I feel down?" he said. Instead of me answering, he picked one of the violins and one of the bows. He set himself up and answered his question for me. "Music helps me let out my feelings of all kinds..." He attached his bow to the strings. "...and when I do it, it helps get release any feelings I have. That way they aren't bottled up inside. Everyone has their own way of letting out any feelings such as sadness, anger, frustration, just like what you have. They either kick at walls, scream in rage, break objects. They even snap at other people when they have mood swings. They don't mean it, it just they can't control themselves. For me, I have my own way of letting out my feelings." He gave me an example by pulling his bow across the strings, making a strong note sound. "When words fail to come out..." He played another good note, stronger than the last one. "And movements are all you can do to keep yourself by breaking down..." He made a few more notes, this time soft and steady ones. "You play," he answered briefly as he stared at me with not glaring or stern eyes, but empathetic ones.

"...play...?" I questioned a little ignorantly.

"Concentrate on your feelings," Dr. Williams advised as he placed down his violin to pick up another. "When you feel them swell up inside you..." He pushed the delicate set of objects towards me and even took the liberty of setting it up for me. "You connect those emotions through your body to your instrument and just play. Don't think about what you want to play. Don't think at all. Just play. Anything. Your emotions will take over. And soon, you realize how much of the pain you've expressed out from inside of you. Try it."

Holding the prepared instrument that he generously set up for me, I felt a very strong doubt of playing. "But..." I released a short grunt in disbelief. "I don't know how to play this or any instrument..."

"What did I say?" he almost calmly reminded. "Don't think. Just play."

I realised a drawn out sigh and decided to do it anyway. Of course, I let out a screeching note. I already began to feel frustrated. "See?" I said, feeling like I just wanted to drop the violin on the ground, ready for him to start getting mad at me for playing a wrong note. But he didn't yell. He didn't care how it sounded. It's like he doesn't care at all to be exact. He seemed like he wants progress on how I play it.

"No. Keep going," he pursued.

Feeling my anger rise, I clenched my hand on the neck and began to play once more. However, knowing he'd still want me to play after just one note, I continued to even after hearing terrible notes. In fact, having me deal with those notes wanted me to play as if I was trying to tear apart every string on the violin. I was surprised it lasted. After I felt almost breathless from that expression of frustration, I lowered the violin and took a look at it. Then, I began to think what I had just done. I immediately felt...guilty for playing this thing very badly. My bipolar mood went to that feeling. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I can't help myself… The thought of playing this damn instrument so terribly made me feel...awful. "I'm sorry," I apologize, feeling very bad. "I wish I could play this a lot more better like you can..."

"No," he rejected. "That was it. You let out the feelings that you have inside you from one of the illnesses that makes you have mood swings that you are forced to have. Maybe not all of it, but at least for the time being. You feel better, don't you?"

"I don't know... I don't think I feel better at all... Maybe I do, but..." I still don't know what to think.

He picked up the other violin and bow, and set it up properly on him. "Let's play together... But follow me. I'll play a note, and then you play. It doesn't matter how you sound... Just relax and stroke your bow on the violin strings. If you feel anger or other feelings that are starting to build up inside you, play it roughly. It doesn't have to sound perfect. Not everyone is perfect when it comes to instruments or singing songs… Just...think of someone that makes you upset and frustrated. It can be one person or more..." he told me with a calm smile. "Are you thinking of someone?" he asked.

I nodded, gripping my violin so tightly that my hand is getting a bit sore. I bet you know who I'm thinking about that makes me upset and frustrated... That's right... Travis...

"Alright, good. Now do what I do. Remember, I'll play a note, and then you play. And we go from there."

"..okay..." I decided to agree.

I don't know how much time as passed by during this session while me and him took turns. Of course, I kept playing awful notes, causing the strings to let out ear piercing sounds with lots of screeches, and Dr. Williams didn't yell at me for doing those notes. At least he's very relaxed about it…

"Alright, that's it for today," he announced, putting his violin and bow down onto the table. I set mine down next to it. "That was very good, Hazel," he praised, patting my shoulder. Again, I didn't flinch, wondering why I keep doing that.

"But I played so badly..." I said sadly, feeling like a failure. "I'm no good with those instruments..." I looked away, not wanting him to see me cry or else he'll tell me to keep playing even though my music therapy appointment is over.

"I'll tell you what." I faced him when he picked up one of the violins, the one that I 'played'. "Why don't you keep this?" he offered kindly, placing it on my lap along with the bow.

I looked down at the objects, taking them in my hands. I wasn't sure what to say at this point. Do I really want to take this? I mean, I don't mind. It's that reading helps me… feel relaxed. In fact, it was the only thing that makes me feel at ease just like I stated before that monster attack in the town of Madison. However, I didn't want to be rude since he generously offered me this...gift. Even though I was bad at it. Good thing he wasn't one of those kinds of people that will shout at other people who played an instrument all wrong or sang off key, and get all bossy about it.

Holding the objects, I gave him a small nod. "Thanks... that was...really nice of you."

He let out a beaming grin. "Great!" he declared. "And here's the case for it." He showed me how to put it away in case I take it out when I need it. "Remember, dear. It doesn't matter how you sound when pulling the bow across the strings. Just play and don't think. It doesn't have to be perfect." Doesn't have to be perfect… "Not everyone is good at playing an instrument," he continued. "In case you want to learn, here's a book on what letter strings that are on the violin and how to play it properly. You don't have to be good at it right away, just mess around with it for now. Whenever you feel sad, angry, frustrated, or any feeling you have, just take your violin... and play," he empathized greatly, motioning his pointer fingers as if to settle the mood that was between me and him. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," I returned, taking the violin case with my right hand, the book on the left before leaving the room and stopped at the doorway. "Doesn't have to be perfect?" I repeated.

He shook his head, the calm and nurtured smile still planted on his face. "No, it doesn't."

Starting to feel relaxed from his body language, I proceeded out the door to take this to the room before I can go get dinner. I'm not sure if Jackson's is in the room waiting for me or at the cafe. It doesn't matter to me. If he's not in the room, he'll be waiting for me at the cafe at the same table that we sat at twice.

Arriving at the room, I saw that he hadn't left. He didn't look up when I entered since his eyes were fixated on the book that he's reading that I let him borrow. The only time he took his eyes off it is when I walked up to him.

"Hey, there." He closed the book, getting up from his bed, placing it back on the other books. "How was music therapy?" he asked, leaning against the dresser in a cool type of way that some boys due to get girls' attention. He surely got my attention for sure. "Was it great?"

"It..." I walked over to my bed, placing the case next to it against the wall, or else I'll end up falling over it. "...was okay. I didn't play the violin very well," I answered. "Only Dr. Williams didn't mind that I played it so terribly despite the bad notes I made." I picked the case off the floor, and took it out and the bow. I set myself up, remembering how to do it right away. I gave him an example by pulling the bow across the strings, making a screeching noise. When I did that, I saw that he cringed. I took that as an offense. "Really?" My mood went from relaxed to getting slightly angry. "You just cringed even though I explained to you that I'm terrible at this instrument?"

He shook his head. "No," he recovered. "I didn't mean to look like that. You're right. You are terrible at it."

"Boy, why am I not surprised?" I rolled my eyes sarcastically.

"Can I try it?" He held his hands out. I gave the violin and bow to him. He set himself up and played… Not in a bad way like I did. He actually played it very nicely, that he was playing a similar song.

"Was that… Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star?" I guessed, not sure if I was correct or not.

"That's right," Jackson grinned. "I used to play the violin back in fourth grade," he told me with a sly smile, handing the instrument back to me. "Maybe we can play our instruments together."

"Yeah, maybe." I shrugged. "I hope I learn how to play this stupid thing." I put the violin and bow back in the case, closing it shut. "I also can't wait for tomorrow to start my medication and I'm wondering when I can get home," I added.

Jackson placed his hand on me, his silver eyes looking into my very own. "Don't worry about when you're going home. You'll get to go home soon." And to my total surprise, he hugged me. Did I pull away from him? No, I didn't. I didn't feel anxious when Stine did the same thing to me to the point where I snapped at him. Despite the hug I'm getting, I failed by trying not to show the pink circles that lit up on my face when he let go of me. "You know..." Jackson pointed out. "Every time your face does that it makes you look... I don't know... hot."

My face bloomed even brighter. "R-Really...?" That was the first time he called me that. "Will you have the same reaction if I say that you're... cute?" Even though I didn't smile or grin after I said that, he too, blushed, his face turning that bright, rosy pink on his cheeks. "I'll take that as a yes," I consumed with a seldom look.

"Heh, heh." He let out a shy chuckle, almost feeling bashful. "Are you hungry?" he said, changing the subject before it gets too out of hand.

"Yeah, I am," I replied when my stomach let out a rumble.

He laughed, elbowing me playfully. "Let's go and eat." Taking my hand, he led me back to the café.

I hope they don't have tacos, I thought. And even if they did, Jackson did something for me that I'll never forget...