Chapter 24: Who Took The Book?

I stopped screaming when the door burst open, slamming against the wall, flinching at the sound that rang in my ears. "Hazel?!" I heard a voice from behind me until I got spun around, facing Jackson. "What happened?!"

My face is now red. "U-Uh..." I tried to come up with an assuring answer, not wanting him to think that a missing book is stupid to scream about. "I, um, I..." My hung my head, defeated. "Sorry for screaming like that... It's just...one of my books is missing," I apologized, not looking at him in fear he'll start laughing for something so retarded.

However, I was caught off guard when he didn't laugh at me. "One of your books is missing?" he questioned in confusion. I looked up to see that his brows are squished together. "How do you know that one of them is missing?" he asked, looking at all of my books.

"I looked at each book title when I was unpacking my stuff when I first came here," I explained. "I know each title by heart considering that I read each one multiple times."

"Okay? But... which book is missing? It looks like you had all of them..." He kept looking at my books, going through them, reading the titles on the covers.

"Stine didn't pack all the books; just some of them," I kept explaining. "The book I'm missing is... Vampire Breath. It has a vampire coming out a coffin, holding dead roses in his hand with a bottle that has, I think, blue mist inside with a label that says Vampire Breath on it right in front of him on the floor, and the book cover along with the word Goosebumps is purple," I described, remembering the details of the book. "The tagline on that book reads open wide and say...mouthwash!" I added in. "A lot of these books have taglines, except for the newer ones like the Goosebumps Most Wanted series as an example."

"Are you sure you didn't misplace it?" he further asked, thinking that was the case.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Oh, puh-lease. Like I would lose one of my books from my favorite horror series," I dejected. "I take care of books very well, thank you. I made sure the book covers are in tact, the pages perfect with no tears or anything, and most importantly, keeping the books clean; no stains, no nothing. Not even markings." I looked at the books that he went through, picking one up. "I know that book was in the pile..." I set the book back down, running my fingers on the word Goosebumps, feeling the bumpy texture. "Trevor was in here, going through my books…wanting to borrow one to read..." I remembered.

"You think he took it?" I looked to see a raised brow from Jackson. "Since he was here, he basically took a book from the pile," he theorized.

Another eye roll came to me. "Yeah, right. I know he's a creep, but I don't believe he's the type of person that steals things." I drummed my fingers on the dresser top. "I'm still tired from last night, and I cannot think straight. Oh, by the way, Trevor dumped water on me, saying it was my fault for getting him into trouble yesterday," I informed greatly, raising the volume up a notch before going back to the dull version of it. "So both our beds are wet since I'm soaked from head to toe."

"That means he took your book!" Jackson exclaimed, raising his hands in desperation.

"No, he didn't!" I snapped angrily, my mood switching at an instant. "Besides, I need more sleep before I start my therapy sessions and before I take my combo, hoping it'll make me feel better," I muttered, not wanting to be bothered.

He seemed to catch my message because I heard him pitter-patter out the door, closing it behind him.

He's polite, I thought, meaning it very well, not being sarcastic. Rosy's right, he is a pretty nice fella, the fact that he's really...cute. My face burned a little more, the redness not going away when his name bounced inside my skull. I...really wanted to go out on a date with him whenever he gets the chance to ask me out again. But the thing is... I'm not sure it'll make me feel better...

What if I get adopted by Stine? I asked myself silently. Will that make me feel better? Those questions will have to wait until I get out of here.

Going over to my bed, I felt the sheets. Wet. Soaking wet. Even Hannah's teddy bear is all moist. I can ask Rosy to dry off the stuffed toy, wanting it to be all soft and fluffy again like it was before, seeing how dark the fur is then it was the last time, knowing the fact that the color is actually a light brown from all the water that damn creep dumped on me.

Feeling around for a dry spot, I manage to find one, right near the wall. I grabbed my pillow, flipping it over to the dry side, moving it over to the dry area of the bed when my stitches began to burn. Not badly, though, but I put on the numbing gel on it from getting it any worse.

I need to make sure to tell the nurse that I borrowed the stuff, I noted myself a reminder. I'm nervous about telling her about it. What if I get kicked out and get sent to a different mental hospital, like the ones where they strap patients in their beds? That would be terrifying! Luckily this type of mental hospital isn't scary at all.

I checked my blanket of any dry spots. Only it was so wet, I can barely find any dry spots that I threw the blanket onto the floor in both frustration and anger.

"Thanks a lot, Trevor!" I spoke loudly with a teenage attitude that all girls my age will get sometimes when they have a bad mood or something. I always have terrible moods which isn't a big surprise.

Grabbing Jackson's blanket off of his bed, despite being damp from me being all wet, I dragged it over to my own cot, going over to the only dry spot on the mattress, again, near the wall.

This is gonna be comfortable. Laying down, I noticed I don't have a lot of room when I want to go into a different sleeping position; laying on one of my sides. Instead, I stayed the way I was at, shutting my eyes, patiently for sleep to come to me, that way I'll feel less moody and more alert when I do all my therapy sessions all over again.

Not only that, I wanted to know who took one of my Goosebumps books.

I was shocked when I found out during tonight after dinner.

I opened my eyes a few hours later, feeling more awake, more alert. I read the clock, seeing that it's eleven thirty a.m., so I hadn't miss lunch time. Hm. I should eat before I start my therapy sessions, I decided, thinking it was a good idea. That way I won't...well I can be snappy even when I do have food inside my systems of my body.

Is lunch still going? I wondered in thought. I didn't get a chance to answer when the door popped open, making me jump as I let out a startled yelp.

"Sorry, dear." It was Rosy and I relaxed, placing a hand on my chest to my beating heart that is going a hundred miles. "Didn't mean to scare ya," she chuckled, apologizing. "I came to see how you're doing." She walked over to my bed, putting her hand on it when she took it off right away. "Why is your bed all wet, darling?" she asked, going back to feeling the mattress again.

I hung my head. "Trevor dumped water on me..." I answered, my voice all mumbily. "I was sleeping and he dumped it on me, saying it was my fault when he got in trouble from yesterday. And yes, I know it wasn't my fault for what he did to me and... he saw my books, knowing what they are. He asked if he could borrow one to read; promising me that he'll give it back before I leave. Only..." I let out a sigh. "...I don't know him at all. I don't want any of my books to get ruined by some..." I began thinking of a word to describe him, not wanting to be offensive in case I get yelled out for saying a mean word, even though I'm not bully or anything. "Stranger," I picked out, finding the right phrase. "But before I wanted to sleep in, I wanted to read one of my books-"

"Which book?" I gave her a sharp look when she interrupted me. "Sorry," she apologized again. "Didn't mean to cut you off. My bad. Please, continue," she said, gesturing her hand in order me to finish what I have to say.

Breathing out of my nose, I did so. "Before I wanted to sleep in, I wanted to read one of my books," I repeated the last sentence before adding more to it. "But it's missing. The book I wanted to read is called Vampire Breath. Only it's not with the other books!" I yelled, my anger rising inside of me. "I know what books Stine had packed for me because I unpacked the stuff when I first arrived at this damn place. No offense. It's not as bad as I thought it would be. Anyway, getting off track here, I believe someone took it. I don't know if it was taken before I went back to sleep or the other day or... Jackson had a theory that Trevor might've taken it, except I don't believe it," I brushed off. "Oh yeah," I then remembered. "I slept on Jackson's bed, getting it wet; damped to be exact. Even my teddy- Well it's not my teddy bear, it's Hannah's." I held it up by its furry, wet paw. "She...gave it to me for comfort and it's all wet, too."

"You want me to dry all your sheets?" she offered. Of course, I nodded my head. "I'll also dry your- I mean your friend's stuff animal." She gestured her hand. "Can you get off the bed, please?" I did what she told me. "Thanks." Taking my sheets, I also gave her my pillow, telling her it's wet, too. "Thanks," she accepted before grabbing Jackson's bed, taking his stuff as well. "Oh, and I'll keep a lookout for..." She trailed off, trying to remember the book title.

"Huh? Oh yeah. Vampire Breath," I reminded her, and told her what the book cover looked like; describing every detail that it has. "If you find it, make sure it's in good shape. No tears or anything," I told her.

"Okay." She gave me a returning nod. "You better get something to eat," she advised me. "Before lunch is over."

"...I was thinking the same thing," I replied, rubbing my head when my stomach rumbled, causing my face to turn a slight shade of red. "I'll get going." Getting up from my bed, I made my way out of the room before Rosy did, stopping at the door. "I'll do my therapy sessions once I got food in me."

Rosy kept her smile on, wishing I can do the same thing. "Good idea," she agreed. "Aren't you going to take your combo?" she then asked.

I sucked in a lungful of air before letting it out. "I'll take it after I eat," I answered, deciding it was the best thing to do. "I better go." So with that, I made my way to the cafe, hoping I'm not too late for lunch.

And of course, I ran into that one boy I really like.

Jackson.

We let out yelps, falling onto the floor. Luckily, I didn't hit my head hard this time, only a little bit, getting a small headache. I sat up, rubbing the area, messaging the small pain away, not wanting it to get worse.

I then saw his hand out to me, noticing that he already stood up. I took my hand into his, feeling my face burn in a red shade of color. "Sorry..." I murmured, hiding my embarrassment for every time I...run into him.

Is it normal for girls like me to do that? I know for a fact that I like him and he likes me back, but… do girls literally bump into a guy that they like? Or do they just... I don't know. I'm on a dry spell when it comes to...love. Considering that I dropped out of school since kindergarten.

"Sorry..." I repeated my apology. "I...wasn't watching where I was going," I said, brushing my toe on the floor, biting my tongue.

"That's okay," Jackson let out a chuckle, having me look at his silver colored eyes. In fact, now that I think about it, I have never seen a guy- Well, a boy with silver eyes before in my life. Every time I saw those eyes of his, they just... I don't know… melt my soul? "We really need to stop bumping into each other," he chortled out a joke, laughing. Uh huh. "I was going to come get you for lunch," he told me with his bright, cute grin of his. That was nice of him... "I looked for your book and can't find it yet," he put in.

I sighed. "We'll find it. I told Rosy what it looks like, so she's going to look out for it, too," I replied. My stomach growled. "Come on," I stated. "I better get food in me." I started walking with him right by my side.

"Did you take your combo?" I shook my head. "Why not?" he questioned after receiving my answer.

"Don't be dramatic," I consulted with a heavy breath. "I'll take it once I'm done eating. I guess I wanted to see, I don't know if the new treatment has any side effects. Like getting food in your stomach before taking it. All treatment medications have side effects. Right?" I turned to him, waiting for what he has to say.

"I guess," he responded, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Not all of them have side effects, while others do."

"Some medications stop working," I added in a remarkable tone.

"I can agree with you there," he simply returned with a solemn nod. "So..." he began. "How are you liking it here?" he asked.

I looked at him. "Hm?"

"How are you liking it here?"

"Mm..." I shrugged my shoulders, answering his repeated question. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be. In my mind, I thought it would be one of those mental hospitals like in the movies where they restrain their patients or put them on a straight jacket." I breathed out of my nose, feeling guilty for myself. "I wish I never cut myself..." I muttered with an unduced tone. "All thanks to my stupid voices in my head just to make them feel satisfied." I kicked a random pen that was in front of me, watching it roll away from me. "Now that I think about it..." Another shrug of my shoulders. "I guess Hannah did the right thing to tell her dad what I did to myself."

Jackson clicked his tongue again. "She's sounds like a nice person."

"She is," I responded. "She's like...another sister to me. A lot better than my god brother, Travis. I just hope those dreams that I had of him won't come true. Dreams are just dreams."

"What if they do come true?" When he asked that, I gave him a disbelief look. "You don't have to believe me," he defended, raising his hands. "Some scientists believe that dreams can predict the future."

"Yeah right," I scoffed in mortal disbelief. "What are ya? Some kind of nerd?"

"Maybe." He put on a sheepish grin. "I can be a nerd from time to time," he admitted sheepishly.

I rolled my eyes. "Uh huh. Your both cute and a nerd." For some reason, he just laughed out loud. "I wasn't being funny," I spoke in a dull voice, feeling slightly annoyed, until I went into anger mode when he kept on laughing. "I wasn't being funny!" I voiced out in a loud, screeching volume.

That made him stop at an instant. "Sorry about that. I only laughed because it was a nice complement," he explained, calming down.

I didn't say anything back, feeling my mood going back the way it was before. I brushed my hair behind my ear as me and him continued on our way to the cafe, wondering what they have there.

Walking, I can't help myself when I kept looking at Jackson with the corner of my eye. He's so cute. That thought made my face turn that one color.

Red.

But why? Oh yeah. I almost forgot. I have a crush on him and really like him. Hm. I guess a date would help make me feel...less dull. Maybe to make me...happy? Sigh. But what if it doesn't? I know I mentioned this like a hundred times, but...nothing makes me smile. I bet that wish I made last night won't make me feel better, either. I won't tell you what I wished for; I just know that it won't work to make me feel… happy again.

Sometimes things won't go as planned. Only how was I supposed to know if my wish that I made won't come true? Some wishes can come true unless you wish hard enough. I didn't want to say it out loud because wishes are supposed to be secret, and when you release your wish, it might not come true.

There's one wish I have in mind.

My Goosebumps book titled Vampire Breath, wishing it where it was. Not only that, wishing to know who took the book out of that room.

I don't believe that Trevor would have taken it, could he? No. He didn't. He may seem like a creep, Hazel, I told myself, but he's not the type of guy that would steal belongings that you own. That nice demeanor can never fool you. That's why you didn't want him to burrow any of your books. It couldn't be him... right?

However, a question came into my head in four words. Just four words.

Who took the book?

The cafe was crowded by the time we arrived. At first glance, there was no seat after I got my food. I told Jackson to get food, too. He told me had already eaten, which I didn't mind at all. Most girls would be pretty upset when a guy that they like will eat their food instead of waiting for their girlfriends. Except me and him are not in a relationship. Yet. I don't think it matters. If Jackson got hungry and couldn't wait for me, I don't care if he ate as long as he did.

The cafe was just having sandwiches that patients can make. I made my favorite and rare sandwich that I like to eat. It has boloney, cheese, lettuce, and mayonnaise. I know. A weird food combination. People like certain foods, right? Everyone likes and dislikes different things. Like types of food. Like I said before, I can't stand spicy food.

I looked around. The room was so packed that I can't find an empty table. I was too afraid to ask anybody to leave their table, fearing that they'll think I'm a mean girl, which I'm not. Just because I don't smile, doesn't mean I'm a cruel person.

Jackson was the only to walk up to one of the tables, asking the people for us to have it. It wasn't near a window like our usual table. It was more in the center of the room.

I was expecting them to tell us no and for us to find a different table like I thought they would. Not all people are nice.

To my own surprise, they let us. Even leaving the table because they have to start their therapy sessions.

I sat down at one end while Jackson at the other. Kind of like a date. Only it wasn't considering that we're in a mental hospital.

Biting down on my sandwich, I noticed how he got very quiet. It wasn't weird or anything, he was probably just in his own world. I'm like that sometimes. I would just space off and just...think. I then picked up my drink, taking a long gulp of water.

"Do you want to go out on a date?" Right after those words that came out of his mouth, I started to choke on the clear liquid, coughing. "Crap!" he exclaimed, his chair scraping against the floor. He firmly but gently, hit me on the back. The water went up my throat instead of going down, spewing all over my sandwich, getting it all wet like I am. "Are you alright?" he then asked with concern once I caught my breath.

"Yes," I rasped, my throat feelings there's still water in it. "Now what did you just say? Did you say that you want to take me out a date?" I proceeded to clarify.

"After our therapy sessions," he confirmed with a bashful smile. "I mean unless you want to that is."

I thought about it. "Sure. After our therapy sessions, that is. And when we come back, I'll ask Rosy if she found my book."

"And I'll ask her for permission for us; just the two of us, to go out on a..." A grin spread across his face. "Date." He maintained his smile. "I know a perfect restaurant not too far from here," he told me.

I was confused at first before nodding my head. "Oh yeah..." I now remembered. "You drove yourself here." I took another bite of my wet sandwich, not caring about the soakness at all. "I wish I can drive..." I stated glumly, sipping my water to avoid anymore choking.

Jackson didn't say anything else, drumming his fingers on the table, looking around the cafe, watching others eating and talking.

That's when a new question came to me. "Did the monster invasion really get on the news?" I didn't mean to say it out loud, it just did. "Did the monster invasion really get on the news?" I said, repeating it after catching his confused expression with squished eyebrows adding to it.

He looked at me with his eyes, locking them with mine. "Yes," he finally answered after a long, brief silence, keeping his voice hushed. "I know it's hard to believe, but it was on the news channel. I swear. I even recorded on my phone in case I wanted to prove to anybody here since no one else believes me." He motioned his hand forward, taking out his cell phone, along with headsets, plugging them in. "Here," he said. "Take a listen and watch. It's short."

Even though I wasn't convinced that the monster invasion from Madison was on the news channel, I put on the headsets on my head, feeling the soft parts on my ears.

I listened to every detail, seeing cameras, probably from those large buildings, aim at the monsters from Stine's books.

I should tell him about this, I decided. Not now, but maybe someday. However, I believe that he won't believe me. But how should I know?

I gave the phone back to Jackson. "Are you guys allowed to have phones?"

"Um..." Putting his phone away, he can only shrug his shoulders. "...no. The people working here believe that we can hurt ourselves with these," he explained.

"Then why do you have your phone here?" I arched a brow.

"Heh." He let out a chuckle. "I...hide it. So it won't be taken away from me," he answered with a small guilt on his face.

"Mm," was all I can come up with for a response. Finishing up my food, I briefly got up. "I'm gonna go take my combo and go see Dr. Snyder," I told him.

"Okay. I'll see you at group therapy." He gave me a light wave and I returned the favor back to him.

Walking back to my room, I almost ran into Rosy, who didn't see me come around the corner, getting the hair out of her eyes. "Pardon me," she accused politely. "Didn't see you there," she said. "I haven't found your book just yet," she reported. "But I need to ask you something. What does it look like? You didn't tell me what the book looks like."

I bit my lip. I never like to repeat things all the time. But I told her the description of the book cover. "It has a vampire coming out a coffin, holding dead roses in his hand with a bottle that has, I think, blue mist inside with a label that says Vampire Breath on it right in front of him on the floor, and the book cover along with the word Goosebumps is purple," I explained every detail. "The tagline on that book reads open wide and say...mouthwash!" I further explained. "A lot of the Goosebumps books have taglines except for the newer ones like for example the Goosebumps Most Wanted series."

"Okay, thank you," she thanked, the politeness not leaving her. "Have a nice day, too," she added, walking past me.

You too, I thought silently, making my way to the sleeping room.

By the time I got there, I picked up my pill bottle, reading the instructions. Take one a day, it read. Side effects may include drowsiness or dizziness... Great... These are the same side effects from one the last medications I took. This treatment will take up to a week or two for it to start to kick in, it continued to say. I guess that isn't too bad... I tried to open up the lid but with no success. I tugged and I turned the cap.

It was stuck short and before I can start to get angry and frustrated, I saw the instructions on how to open it. Press lid; turn. Oh. I did just that.

Grabbing my water bottle from the previous night, I put my first pill, almost gagging at the bitter taste, not expecting it at all. It rolled off my tongue, landing on my hand. "Yuck!" I stuck out my tongue and exclaimed in full disgust. "Why does it taste like that?" I wondered, looking down at it. "Why does it have that...nasty taste?"

"What do you expect for that treatment to taste like?" A startled gasp escaped my mouth when I heard someone behind me, having me whirl my head around, almost resulting in a stiff neck. "What do you expect that treatment to taste like?" Trevor repeatedly said, leaning against the doorframe. "Do you expect it to taste like bubblegum or something?" he slid out.

I rolled my eyes at this creep. "What do you want now?" I asked arrogantly, not wanting to deal with him anymore. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Hmph. Busy with what? Spitting up your pill?" He had a smirk that reminded me of Travis.

"Do you want me to call Rosy?" I confided, my voice filled with a threatening tone.

The result I got was a light chuckle. "Your funny."

"...I wasn't being funny," I venomed with gritted teeth. "I'm already having a bad day. First with you pouring water on me and my book being missing." I popped the pill back in my mouth, having it under my tongue. I opened up my water bottle, gulping it down with one swallow. I can already start to feel the drowsiness start to kick in.

"Pft. Your book is missing?" he scoffed with no care at all. "Girl, you got a lot on that dresser," he pointed with a septic finger.

"Not all of them!" I was starting to get boiled up by him. "I know that one of my books are missing because I checked. It's called Vampire Breath. I bet you saw it, did you? Or..." I narrowed my eyes, stepping up to him. "...did you take it?"

He stared at me. At first his eyes were wide but then went back with...coolness. "You told me not to borrow any of your books," he recalled early, the sly smirk on his face.

Something isn't right... The way he was acting. So instead of answering, I glide past him when he grabbed me by the shoulder. "You thought that I stole one of your books, huh?" he spoke with harshness, having me flinch at this. "I didn't take your book…" he hissed, tightening his grip on me. "I bet your boyfriend took it."

"He didn't take it and he's not my boyfriend!" I growled with a yell. I ripped away from him. "You're such a creep, Trevor. A real creep," I bruted out, giving him a hateful look. "Jackson has a theory that you took my book, but I don't believe him. At least not now. I'm not the type of person who accuse others. Now I need to get going." I gave one last glare, adding a stuck out tongue in the process. "I don't want to be late." With that, I stomped out the room, heading to Dr. Snyder's room.

When I got there, he wasn't in the room. So I decided to go in and sit down, waiting for him, drumming the tips of my fingers on the arm of my seat, leaning back on it.

By the time he gets here, I'm gonna shake his hand… Like a nice person would do, I decided, picking up on Jackson's advice for me to start getting used to physical contact.

Humming to myself, I got up, going over a mirror that was on the wall, smoothing my hair down. I was expecting to see the creepy version of myself; preparing for it.

Nope. Just myself. My normal self right on the reflection. I checked my stitches, seeing that the spot on my forehead seemed to be healing just a bit, but not much. Can't wait to get them taken off in four or five weeks, because now the numbing gel that I put on earlier is now starting to where off.

I touched them with the tip of my finger, just a light touch, and flinched, jerking my hand away from them. Never doing that again, I thought.

I fixed more parts of my hair. I guess Stine forgot to pack a brush for me. I don't blame him. I can just finger comb my hair since it's short. But I do need to take a shower. Unless they have shower products, that is.

I then heard someone walk in the room, having me look over my shoulder. "Hey..." I greeted softly.

"Hey," Dr. Snyder returned with a smile.

Going over to him, I took a deep breath, and stuck out my hand. He picked up what I wanted right away. "This is...a surprise," he laid out, taking my hand into his, giving it a gentle shake. "Did someone tell you to shake my hand?"

I dropped my shaken hand to my side. "Jackson told me it'll help me get used of physical contact since I have..." I trailed off, having a hard time to figure what the name is called for the fear of touch. "Um..." Damn... what is it called again? Think, Hazel. "Since I have..."

"Haphephobia? Yes, I know what you're talking about." He chuckled. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing his hand. I sat down at the seat I sat on before and he sat at the side of me. "So..." He set the clipboard on his lap. "How are you today?" he asked.

"Good. I guess..." I answered with a shrug. "I took my treatment; my combo, like you told me. I did it after I ate lunch," I then told him. "I also read that it'll only take a week or two for it to start working... And I'm fine with that. The one thing I don't like about are the side effects that it occurs."

"The drowsiness or dizziness?" He seemed to know what I was talking about. "Don't worry, it'll only last for several weeks," he assured me. "Anything else you would like to tell me before we continue?"

"I, uh...had trouble...sleeping...?" I replied.

He picked up his clipboard, ready to jot things down. "You had trouble sleeping?"

"Y-Yeah," I stammered, playing with my hair. "I was up half the night," I explained, resting my cheek on my hand, feeling tired due to the treatment that I took two minutes ago. "I was...going to tell you about my sleep problem last night." My eyelids began to get droopy. "Make sure that I don't fall asleep during this process..." I requested with a yawn.

"You want coffee?" When he offered that, my eyes went from drowsiness to confusion, my brows knitting together. "That is if you want any," he generally grinned.

"No thanks," I declined, not wanting to be rude. "I don't...like coffee."

"That's okay." He leaned back on his seat. "You were up half the night?" he said, going back to the topic. I answered by nodding my head. "Well…" I looked up when I heard him scribble on the clipboard. "That's part of your illness."

Confused, I responded. "Huh?"

He set the clipboard back down on his lap. "You see, Hazel," he started to explain, "people who have manic depression will have lack of sleep, or they'll sleep all day until the next day. They either go to sleep early or sleep late. With you, you slept until lunch time, correct?" Again, I nodded. "I would give you pills to help you sleep at night," he offered. "And I'll give vitamins to help you stay awake during the daytime, and daytime only."

"Isn't that too much pills?" I replied uncertainty, thinking it wasn't a good idea to put too much treatment in my body.

"When you follow my instructions of what time to take them, you'll be perfectly fine," he reassured me. "For your first treatment, I bet you read that you have to take one pill a day, which I trust you that you did. After you take..." He got up from his chair, going over to the cabinets, opening one, taking out a pill bottle. "...B12 vitamins, and make sure you eat something before you take these or else you'll... Well, let's just say you'll have an upset stomach. During the night, take these." He took out another pill bottle in his other hand. "These are sleeping pills. I give these to a lot of patients who told me that they have trouble sleeping. Take them around nine sharp, and you'll be out as light."

"Can I take my B12 now?" I asked. "I don't want to feel..." I felt like I drank too much wine that has too much alcohol in it, making me look drunk as hell. "...tired..." I manage to pull out.

"Since you ate lunch, yeah," Dr. Snyder allowed. "Oh, and did you take the other pill for your schizophrenia?"

For some reason, I had forgotten that he gave me two combo medications. "N-No. I-I, um... I...um..."

He seemed to sense my anxiety. "Don't worry, you can take it when you go back to your room. Just remember to take it along with your first combo, alright? I have some patients that would sometimes forget to take their medications and they freak out about it." His face turned serious. "But," he continued. "If you keep forgetting to take that second combo...you'll never get better." He put his smile back on. "Have a nice day, and here you go." He handed me my B12 and sleeping pills.

Boy, I hope this works. I walked out of the room. I should take my second combo, I decided.

Aw, why?

No! What do you want now? I shouted in my head.

Nothing, the voice answered, the same voice I've been hearing. Don't you love talking to someone?

I rather talk to a living person, rather then you, I pointed out as I continued to make my way to the room.

The voice let out a scoff. Fine, have it your way.

When it faded, I felt relieved since it was a very short conversation.

Once I reached my room, I took my second combo, reading the instructions. Same as the first one. After, I took my B12. I had little trouble opening up the pill bottle, and put one in my mouth. I was nervous of taking two pills at the same time, but I felt...okay.

Time for group therapy. I wonder if they'll be new people. What if one of the new people is that Trevor guy?

With that in mind, I headed for therapy group when I started thinking about that missing Goosebumps book, wanting to know who took it.

Group therapy was the same as always. Talking about our problems. I didn't talk much, but at least Trevor isn't in our group therapy. However, I did noticed a girl from yesterday during art therapy sitting next to me.

"Hey," I spoke, keeping my voice a hushed whisper. "Are you the girl with…"

"OCD," she replied, finishing my words. "Yes, I'm Lilly Ann," she introduced with a kind smile. "I saw you at art therapy. What's your name?"

"Hazel Monroe," I told her.

She gasped. "Hazel? That's such a nice name," she complimented. "What are you here for? I probably heard of you, but I was too focused on evening up my strings of my hoodie."

I repeated what I said before, telling her everything why I'm here. "So that's why I have to be kept an eye on for," I finished. "You know, when I was little, I didn't have friends. My god parents would be cruel to me, along with my god brother, and the kids at school would do the same thing, causing me to quit at kindergarten. I used to live by myself until I met Stine-"

"Wait," she cut me off. "Did you just say Stine?" Oh great, another person who knows about the author. "Is he the guy who wrote…"

"The Goosebumps books?" I nodded. "Yeah. Does everybody know him in this building because it seems like when I bring him up, people get all...giddy."

"When you find those type of people," she chuckled. "I have all of his books back at home," she told me. "I want to meet him, but he lives all the way in the town of Madison. I heard that there was a monster invasion. Jackson..." She pointed at him, who was talking to a couple of other guys. "...told me it was on the news. At first I didn't believe him until he showed it to me."

"Really?" I responded with shock. "He showed that to me at lunch. When did he showed you?" I asked.

"Before you arrived here," she shortly answered. "I asked him to show me, honestly." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I promised not to tell anybody else, letting him show the news to the other people that way he wouldn't get...picked on. What's your favorite book?" By the questions she's tossing at me, it looks like she wanted a friend.

"I believe it's Night Of The Living Dummy," I picked out. "I have a fear of dolls and dummies, making me have really bad panic attacks when I see them."

"Did you tell your doctor?"

"No..." I shook my head. "I'm decided that'll be too much for him. Maybe I should conquer my fear of those creepy things, like when Jackson told me to shake hands so I can get used of physical contact because I have a fear of being touched. He told me you don't like to shake hands..."

"That's correct." She seemed to take it lightly. "The reason I don't shake hands is that, well, I don't know what they touched," she explained. "By the way, how long are you going to be here? I probably will get to go home in a couple of days."

"Not sure..." I shrugged. The thought of not knowing when I'll go back home with Stine and Hannah made me feel sad, feeling water starting to rise in my eyes to the point where I have to leave.

I got up from my chair before group therapy was even over, speed walking down to me and Jackson's sleeping room.

Arriving, I saw that Rosy put our dry sheets on our cots, along with everything else. Including Hannah's teddy bear, which looks a lot more fluffier.

I laid down on my bed, letting the tears run down my face. I wasn't full on crying like I would normally do when I'm upset.

When will I get to go home? I wondered in thought, laying on my back, my eyes locked on the ceiling. It felt like I was here forever...even though it was only two days... I think.

"Don't worry," I assured myself out loud since no else is in the room. "You'll go home soon. It's not like you'll be here for five years straight."

"I would be worried if I were you."

"Huh?!" I sat up, the stuffed toy rolling off the bed, having it land on the floor. I looked towards the doorway to see Trevor.

"I would be worried if I were you," he spoke repeatedly, walking in. "A lot of patients will be here for days, weeks, months, even years." He went over to my books, and I quickly got in front of them.

"Don't touch my books!" I yelled. "I already have one missing."

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes. "All I know is that I didn't take it since you told me you won't let me borrow any of them."

Something about those words made my eyes squint with a suspicious look. "Alright..." I got up from my bed. "If you say so." I felt his eyes on me as I left the room, almost running to Jackson, but stopped myself just in time. "Hey..." I blushed, staring down at the floor to avoid looking at his silver eyes.

"Hey," he greeted back. "Why did you ran out of the room?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders a little. "I was...just upset, that's all," I answered.

"About what?" He threw another question at me. "Is it about that Vampire Breath book?"

"...and wondering when I get to go home," I added, letting my shoulders do another shrug. I sighed. "We better get to art therapy before we're late," I suggested the best option.

"Yeah, yeah sure." He let out a chuckle. "We don't have to go now, but if you want to, that's cool with me. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Not saying anything back, I trudged down the hall to art therapy, wondering what we're doing this time.

I then remembered what Dr. Jones words when I painted a picture of Travis on my canvas, telling me that the reason I did that is because I 'miss' him. I don't miss him. Why would I miss a person that tortured me every day? I think that therapist is a loon. But I can't say that to her because of how kind she was towards everyone. I guess she said that to make me feel...better? Eh, I guess it did? Oh well... I hope I don't make another painting or anything of him again.

By the time I found the art therapy room, which took me a couple of times to search for, Dr. Jones came up to me. "Hello, dear," she brightly greeted. Does everyone who works here call their patients that? I don't mind, it's just that...can't they go by our names. "Do you like clay?" she asked, guiding me to a table.

"I...never did clay," I replied honestly.

"That's okay," she returned with the same, happy smile. Is she always this happy? "You're the first one here and early, too."

I blinked, not surprised at all like most people would feel. "Oh." I sat down at one of the chairs to see different colored clays. "Do I have to wait for the others...?" I asked, not knowing what to do right now.

"No, you can start unless you want to," she told me. "Go ahead," she gestured her hands with encouragement. "Make anything you like." Then she walked away.

Picking up a blue colored clay, which represents my mood, I molded it in my hands, getting it all softened up. It was difficult at first, but I manage to get it all soft up.

I should make something like... I began to think, except my head was empty, like someone took my...imagination, and just dumped it out like in a trash bin or something.

Playing around with the blue clay, I began thinking about Jackson and how...attractive he is. Of course, girls have different taste when it comes to guys. For a long time, I can never figure what type of guy I like. I believe my mind made up that I like someone like him.

Throughout my deep thinking, I played around with my clay in my hands even more to the point where I forgot about my missing book, distracting myself away from that situation. Besides, I'll find my book. I just hope I'll find it before I'm released from this place, and hoping, really hoping that it wouldn't be ruined. I like to keep my books mint condition; no crease marks or anything.

I kept molding and messing around with the clay, not noticing that more patients came in, including Jackson when I heard him say, "What you're making there?"

I jumped, dropping the clay on the table. "I-I'm not sure," I stammered, my face turning red, blushing at the sight of him as he sat down next to me. "I never used clay before, so..."

"Want me to show you how to make a cup?" Jackson offered nicely, taking some yellow clay. "I'm pretty good at making different stuff with clay," he boasted a little, not wanting to be rude. "Oh, and I was looking for you book, asking if any of the others saw it. They said no, but they'll keep an eye out for it."

"That's..." I started to say, then picked up the right words. "...nice of them." I picked up my clay off the table again. "About that cup you wanted to show me how to make?" I brought up, wanting to distract myself from my missing book.

"Sure, sure. You start the clay like this." During his 'teaching method', I tried to follow every step little by little. "Cups are easy to make," he continued to teach me. "A lot easier than making vases."

Once we finished, mine wasn't the way I wanted to be. But at least I did my best. Hmm... I can give this to Hannah as an apology gift. I wonder if Stine told Hannah that I am sorry for shoving her onto the floor...

"You two want to paint those?" Dr. Jones suddenly asked out of nowhere, making me jump in my seat again. "The paints are over there at that table," she calmly directed.

We got up from our chairs when I noticed a humorous smirk on Jackson's face. "What?" I questioned with a raised brow. "Why are you smirking like that?" I asked in full curiosity.

"Nothing, it's just that... it's pretty... adorable to see you jump," he hesitated to speak.

"Mm." I shrugged. "Wait," I realized all of a sudden, stunned that he said that one work to me. "You...think it's adorable to see me jump?"

He suppressed a chuckle, pulling out a chair, but didn't sit down. Instead, he forward his hand to the pulled out seat, having me sit down on it while he sat at the other one, bringing it close to mine and answered my reply. "I don't think, I know." His grin grew, his cheeks going up, along with crease marks at the corners of my eyes. "Here," he said, opening up one of the small jars, handing it to me, even though I would have done it myself. "Do you like purple?" he asked, preparing to open up another one which is bright blue, still resembling my mood.

However, that mood changed when I nodded my head. "Yeah. I like purple. It's my favorite color." Grabbing one of the brushes, I dipped it into the small jar, getting the 'hair' a nice coated purple color, being careful not to get any on the handle. "At least the clay would be now purple instead of blue, the color of...sadness." I began stroking my brush over my cup. "What do we do after we finish painting our clay cups?" I then asked.

"Put them in the oven."

"What? An Oven?" I stopped painting and questioned him. "We're going to put our hand-made cups into an oven?"

"It's not that kind of oven," he explained as he continued to paint his cup. "It's actually called a mansory, colloquially known as a brick oven or stone oven is an oven consisting of a baking chamber made of fireproof brick, concrete, stone, clay, or cob."

"So... we're basically going to cook our cups...?" I replied.

"Yep," he clicked. "The mansory will also brightened up our paint color on them, too," he added.

"Huh. No wonder the paint looks dull and not...bright looking," I thought out loud in a low voice.

"Make sure to paint your cup three times," he explained further. "It'll also help brightened up the colors, as well."

"That's...interesting?" I spoke, finding the right word for it. "Are you going to give you cup to somebody?"

"I'm going to give it to my mom," he simply answered. "What about you?"

"I want to give this to Hannah as an apology gift for shoving her onto the floor. I requested Stine to tell her that I'm sorry, but in case he forgets, or has forgotten, which I don't mind, I'll apologize to her for being all...snappy... Although she knew it wasn't my fault for doing that to her." I sighed, finishing up my cup after painting it three times. "Does she like the color purple?" I wondered out loud, most likely to myself. "Damn," I let out under my breath for no one else to hear. "What if she doesn't like purple? No. What if she hates my gift?"

Jackson frowned. "Why would you think she'll hate your gift?"

"...Don't know," I shrugged. "I guess it's because I never gave a present to someone in years. Before my biological parents died, I'll give them presents to show them how much I love them. Of course, being at a young age, I couldn't drive to any crafts stores, so I have to use my own crafts and art kits to make cards. I always made cards, making them better each day. In return, they'll get me gifts." I shrugged my shoulders again, tapping the brush on the table, the paint staining it. "I hadn't got any presents from my god family since they despise me," I guttered out.

"I'm guessing you wanted to be an artist...?" he assumed with a friendly smirk, taking in the fact after what I told him.

"Uh, um." I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat, nervous to muster out any word. Nevertheless, I the word went out of my mouth. "No," I frankly answered. "Even though art is great and all… I don't see myself as an artist. More like a...writer," I told him.

"Ooh," he expressed with delight. "What stories do you want to write?" He seemed to take interest.

I stammered. "I-I don't know." I began to think. "I could write a story about a character, such as myself, that can tell readers about my life," I merely thought. "Only," I exhaled, "I don't want it to be on a book..."

"Have you ever heard of Wattpad?" This question had me raise a brow.

"No..." I slowly answered. "What's that?" I inquired, placing the brush down.

"It's a website that people go onto to write their own stories about their favorite TV shows, movies, games, etc," he explained, finishing up his cup, placing his brush next to mine. "All you have to do is make an account, and in case you don't have an account, you can make one for yourself. It can be any account. But-" He raised a finger. "-you can't be under thirteen because there are rules that apply to that website. It's a popular site, too. A lot of people are on it. Not only that, you'll be lucky enough to have followers." A grin spread across his face. "Before I came here at this place, I too, have an account. I write all kinds of fanfics," he stated braggily, even though he didn't mean to.

"You write fanfics?" I couldn't help but questioned. "I didn't know you write stories."

"Heh... That's right, I do," he blushed bashfullily. "I'm writing about a fanfic for one of my favorite movies; horror to be precise called It Came From Beneath The Sea. It's an old horror movie, but I love it. You can also create your own original stories on that website, too."

Huh... That name sounds familiar... Basically, the same movie name has the same title of one of my Goosebumps books. The title of that book is It Came From Beneath The Sink. To me and in my own opinion, is that it's one of the creepiest books Stine has ever written. For those who have read the book, you'll know what the story is about. However, for those who have never read the book or don't remember about it, check it up on Google. As for me, I read every Goosebumps book known to man, more likely to read them over and over again just to remember every single detail.

"I'm more likely doing a rewrite of that movie." When he said that, my brows furrowed. "Oh!" he chuckled, catching my reaction. "A rewriter is someone that, well, rewrites a story based on a movie or TV show. Except, they have to make sure not to copy the entire story. You can also make up your own characters."

"Really?" I responded.

"Really."

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming on the table top. "Do I have to pay to get on the story writing website?"

"No, it's free." Jackson leaned back in his chair, copying me. I didn't care. "It's the best site ever to go on. You can even message to people with a thing called Private Messages. It goes into their Email that's in their Inbox." Smirking his kind smirk, he rubbed the back of his neck. "You wanna know how many followers I got for my story?" I was about to guess when he answered for me. "Twenty hundred followers, including favorites."

"Twenty hundred?!" The chair almost leaned back with me catching the table just in time before I hit my head on the floor, not wanting to cause more injuries to myself. "You have..." I regain my control. "...twenty hundred followers?!" I reacted, feeling people look at us. I didn't care; didn't care for the matter. "When did you get that many?" I asked.

"Probably when my story got...popular..." was all he can think of. "It's my first story and I thought it would be a waste of time," he put in. "Turns out I was wrong, and almost every single day, I get a new follower. I wrote two..." He stopped in thought, placing his pointer and middle finger on his chin. "...hundred chapters for my fanfic."

"Two hundred chapters!?" I repeated in reaction. "H-How long did it took you to write that many chapters?"

"Mmmmm. I say about three years. I think I was fourteen or fifteen when I started my account," he presumed with memory. "I'm not finished with it yet, so I have to put in an Author's Note, explaining that I won't be writing my story since I have to come..." He gestured his hand, making a circular motion in the air. "...here. Luckily, readers do understand what the writer is talking about so...yeah. I'm going to try to finish it up when I get out of this place."

"Huh," I breathed out. "I want an account, too," I wished, looking at my cup, patiently waiting for it to dry. "But I can't. I don't have a computer or a laptop. I could ask Stine, and I doubt he'll get me one. I don't even have a cellphone, either!" Not wanting to get upset over a dumb technology thing, I pushed myself off the table, scrapping the chair behind me. "I'm going to do some reading..."

"Art therapy isn't over yet," Jackson proclaimed with me walking away towards the door. "Hazel, come back here."

I bit my lip, stopping at the doorway. Should I stay until art therapy is done? Nah. Even though you can stay at each session for an hour, the hour is almost up, making it the perfect time to leave. I didn't like ignoring Jackson, but I really want to do some reading. I want to clear my head and be left alone for awhile.

It seemed like he gave up because he didn't stop me as I walked out of the room, heading to our bedroom.

I almost ran into the nurse, stopping just in time. "Sorry..." I murmured.

"That's alright," she forgave. "I was looking for you. I saw your note, explaining that you borrowed something from my office?" she assumed.

"Yeah... I borrowed some numbing gel because my stitches keep on burning..." I hestentily explained, hoping that she won't get angry at me since I'm very sensitive. "I can...give it back to you right now..."

"It's okay, you can return it whenever you'll get to go home," she understood. "Where are you going anyway?" she asked me.

"Room," I shortly answered. "I was doing art therapy and since that session is almost over, I decided to leave..." I trailed off when a frown came over her face. "...what...?" I asked, now avoiding her gaze. "Is it bad to leave early?" I said.

"No." She shook her head. "It's just not a good idea to leave your therapy session early without the doctor knowing," the nurse explained.

Too bad, was what I wanted to say. But instead, I said, "Oh... I didn't know." Keeping my gaze away from her, I spoke again. "I can just go back..."

"No need to bother doing that. You can just go on ahead to your room. Just remember to say something first before leaving any therapy session," she advised. At least she isn't angry.

I nodded my head and walked away from her, continuing my way to the bedroom, wanting to be by myself. Not for long, considering that it's not... fun to be alone. Only I don't know what fun is...

Reaching the bedroom, I stepped in, walking up to the dresser, grabbing one of my Goosebumps books known as A Night In Terror Tower. After, I went over to my bed, laying down on it, right on top of the blanket, opening my book up, and started to read.

Soon, I ended up finishing the book before I knew it. I didn't read very fast nor skim it, I just took my time with it.

Sitting up, I really want to read Vampire Breath. But I can't. It's missing still. And I don't want it to be missing anymore.

Standing back up, I made a decision to look for my book, no matter how long it'll take me. I want it back, not wanting anything bad to happen to it.

Walking out of the room, I began my search. It's a good thing everyone is at their therapy sessions, that way I won't have to be bothered as I'm doing it.

But I keep wondering. Who took the book? I mean, what kind of person would steal a book from you? Jackson has a theory that Trevor took it since I told that dude that I don't want him borrowing any of my books. However, unlike me, I don't blame other people unless they did something that I don't like. Such as a stolen book.

What if something bad ever happened to it? What if the book is all tattered up? What if it got dropped in a toilet? That last thought did not make any sense, at all. Why would my book be in a toilet? That's just sick and disgusting.

While I was walking, I began to hear some talking. "I can't believe she thought that I didn't take her book," the voice said; a familiar one. "After she turned her back to me, I just grabbed one of them..." Wanting to know who it is, I followed the source of it. "Heh, heh, heh." It sounded like a male chuckling. "I'm such a good liar..." Liar? "...for telling that girl, the hazel eyed girl, that I never took her book." The voice seemed to grow stronger, and I stopped at a door that was open just a crack, so I pushed it. Luckily, it made no sound as I inched the door, opening it a bit further.

I stopped to see someone laying on a bed. The person didn't pay any attention to me.

"Trevor, you are such a genius," he praised himself with another chuckle.

"Trevor?!" I didn't mean to shout, it just came out that way. "You took my book!?"

"You wouldn't let me borrow any of them!" he argued, recovering from my outburst. "So I took it." He got out of his bed. "I can't believe you were dumb enough to think that I didn't steal your book," he laughed.

"Give it back!" I ordered. I ran into the room, only for him to shove me onto the floor. "Oh!" I groaned, feeling my head hit the hard surface.

Trevor stood over me. "You want it?" he began to tease me, holding the book up in the air.

Not wanting to act like a baby, I spoke. "Just give it back, Trevor. I won't tell anybody. I promise."

"Hmm." He lowered the book to his side, my eyes glued on it. "Okay, I'll give it back to ya on one condition," he stated.

"What?" I condoned, my eyes still on the book.

"Have fun with me and not with Jackson." The grin he gave off was...creepy. Almost like Slappy's grin. "We can have our...own kind of fun…"

At first I was confused, getting off the floor, standing up on my feet. The back of my head felt sore, and I knew I was going to have a headache later. "What kind of fun?" I questioned caustionedly.

He took a step forward, placing his hand on my chest. "You know. The type of fun where..." He leaned towards me, whispering something into my ear.

My eyes widen with surprise and I punched him on the chest so hard that it caused him to cry out, bringing his hand back to him. "Why the hell would I do that!?" I declared. "That's just... It's not right. I'm not gonna let someone, like you, force on top of me!"

"Hmph!" he huffed. "Fine," he retorted. "How you beg for your book back, then maybe I'll give it back to ya."

"I'm not going to beg!" I confided back. "Just give me the book!" I reached for it, only for him to raise it out of my reach, holding it up in the air. Damn, I never knew he was this big until now.

"Not until you beg for it." He waved the book. "Tick, tick, I don't have all day."

I sighed, backing away from him, bowing my head, feeling like a complete idiot. "Please, Trevor," I began to plead. "Give me back my book. I only have one copy of each Goosebumps book; all original covers," I told him.

"Well, since you said it nicely..." I heard the book being opened up again, having me pick my head up. "But since you refuse to let me borrow any of your books, I'll just destroy it." He grabbed the cover, pulling it back, and when I heard that small sound of tearing, I smacked the book out of his hands at an instinct. "Hey!" he cried in alarm, only he didn't have time to react when I tackle him to the ground, punching his face. "Get off!" he screamed. "Ow! Stop it! Get off of me!"

Ignoring him, all I could see was red, reminding what I did to Dr. Maniac. I would have kept going when I pulled off by someone.

"What is going on here!?" It was one of the security guards. "What is going on here!?" he repeated demandingly.

"He won't give me back my book that he stole!" I proclaimed, pointing at him. I saw that I caused some damage to his face, seeing bruises. Man... I know I can punch, but I never knew I could punch that hard. I don't think Dr. Maniac had black and blue marks on his face.

"What?" the security guard questioned. "He took a book?"

"Yes!" I declared, "but he was about to ruin it."

"Too bad, girly," Trevor snarked, gripping the book in his hand, after picking it up off the floor, the book cover having a small rip to it.

"If you rip the whole entire book, you're going to pay for it," I threatened.

"Just get a new one." Wow, great advice. "They have the new, classic book covers," he told me.

"I hate those covers; I like the original book covers!"

"Too bad!" Is that his punchline? "You don't need every, single book." He rolled his eyes. "Besides, I'm not going to give it back to you," he refused. "I changed my mind."

"You can't change your mind at the last minute," I fumed. I hope my medication kicks in once the two weeks are up because I can't keep having these mood swings all the time. Including with depression; sadness to be exact.

"Yes, I can," he argued. "Don't tell me what to do, you prick."

"Oh yeah, well your a jerk," I comebacked.

Trevor glared at me. "Really? You think I'm a jerk? You know what I think of you?" I can only stare at him, waiting for what he had to say. "To me, you're a complete cry baby," he insistently insulted.

"No, I'm not!" I was beginning to get fed up with this dude. "You're a jerk," I insulted, saying my comeback again.

"Cry baby."

"Jerk."

"Cry baby."

"Jerk."

"Cry baby."

"Jerk."

"Cry-"

"Okay, that's enough you two," the security guard cut in, having Trevor and I stop. "Trevor, lend her book back to her so we won't have any problems," he ordered a bit harshly.

"Ugh, fine," Trevor grumbled. "Here." He pushed the book towards me, the end of it barely stabbing the lower part of my chest. "I bet my parents are right. I shouldn't be reading these books since I'm eighteen; two years older than you."

I didn't want to argue anymore. Instead, I gave him two words. "Thank you." Then I left the room, stopped, and looked at the small tear from the book cover. "I should look for Rosy's office..." Deciding that was the best option, I went over to one of the janitors, asking where her office is at.

He told me and I followed his directions carefully. I never been to her office and I'm not sure if Jackson showed me where it was at while he gave me the tour of this buildng. The janitor asked if he could just take me there, but I simply declined his offer.

It didn't take long to find her office. It was where the entrance is at, right to my own surprise. I walked up to it, giving it three knocks.

"Come in," Rosy called from inside. I grabbed the doorknob, turned it, pushing the door open. She looked up from her papers. "Oh, it's you," she noticed right away. "In case you were wondering, no I didn't find your book yet," she informed me, thinking that's the reason why I came here.

"No, that's not what I came here." I walked up to her desk that has pens, pencils, and stacks of papers. A closed up laptop sat on the right side of the desk, feeling lonely. "I...actually found my book. Trevor had it," I told her. "And he ripped the cover up a bit. See?" I put the book on the desktop to show it to her. "He basically stole my book when I told him he can't borrow them, and he wanted me to beg for it, and I did, feeling like an idiot for doing that. At first I thought he'll give it back, and he began to tear off the book cover. I got so mad that I smacked it out of his hand before he can completely ruin the book. Right after I did that, I began punching him-"

"You were punching him?" Rosy questioned interrupting me. I felt annoyed when she did that. "Why did you do that?"

"I was getting mad." It wasn't a great answer to give to her, but it was the first thing that came to me. "I don't want him to rip the cover off the book."

"You can buy a new one," she said.

I couldn't help but to make a sick face of disgust. "They only have the new, classic book covers," I responded, my face scrunching up. "My biological parents gave those Goosebumps books when I was four before they passed away, with me living with my god family who are complete jerks towards me." That's when I question came into my head. "Have I told you about my god family?"

She tilted her head to the side a bit, thinking. "No. Do you want to give out details on why they're...jerks?"

"Nah," I declined. "I talked about my god family so many times that I don't want to talk about it anymore unless I want to. Plus, I think my real parents grew up in the nineties," I theorized. "But I'm not one hundred percent sure about that because I was really young when they gave me these types of books. When I think about it now, I believe it was their books when they were kids," I bet. "When they gave me the books, to me they look brand new. No crease marks or anything on them. They gave me every, single Goosebumps book. And it's not just the original books, they also had other Goosebumps series." I took a deep breath in and let it out. "I don't want any of them getting ruined, you know? So can you fix it up, please?"

"Well, I can use a piece a tape on it..." she replied. "But are you sure you don't want a new one?"

"I'm sure." I nodded my head, letting her know that I made up my mind. "Tape's fine," I added, just in case she wanted to use something else to fix my book.

"Alright." She grabbed a tape dispenser, ripping a small piece from it. Carefully, she tapped the small tear, putting the book cover back together. Even though it didn't get totally damaged, I don't want to accidentally rip it all the way off. I do grab the books by the cover sometimes, I have to admit. "There." Finishing up, the rip was back in place. The tape was so clear, it looks like the book wasn't even ripped at all. "Here you go," she said, handing the book back to me. "Is there anything else that you need?"

"Nope." I shook my head. "That'll be all," I returned. "Thanks." After that, I walked out of the room, stopping at the doorway, turning my head. "Do you want me to close the door for you?"

"I'll close the door," she answered with a kind smile. "See you later," she waved.

"See you later, too..." I returned again.

Walking out of the room, I made my way to the bedroom so I can put my book back. Thank god that I got my book back, getting fixed. I knew Trevor is gonna hate me, but hoping that he'll not bother me.

Once I got to the bedroom, I saw that Jackson hasn't returned from art therapy. Either that, or he went to music therapy.

Speaking of music therapy, I put my book with the others, and grabbed my violin case and along with the book that teaches you how to play it. I'm not good at reading musical notes, but Dr. Williams told me that this book will tell me what the strings are. More likely telling me what letter string they are.

Opening up the case, I took out my violin and bow. Then I opened up the book titled How To Play Violins. Interesting title.

I skipped on how to hold it correctly since Dr. Williams did it for me. So I went on the instruction section, reading it carefully, making sure not to miss a single word. Then I read which string letters that are on the violin. I have to admit, I must've read that part several or more times to remember it since I never played any kind of instrument.

Feeling like I remember now after reading it the twentieth time, I set the book to the side, not closing it. I set myself up and began to play one string at a time. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't as screechy as it was before.

I kept going, doing my best to get it right. It wasn't easy but I manage to make all the notes sound right; no screeching ones at all.

"I should try to play a song..." I thought out loud, returning my hands to the book, bringing it back to me. I went through the contents, searching for how to play songs of any kind.

When I found it, I read on how to play Mary Had A Little Lamb. A classic. My real mom would sing me that song; the first song I ever listened. I don't listen to songs anymore. I don't have an MP3 player or an iPod. I don't even have a cellphone!

Once I memorized the notes for the song, I placed the book back down for the second time, replacing it with my bow and violin. I placed the bow on the strings, streaking across them, playing the song. I did miss a couple of notes, but it wasn't that bad. I tried again, wanting it to be just perfect.

"It's a good thing that Jackson's at his therapy sessions, making the time perfect without any inter-"

"Sup, Hazel?" Jackson walked into the door with the flute in his hands.

"-ruptions." I set my bow and violin on lap. "What do you want?" I asked, doing my best to hide my annoyed look.

"Eh, sorry," he answered. "Didn't know you were playing. Were you playing Mary Had A Little Lamb?" he inquired in full interest. "It was pretty good."

"It was okay..." I shrugged. "You were at music therapy?" I said.

"Uh huh." Jackson sat down on his bed, putting his flute to the side. "I thought you were going to do some reading," he mentioned confused.

"I was... But while I was heading here, I heard someone talking and not in my head this time," I explained. "I found where the voice was coming from. It was in one of those sleeping rooms. To make the story not too long, Trevor stole my book." I twirled my hair around my finger. "Turns out you were right," I stated. "I had to get it fixed by Rosy because that dude ripped the book cover. It wasn't a large tear, just a little one. I was told that I can just get a new one, except I don't like the new book covers known as classic covers. So I don't need to ask Rosy if she found it since once we come back from date that we're doing after our therapy sessions. Do you have your own Goosebumps books?" I asked.

"Certainly," he replied. "I get all of my books off line. I like to get all the books all at once for each Goosebumps series. But I have to admit, my mom helped me get all of them, including my other family members. Except my dad couldn't do it since he's over at the military. I do want to visit him, but he's pretty far from the United States. I hadn't seen him since I was a small lad."

"Do you like the classic Goosebumps book covers?" I put into the conservation.

"They're okay to be honest," he answered his own opinion. "However, the original book covers are a lot better than the ones today. The other ones I'm fine with, like the Goosebumps Most Wanted books. Do you know did the artwork for the original sixty-two book covers? I forgot his name."

"Also the two thousand series," I added. "The artist is Tim Jacobus," I answered. "He also did one the Give Yourself Goosebumps books, and that is The Carnival Of Horrors. He also did the covers for the Tales To Give You Goosebumps and the Goosebumps Triple Header books. But the two original Goosebumps books such as Be Careful What You Wish For... and Stay Out Of The Basement are from a different artist known as Jim Thiesen. Tim did those book covers, too, but they weren't released until the early two thousands."

"He's pretty awesome for making awesome book covers," he commented, nodding his head. "Even though they didn't choose Tim's own book covers for Be Careful What You Wish For... and Stay Out Of The Basement until later. He doesn't do Goosebumps book covers anymore and he's been replaced by Brandon Dorman who's now the new Goosebumps book cover artist."

I nodded my head. "I definitely agree with you there, and the new artist is...pretty good at making the covers with the new Goosebumps book series. By the way, how are you part Cherokee?" He blinked in confusion. "I'm just wondering," I quickly added so I won't make a fool of myself. "It's just that...you don't look...native American…"

"No, I don't look like one. It's in my blood. My great-great-great-great-great grandmother is full native American," he told me. "She used to tell stories to people at summer camps, telling them not to go out in the woods during the night," he spoke.

"Why?" I questioned.

"Monsters."

"Monsters?"

"Monsters like skin walkers, bigfoots, jersey devils, black dogs, hellhounds, and many more," he listed. "After those years went on, my mom and dad will tell me those stories when I was really little and, to be honest, it kept me from sneaking out at night."

"But..." I spoke. "They're just stories. They're not real," I told him.

He gave me a serious look. "They are true stories, Hazel," he replied. "It's okay for not believing me; it's a native American thing. Do you know any of your family's history?"

"No, not at all..." I hung my head. "I don't know anything about my real parents' family history on both sides."

"That's okay." He seemed like he didn't mind about me not knowing my family's history. "Besides, not everybody knows about their own family histories, either." He scooted back, leaning against the wall.

"That is true..." I agreed nothingless. "When will our hand-made cups be done?" I asked, getting up from the bed, getting ready to go to music therapy.

"They'll be ready soon," he told me. "You better get to music therapy before you're late," he advised.

"Yeah..." I grabbed my violin and bow, placing them back inside the case. I grabbed the handle of case, picking it off the floor. "You can read one of my books if you want to," I gestured my free hand to the dresser. "I know that you won't ruin them."

"Alright, thanks." He got up from the bed, going over to my books. "I'll read…" He spread the books across the dresser top. "...this one," he chose, showing it to me. "This is one of my favorites."

I looked at the title. "Beast From The East," I read. "It's more of an okay book for me," I gave my opinion. "But since it's your favorite, go ahead," I encouraged him.

"Awesome." Going over to his cot, he got on it, and plopped on the mattress with ease on his back, his head landing directly on the pillow. He opened his book. "Awesome."

"Is that your favorite word? Awesome?" I asked.

Jackson shrugged. "Everyone has their favorite type of word."

"Yeah... I guess you're right..." I rubbed the back of my head. "See ya later."

"See ya," he returned, his eyes glued to the book.

I walked out of the room before my face turns red with blushness, heading to see Dr. Williams, not wanting to be late for music therapy.

And after therapy, me and Jackson will go out on a...date. A dinner date.

Can't wait to see what a date is like. It sounds...interesting.

"You know how to play Mary Had A Little Lamb?" Dr. Williams asked. I arrived five minutes ago, telling him that I learned how to play a song on the violin. He was quite surprised. "Why don't you play it for me," he said with an encouraging smile.

"...Sure." I picked up my violin, placing my bow on the strings. I pulled the bow across from them, playing that classic song. It was going great until I miss a note. Then another, then another. "Grrr...!" The frustration began to build up inside me. "I don't understand," I complained, setting the violin and bow on my lap, covering my eyes. "I had it right before!" I muttered in complete outrage.

"Hazel." I didn't answer, just kept my head down, my hand over my eyes. I didn't want him to see me cry. "Look at me, Hazel," he ordered, his voice calm and relaxed, just like yesterday. Slowly, I picked my head up, feeling a tear ran down the side of my. I wiped it away. "What have I told you about playing this instrument?" he questioned me.

I didn't answer right away. I knew the answer, but I want to speak it clearly. My voice breaks when I cry, and I can't control it when it happens. "That it doesn't need to be perfect," I mumbled.

"That's right. Now why don't you try again and this time don't get discouraged when missing a note. String instruments are hard to play, making the music sound nice." He smiled. "Believe me, when I was your age, perhaps younger, I used to play the cello. Yes, I got frustrated, but I practiced every day. I wasn't perfect right away, and I do miss some notes when playing with that thing," he told me.

I quirked a brow. "Really?" I responded.

He nodded his head. "Really. Play it again, but take your time."

"S-Sure." I got myself set up and played the song again, being very careful not to make the wrong sound or anything. When I was finished, I looked at him. "Well?" I spoke.

"Nice; good job," he praised.

"...Thanks." I didn't know what else to say. "So... You used to play the cello when you were younger?" I presumed. "That's... interesting. How old were you?" I asked.

"I say about…" He thought for a second. "...fifteen or fourteen years old," he grinned. "Want to play the song together." Just like yesterday, he picked up his own violin and bow, setting himself up. "Or do you want to just pull the bow across the strings with no song?" he said, giving me two choices.

"Play the song. I rather not hear all the screeching sounds unless I'm really upset or angry about something," I replied.

So that's what we did. Playing the song over and over until it was time for me to go. I put my violin and bow back in it's case. "I'll see you tomorrow," I said, standing up from the chair.

"You too," he smiled in return.

After our farewell, I walked out of the room, heading to the bedroom, feeling very...satisfied...about the song I played. Just played, and I only learned how to play it today; only today. Wow... just... wow. I never expected to be good at playing an instrument. Well, it's not like everyday you're good at something right away. It takes lots of practice to get something right.

Maybe I found my hidden talent? That I'm not sure. A lot of people would be surprised when they discover their gifts at any age. Like, for example, cooking. A kid, a boy or a girl, would put random ingredients together. Then they'll discover that they can cook.

Can I cook? Nope. When I lived by myself, getting money for doing chores at other peoples homes, I'll go to the store grabbing non-cookable things such as fruits, veggies, bread, ice cream, types of chips, milk, cereal, yogurt, pudding, applesauce, jello, stuff to make sandwiches, and other forms of snacks. That's the food I can only rely on. I never had a home cooked meal in a long time until later.

Not only that, I'm still wondering if a date would make me feel...like this.

Better wait and see for myself, I guess.

Upon arriving, I entered the room, in time to see Jackson waiting for me. I went over to my cot, putting the violin case on the floor against the wall. "How was the book?" I spoke.

"Good," Jackson said. "Ready to go?" he asked.

"For our date?" I knew that we were; I just wanted to make sure.

"Mhm. I asked Rosy twenty minutes ago, and she said yes and to make sure we come back at eight o'clock."

"Okay, but I have to put something nice on." I went over to the dresser, about to pull one of the draws when I felt his hand on my shoulder, having me turn my head towards him.

"It's not a fancy restaurant," he told me. "Just a normal one. We'll have to drive there, too. I know I said it isn't too far from here, but that doesn't mean it's close by to walk there."

Oh yeah, I completely forgot that he drove himself here to this mental hospital for the second time that day. Stupid memory. I forget things from time to time. "Okay." I turned myself around, away from the dresser. "Let's get going." After that, I followed him to his car.

This is gonna be interesting.