"You're stomach is empty of all toxins. That is all. Your psychiatrist will be here to see you soon. Hold tight." With that the doctor left the room, looking back as he exited through the doorway and winked at me. Stupid doctors.

Who Is That Man?

Chapter 4

I am here at Tuckers for overdosing, cutting, and depression. The reason for my cutting is because is that it is a release from stress, anxiety, and the weight of sadness on my heart. I was remembering the pain of everything that has happened to me in this lifetime and I realized that I couldn't take it anymore. I simply wanted to give up. I took a bunch of pills that were prescribed to me for various reasons…

"fuck this." I mutter shutting the journal they assigned to me and tossing my pencil aside. I didn't feel like writing about my problems. Everyday, It's the same thing. Wake up at 8:00, eat breakfast, have group therapy, which the only thing you do is say your name, age, and why you're here, then there's more group therapy. After that it's lunch, with only disgusting hospital food (they didn't even allow me to eat the good real food that the workers at the place get to eat, even though I am a doctor, pfft…), but you'd be surprised what you'll eat if starved long enough. Then we have gym, then room time where we do the writing assignments given to us. Then we go to art. Oh the joy. Then there's more of the name, age, and why you're here shit. Then we eat dinner. Then guess what? More room time. I'm just overwhelmed with glee. And that's where I am right now. Then there's free time and visiting hours. Then off to bed. It was my second day, and it was already monotonous.

They keep the door to the outside locked like we're lunatics ready to attack. Most people are in here for either suicidal crap, self mutilation, or anger management. No one is really off their knockers except for the schizophrenic girl who believes she has a roommate named Curls and thinks she's married to Daniel Radcliffe, some muggle actor who thinks he's the king of the world when he lands a big role. Can you imagine being schizophrenic. You'd never be able to tell who's real and who's fake. It makes me think, maybe I'm schizo. Perhaps everything that happened to me didn't really happen to me and I've really just a real-life walking crazy. Perhaps I'm imagining my roommate who is currently snoring. Talk about nasal congestion. But if I was schizo, I'd think I'd know by now from people telling me things I see aren't real. Maybe Draco's not real, because what are the odds someone knocking on your door and telling you of a past that you don't remember? Lastely all of the good for nothing doctors have been asking me to write about my life and why I think I harm myself to forget about the pain.

Hmm… you know, this really is a tough question as apparently I've lost my memory of something, or should I write someone, that made my life worth living. How I just forgot of this person I am not sure. I didn't even know I had forgotten about him until the other day. I still have no true memories of him, except for the ones that come from the past couple of days. You see it started off when I was walking home from work one day, I happen to look across the street and I was almost blinded! I could not for the life of me figure out what had caused the glare until I saw the most handsome face I had ever seen look up, and I realized that it had been the man's hair. The hair was silvery-blonde and it was long on the man. Usually I don't like long hair on males but for some reason this fit. The hair was unnaturally perfect and made the already striking face that much more beautiful.

I started to see the man everywhere, and somehow he looked familiar to me. One day after a long tortuous day of work, he came to my door. I think that this is why I hurt myself that day. I think I almost killed myself because I believe him. I really believe him. If you, the doctor, read this, you won't know what he was right about but I'm not going to tell you. It wasn't rude or anything to make me want to kill myself he just… said some things that depressed me to say the least.

I'm sick of talking about this. Goodnight.

You know, for being a doctor, I really honestly despise them. They think they know everything like what's wrong with you and the exact cure for it. Yeah right! Actually no… I don't despise doctors… I just loathe the way the act like they have all the answers. I love having the ability and the power to help people, but when people try to help me, I just want to shoot them! …

What are you doing here Malfoy? It's obvious that he doesn't want to see your face. You're the one who drove him to this point anyway, you don't deserve to be here. Turn around and leave right now. I finally got my brain to stop trying to dissuade me from visiting Harry. I knew I was guilty for leaving Harry so distraught, I should have known that he would do something rash. He had always been a rash little bugger, ever since the very first time I saw him. But that's also one of the things that I love about him, and I can't leave him in a place like this alone. So trying to gather courage and failing miserably I knocked on Harry's door. All I heard coming from the other side of the door was a soft grunt and took that as a sign that I was permitted inside. Walking inside, I couldn't believe how positively sterile the room looked. If it were me who had to stay in this same room for two weeks, I'm pretty sure I'd go mad.

Harry looked up at me with a frown on his face, but when he realized that it was me it perked up a little bit. He must have thought that I was another doctor.

"What are you doing here?"

"Uhh… what do you think I'm doing here?"

"Did you overdose?"

"No… I'm here to see you Harry."

"Pfft, I'm fine! Really!"

"I see. Well if your fine then I guess I'll just leave. But I wanted to tell you that I found an old album from… well, when we were together. Maybe you could look at them and see if anything comes to mind. But we'll have to wait until you get out of here. The stupid fat lady at the entrance wouldn't let me bring it in."

"You're honestly sticking around for awhile?"

"…yes."

"I thought you would have been gone a long time ago." Harry looked at me as if I was another person who had betrayed him and made his life a piece of shit. Well… I guess I did. I was the one who left him and never even tried to get a hold of him. I started to bite my lip. I guess it was a nervous habit of mine.

"No… I'm still here and will be for at least a little bit more."

"Okay well I've only got a couple more days here and then we can sit down and look through the album okie dokie?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Stan."

A/N: R&R PEOPLE! I'll give you some cookies!