A/N: Show of hands, how many people hate me for not updating? – Looks around and counts. – Wow, lots. Sorry. I was having a major writer's block, and I was booked with work. Quarterlies (like Midterms and the finals, but after 1st and 3rd quarter) and a term project all at once. Plus I've been working like crazy on A Vision of Utopia. But I really want to update and finish my other stories, too. So here ya go!
I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. However, I'm just going to address questions from reviews of Ch 4 this time:
And there are none! Lol. Oh well, next time. But I loved all the reviews I received and I thank everyone so much! I promise to try and update sooner; THIS IS WHERE IT STARTS TO GET GOOD!
So enjoy and please review!
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Piper was released a week later with almost a clean bill of health. Now came the hard part.
Grams had kept the middle Halliwell home from school the day she came back from her long stay in the hospital. While Prue and Phoebe were at school, grams took the opportunity to speak to Piper about what was to happen.
Piper was lying in her bed. Her bedroom door was open – it always was, anymore. She wasn't allowed to keep it closed. The room had been emptied of everything sharp.
Grams knocked on the doorframe, but walked in without waiting for an answer. She sat beside Piper on the bed and picked up her arms, turning them palm up and staring at her granddaughter's wrists. Each one had a thick ring of gauze in one spot, and scars that would most likely never fade covered both arms from hand to elbow.
Grams gently let Piper's arms go and looked her granddaughter straight in the eye. "We have to talk about what comes next."
Piper nodded, shaking slightly. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like this.
"Piper, sweetie, what you did was very bad – for your health," grams said, quickly adding the last part. She didn't want to reprimand Piper when she was clearly hurting, emotionally. "The doctor from the hospital – he said if you cut again, it will kill you." Tears welled up in Grams face.
Piper's eyes widened and she flinched, trying to push back her own tears, as well as the guilt she felt at putting grams through this.
"The doctor suggested that-that you be placed in an institution to get better. It would be for about eight weeks, give or take, depending on how long it takes you to get better," Grams said quickly, mostly to get it over with.
Piper's eyes widened even more. "Like an insane asylum?"
"No, no, no," grams said quickly. "A place where you can get better. Los Angelus Institution, it's called," she added, not mentioning that it was really called the Los Angelus Psychiatric Institution. She had a feeling Piper wouldn't like that part.
"What about school?" Piper asked, though the idea of not going to that hellhole was actually somewhat of a sweet relief.
"I'm going to notify your principal that you will not be in school for a few weeks due to personal reasons. I'll have your work sent home with Prue and Phoebe," grams replied.
Piper nodded slightly, feeling in a daze. She didn't want to go.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. I feel horrible sending you to this place. But you need to get better. I don't want to loose you like I lost-" Grams cut off. She had been about to say "Patty" but knew it would only upset Piper more.
"When are we going?" Piper asked, her mouth dry.
"Sunday," Grams replied. Sunday, actually, was in two days. It was Friday already.
"Do Prue and Phoebe know?" Piper asked.
Grams shook her head. "I'll tell them tonight."
Piper nodded.
Grams kissed Piper on the forehead. "Rest now, darling. Everything will be al right. I promise."
Grams squeezed Piper's hand, then stood and left, Piper staring after her.
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Sunday came all too soon in Halliwell Manor.
Phoebe refused to come out of her room; she'd spent the entire weekend – since Grams had told her and Prue about Piper leaving – sulking and crying.
Prue sat with Piper in Piper's room, on the bed. Prue's arm rested around Piper's shoulders, and Piper leaned into Prue. Both had tears in their eyes as Grams packed up two suitcases for Piper; one had clothes and necessities. The other had books, magazines, Piper's favorite stuffed dog, and a few other things that were deemed "safe" by the Los Angeles Psychiatric Institution; in other words, nothing was sharp or had semi-sharp parts that Piper could try to cut herself with.
Packing took less time than saying good-bye. Grams didn't want Prue and Phoebe exposed to the insane (literally) atmosphere of the Institution, so she had forced them to stay home. Therefore, all good-byes had been done there.
Now, Piper said in the passenger seat of Grams' car as they drove down the mildly busy highway towards Los Angeles. Thoughts flowed through Piper's mind, questions about what was going to happen once she got to her destination and what would happen while she was there. More importantly, what would happen after, once she was ready to come home? Would people treat her differently? Were her classmates aware of what she had done, and where she was going? Would they find out somehow anyway?
Would school become more of a hell than it had been?
She wouldn't know until it actually happened, she supposed. Sighing a sigh of fear and sadness, she hunched back in her seat and stared out the window at the monotonous view.
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Grams' voice broke into Piper's wondering mind. How long had they been driving? It seemed only moments ago they were on the highway. Now they were parked in the circular drive of a large tan building with many windows and a sign that said "Los Angeles Psychiatric Institution." Below that, it stated that it had been established in 1869.
"An insane asylum!" Piper cried in horror and fear. "But Grams! You said – you said –" Piper gawked. "You're having me committed!"
Grams gulped. "Dear, it's for your own good. You're hurting yourself! You need to get better!"
"NO!" Piper shrieked. "You can't do this!"
Grams got out of the car and went to Piper's side. She opened the door and tried to undo Piper's seatbelt, but Piper tried to scratch her with her nails.
Grams backed up just as an older woman, flanked by two very large, scary looking men, walked to her.
"Mrs. Halliwell? I'm Maryanne Saunders," the woman said, shaking Penny's hand. "We spoke on the phone. And you must be Piper," she said, speaking to Piper like she was five, and smiling so widely that all her pearly whites showed.
Piper scowled.
"Now Piper, come on," Grams coaxed, leaning in to undo the seatbelt again, and this time too slow to avoid Piper's razor-like nails. Startled, grams jumped back.
"Mitch, Jim, please help Miss. Halliwell from her car," Maryanne Saunders commanded.
The two big men moved in and, in a flash, had Piper out of the car.
"I won't go!" Piper cried, trying to sound tough, but her quivering voice betrayed her; She was scared.
She tried to run, but Mitch had her around the waist in two seconds flat and dragged her back to the main group. Then he took hold of her right arm, and Jim took her left arm. They held tight.
"You should go, Mrs. Halliwell," Maryanne Saunders stated. "Sometimes it's easier for the patients to adjust if they aren't still in the presence of their loved ones."
Grams nodded. "I love you, Piper. Please understand that I did this for your own good!"
Piper hissed – yes, hissed – at her and glared at Grams as she removed Piper's luggage from the car, then got in and drove away.
Maryanne Saunders picked up Piper's luggage. "This way, gentlemen," she said to Mitch and Jim, leading them back in the building and heading towards the room Piper was to stay in.
The room was fairly large. Piper noticed right away that she was in a double: A girl about her age (maybe younger by a year or two) sat on one of the beds, staring into space. When Maryanne Saunders entered the room, the girl lazily glanced over.
"Ah, Julia, you're here. Good, good. I want you to meet Piper. She'll be rooming with you." To Piper, Maryanne said, "The rules are very simple. You can go anywhere on this floor and this floor only, but you must be accompanied by Mitch, Jim, or another of the staff. You cannot go unaccompanied to the bathroom and you cannot go outside the building at all for any reason. Meds are given in the morning, afternoon, and night. A nurse will come around every hour from 8 until wake-up the next day to check on you girls. You'll have daily sessions with a counselor, and daily check-ups with a doctor. You may not have anything sharp – in fact, you're nails will need to be cut. Lights out is eight and wake-up is seven. Breakfast is at seven thirty, lunch at twelve thirty, and dinner at five thirty. Any other questions, I'll be happy to answer at another time."
With that, she left. Mitch made her sit on the bed. He pulled out a nail clipper and quickly clipped her nails while Jim checked her bags for anything "unsafe." After, they both left.
Piper remained on her bed, trying to remember everything Maryanne Saunders had said. She was homesick already.
Julia stared at the ceiling, then Piper. "What are you in for?" she asked, sounding drugged – and she probably was.
Piper glanced at her. Julia was fairly short, not much taller than Piper. She had pale blonde hair that hung in limp strands around her pale face, and desperately needed to be combed. Her lips were chapped and raw from being bitten. She wore a whitish colored hospital gown (but one that covered your butt) and no shoes or socks whatsoever. Her crystal blue eyes were blank of emotion and her eyelids were half closed.
"Uhm-" Piper wasn't too comfortable sharing the reason for her being there, but since she was surrounded by crazies, she relented. "I cut myself – a lot."
Julia nodded, lazily and slowly, as if it were no big deal. "I'm anorexic . . . and I like drugs – a lot."
Piper nodded sheepishly; surprised she hadn't noticed how stick-thin and sickly the girl was.
"Just watch out for the crazies," Julia slurred. "They're dangerous."
So watch out for everyone here, Piper thought sarcastically.
She had a bad feeling about this. A really, really bad feeling.