Tales from the Loony Bin
Disclaimer: ..I don't own South Park Nor do I own the book Cut, the book that greatly influences this.
Rating: PG-13 or T
A/N: I noticed I mix up past and present tense alot.. Thanks to Risita for pointing this out, I'm gonna try not to do that as much.
And a few other thank yous..
Thanks SO MUCH for 450+ pageviews on 'Tutor'. Whoever read and/or reviewed, thank youuu. I'm gonna get the next chapter of it up soon.
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Chapter Two - Laura
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I'm watching the clock now, and it feels like it's been an eternity when it's only been about ten minutes. I count how many seconds I can stay still without twitching.
One, two.. twitch.
One, twitch..
I curl myself in the blankets and pull them closer to me. Find your center, Tweek..
Yeah, like that worked anymore. That had been what my parents and friends told me when I was younger. It never really did anything, but when I was like ten I believed everything. Hell, I think I stll believed in Santa. Whatever mom and dad said I went with. They could say there was a pack of rabid unicorns out in our backyard and I would've believed them.
When I was twelve, I started drinking more and more coffee. I was a fucking mess. I think that was when it got the worst. When my grades went down, my parents just put me on more drugs.
"It's for the best," my mom used to say. Thanks, mom.
Then one day when I was in eight grade, I think, I came home bawling my eyes out. I can't even remember why I was so upset. Something happened on the bus and I started crying over it. When I got in the house. I saw a note on the fridge. I wiped my eyes and squinted.
Tweek,
I'll be home later today, probably not until around seven. I'm not sure how long your dad will be at work. There are some microwave meals in the freezer, make one of those for yourself.
Love, Mom
I was too tired to eat. I sat down at the coffee table and looked through some home magazines my mom had. Then I saw a knife with the word EXACTO on it. I picked it up and turned it around curiously in my hand. I put it lightly to my skin. No mark or anything, so I pressed harder. I jumped, feeling a sharp pain. Then it was gone. I watched the blood drip from the cut in awe.
It felt great. From that day on, almost every day I came home from school I would cut.
I didn't want my parents to find out, so I would always wear sweatshirts and long-sleeved tees, refusing to roll up the sleeves or wear a tee-shirt. No matter how hot the weather was, they couldn't find out. It would be my secret.
And then two years later I was washing some dishes for my mom. I had completely forgotten about the scars and rolled up my sleeves so I wouldn't get soap on them. All of the sudden my mom was standing behind me.
"Tweek?" She asked and I jumped.
"Agh! Uh, wh-what mom?"
"What are those scars from on your arms?"
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And that was how I got sent here.
I look up at the clock, and it's 11:58. The door opens.
"Tweek, it's time to go see Laura." Laura is a psychiatrist or something, I guess. She gets an hour a day to talk to everybody here, I guess about their problems and life and shit. I get up and follow Stella to the library and study hall. Laura's sitting at the table in the back corner of the room, smiling sweetly at me. I don't return the smile; I just keep my head down and walk over to the table. I pull out a chair and sit down. I hate talking about my life; I should have privacy. It's my fucking life.
Her smile fades slightly, then, "How are you today, Tweek?"
I just shrug and don't make any eye contact with her. I want this hour to be over. I don't want to talk about my life. I don't want to talk about my family or about coffee or about cutting. Expecially about cutting. But to my disgust, she asks me about it anyway.
"Tweek, can you tell me about your childhood? When did you get addicted to coffee?"
I remember, a little.
I was, I think, eight and a half. My parents got me into drinking it. I'm too tired to go into any detail or talk. I just sigh and keep my eyes on the floor, looking at the pattern in the carpet. It's these little blue and green squares. They get bigger then smaller then bigger again.
"Okay, we'll move on if you don't want to talk about it, Tweek." I hate how she is. Using my name alot and trying to be too nice. I know she wants to get the fuck out of here as much as I do.
"Can I ask you a question, Tweek?"
Didn't give me much of a choice there, now did you?
But I shrug and pull threads out of the sofa chair I'm sitting on. It's got a really ugly pattern, like the floor and everything else here.
"Why did you start cutting?"
I huff and throw a thread to the floor, watching it disappear on a blue carpet square. What time is it, anyway? I sit up and look around for a clock, seeing one above a bookcase.
12:31. Halfway through. I might as well say something.
"I dunno." My voice is so weak, I can hardly get the words out. "It.. Uh, I don't really know." I clear my throat and squirm in the chair. She adjusts the glasses on the bridge of her nose and sits up straighter.
"Did it relieve stress?"
Did it? I don't even think I can answer that. I guess it did, that one day I came home. It was out of boredom the first time I did it, though. Then later when I realized how good it felt I did it alot, usually when I was upset. So I guess it did kind of relieve stress.
"Yeah, kinda." I wiggle my toes in my checkered Vans, counting the black squares on them, then the grey ones.
"When did you start cutting alot?"
I guess I was fourteen or so. It was about then that I realized it was like an escape. I was trying to quit drinking coffee then, much to my parents' dismay. Then they just put me on more medication and shit, so I needed something to keep my mind off of it.
So I cut more and more. It was almost as good as coffee.
"A few years ago..." I mumble, shrugging. She nods, then stands up. The hour isn't even up yet, but she's leaving?
"Thank you, Tweek. We'll pick up on that tomorrow, okay?" I nod and start to turn away, then:
"Wait."
I turn around. She looks me in the eyes and I immediately look down at my shoes again. "I'm only trying to help you, Tweek.. You don't have to shun me. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" She says. I just nod again, slowly.
I wish I could believe that. I walk out of the library, hating this whole stupid place, wanting nothing more than freedom.
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A/N: Okay. I tried to keep it all in present tense. And I'm trying to make the chapters long.
-H.
