Word to the wise and those who just think they are:

I'm flipping the script and upping the game.
No bang in the beginning, but it won't end the same.
When you see me? You'll know that I've came.
Sooner or later you'll all know my name.
No rewind just rebirth – it's all called change.
Flat face zero to all encompassing range.
From sing song to whistle – I'm to blame.
Move in, move out – it's not called sane.

Please believe, my dears. Please BELIEVE.

Fuck what you heard; fuck what you've seen.

It's all going up.

PS: Trust me, I can run with clichés until I die, but don't worry. There is nothing w/o prvocation or just caust. I won't fall into that trap. Oh, please believe!
PSS: CITS - better, madamoiselle? ;)

Chapter 3 / I Want to be Rain that Tastes Like Wine

Jude closed the ragged black doctor prescribe notebook, tossing it across the tiny quadrangle they called a room. She'd decided to read her "progress report" and it made her sick. There was no change only fatiguing rage and broken emotion. It tore her up to know she'd been reduced to catatonic free writing and it sat between golden lyrics and elementary school red-inked hearts with "Tommy" written in the middle. She made herself sick.

I'm not alright. I'm not ok. Jude forced herself not think of the known revelation, the idea that she really belonged there an even greater strain than the isolation and unknown resolutions to it all. The entire scene made her heart physically hurt while killing her more and more everyday. She knew no one. She talked to no one. She'd seen no one. Even her head was empty, what little she took of those "sero-somethings" taking the only thing she could count on to be there for her in her times of absolute loneliness. Sadly, she missed them. She missed the mindless chatter and their hell-bent-on destructiveness. She missed feeling alive.

She stood and went to the postage stamp window, wishing she'd hear the rev of the trusty blue Viper from the fourth floor she was condemned to. She prayed she'd see him running in leaps and bounds through the main entrance and up the front steps, needing to reclaim his love. She pinned hopes and dreams on the illusionary reality, wondering why she wasn't already gone.

Nine days; nine days of living with herself and no one else. Nine days of royal walls and muslin thin mattresses that ate at her back at 2 am. Nine days without a word from the outside world, a punishment forced down her throat and made to swallow. Nine days to find ways to slink away without being caught. She couldn't take the deprivation tank any longer. Something had to give.

An overbearing buzz and a shriek of a girl from the common area drove her deeper into the cold, hard facts sitting right in front of her. She'd have to cave. She'd have to let go of her walls and burdens if she was to ever leave, ever see the star of her northern sky again. This pill was even bigger and harder to swallow than the lemony ones she tried to down without water. She would become a sheep, even if only through pretense.

A nurse stuck her head through Jude's door, eyes wandering around the barren cubicle.

"Jude, it's time to get your meds." The Devil's advocate slipped back around the door frame, closing it soundly to finalize her departure.

Jude reluctantly trudged out to the holding bay, picking up her designated translucent cup, and shot back its contents without thinking. She spotted Bina playing yet another sadistic prank on Leslie, the girl sobbing for her magazine back. Kaylin sat with the skinny girl in a corner, trading stories about their self-injury and the best way to avoid the dining hall. Nova, just as Jude, was by herself and paying special attention to the other four girls. If only I could talk to her, maybe... Jude was rudely interrupted by the information desk helper lady.

"Miss Harrison, there's a call for you. You can come around and pick it up in the other office."

She ran. She ran faster than she had when Sadie once chased after her with a scalding hot crimping iron. She grabbed the phone greedily, breathless and exhilarated.

"Hello!"

"Hey, Jude!"

Her shoulders slumped forward, the vibrancy of the phone call's merit dashed.

"Hey, Sadie. How are you?"

"Good. How's... you know?"

"Hell, but I manage. How are mom and dad?"

"They're... mom and dad, but good. We miss you like crazy."

"That's nice." The moment was so fleeting, so real yet so unlikely. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Hold on, ok?"

That's great. I'm holding the fuck on. FABULOUS!

"Hey, girl."

She died. The smooth sound of his voice, the resonating masculinity behind his metonym, the never tiresome unspoken volumes simmering just under his breath, she died a thousand deaths.

"Tommy, hey."

"How are you?"

"Tired of being here. Lonely. When are you coming by?"

"Wednesday." She heard him sigh, imagining his breath was falling against the side of her neck. "Everyone at the studio's been asking about you. They miss you being around."

"I miss being around. Tell them I said hey."

"I will."

The sound of giggling pierced her eardrums, the familiarity becoming maddening. As if by divine intervention, it stopped. Rage still slashed through her temples.

"Why are you with Sadie?"

"Oh, she needed a ride somewhere."

"You lie."

"What? Jude, no."

"Is that what your plan was? To lock me up to go back with her?"

"She needed a ride, that's all. It's not like that."

"She has a car."

"It's dead. She hit a mailbox or something. Bad driving must run in the family."

His feeble attempt at humor infuriated her more. Her grip on the telephone deepened, her knuckles turning white. Everything she'd wanted since she'd been admitted into Brice faded into animosity, destroyed with the fact that her heart was with a piece of her hell, with his ex-it. She heard her in the background, questioning and wondering about their personal phone call. Jude wanted nothing more than to kill, the overriding emotion as of late. She breathed heavily into the phone, throwing down her trump.

"Fuck you, Quincy."