Here's the edited first real chapter! Enjoy! Hopefully a second will be up later tonight!
ABASEMENT
He's not supposed to be here. He's not crazy. He's perfectly stable, thankyouverymuch, and does not belong in a loony bin.
Except, apparently, he does.
Because at the moment he's sitting in the hallway of the facility (hospital), doing his best to appear composed (and failing). But keeping one's composure is particularly hard when fighting the onslaught of tears and insecurities that accompany abandonment in an unfamiliar setting after being told you're out of your mind.
It's not that he's a crybaby (because he isn't). It's just that he's literally alone now, quite miserably and utterly and painfully alone. Nothing can compare to this sort of betrayal. He felt alone before, but not truly alone. Is this the first time in his life experiencing this... emptiness of total abandonment? His mother doesn't want him; the school doesn't want him. Hell, it seems like the whole world didn't want him at this point. And who would? He's just been a nuisance to everything. Really, he thinks, they're better off without me.
Which is what brought him here (along with the drugs and the alcohol and the hallucinations and the poor grades and the temper).
Maybe he does belong, on second thought (but admitting that would mean giving in and no no NO he is NOT meant to be here).
As the thought occurs, he emits a sudden, humorless laugh. The next thing he knows, he's having a full blown fit. Tears of mirth trickle down his face and there's an almost wild gleam in his eyes. Well, he certainly looks the part of a mental patient now.
The night nurse at the front desk gives him a look (as if he's insane) and it only makes him laugh more; because really? This is a goddamn asylum. He is insane, just like everybody else, and he doesn't give a damn who knows it. When in Rome.
Eventually (five minutes seems like a long time when they're spent gasping for air) his laughter turns into choked sobs. He picks up the crappy hospital pillow they've given him and squishes it to his face, attempting to quell the tears. He succeeds in dampening the pillow, but nothing else. He can barely hold back the hoarse wails that threaten to escape. His cheeks are red with embarrassment and he simply can't stop his bawling. The sound, once it reaches his own ears, is horrible: the pitiful moans and broken gasps for air. How can anyone stand crying? How can anyone stand listening to crying? The noise makes him feel worse and leads to another round of tears. An endless cycle.
It's somewhere near the early morning when he drifts to sleep on the shitty camp bed they've set out in the hall for him (it creaks and has lumps). But his sleep is far from soothing. He tosses and turns, the crude pillow and scratchy afghan not helping (nor do the two orderlies having a loud and inconsiderate conversation throughout the night. Frankly, Arthur doesn't give a damn for their petty gossip and finds it very unprofessional for them to be disturbing the peace). He looks, and feels, even worse when he wakes up than when he fell asleep.
"Arthur Kirkland?"
Upon hearing his name, he looks up, only to see a kind looking young man. No, it's the sodding pizza man. Who else would be sitting out here? Moron, he thinks bitterly, looking wary.
"Dr. Tino wants to see you now!" The young orderly chirps, completely unfazed by the glower that Arthur was sure could melt stone. At least in the past it made those around him cower in fear. He supposes the orderlies were used to hostile feelings, though. He comes to the conclusion that the other man's cheery tone is an affront to the world on a whole at such a godawful hour. Especially when used in a nut house.
He's led down the hallway to a small office outfitted with a plain desk, bookcases full of irrelevant trinkets, and an old puke-colored couch. He grimaces but takes a seat, the springs jabbing uncomfortably at his ass. Was nothing in this infernal hell-hole comfortable? Or was that against Nuthouse policy?
Arthur involuntarily clenches his fists at the further aggravation. Really, at this point it seems as if the world was aspiring against him. He'd give anything to get out of here. He eyes the windows, noting their bars. Well damn. Is this a mental hospital or a prison? He's sure that somewhere in the fine print it's been said that they actually helped people; not treat them like dangerous criminals ( or animals).
Another young man walks in with a cheerful disposition, holding a stack of files. What the hell? this isn't a freaking modeling agency. Where are all the old, wizened doctors? Weren't Psychologists all supposed to be old and calculating? This man couldn't be a Psychologist. He's too young and optimistic and peppy.
"Oh! Arthur! Sorry, didn't know you were here just yet," the man gives a soft chuckle. Arthur merely grunts in response, still lost in the surrealism of this whole situation. Dear lord, he already felt like he was in a bad eighties informational video. "Right, right. Let's see... Are you holding up alright?"
A deadpanned look. What do you think, tosser? Do I look like I'm holding up alright? Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, be intelligent or something?
"Stupid question, I know, hahaha! Sorry for the wait, we had to sort out a few things. But you should be able to move into your room soon! I just wanted to check in with you first."
Check in with him, is he serious? Arthur scowls, not even bothering to hide his distrust, making sure his hostile look is unmistakably directed at 'Dr. Tino'.
"Hahaha! Well, now that that's done, off you go! I'll send Toris back to get you when your room's ready!" Dr. Toris hurries Arthur out of his office and shuts the door. So much for "checking up on him".
So far it's been another two hours and no one has come for Arthur yet. However, he's getting quite up to date on the hospital gossip. He hadn't even been aware hospitals had gossip. Apparently, Nurse Elizaveta and Dr. Roderich have some kind of relationship. Arthur really doesn't care in the least, but these goddamn orderlies don't know how to shut their mouths.
You're paid to help people, he wants to shout, fucking do your goddamn job! He wants to scream at them, grab them, shake their shoulders, anything to get them to shut up because his life is over and they're talking like stupid children who care about nothing but themselves and their selfish little world and he suddenly feels so angry that he needs to punch something, fists clenching and unclenching, nails digging into his palms, leaving little bright red crescents. It's like a ball of fire in his chest, right above his stomach. He restrains himself, however, because it's doubtful that such behavior is tolerated. he'd mostly likely end up sedated, like the kid that barreled through only an hour ago, his hysterical shrieking ringing through the halls long after they had dragged him away. He doesn't want to end up like that.
Arthur hugs his knees to his chest, a glum mood settling over him, washing out the ball of anger inside. Would he be stuck in this hall forever? The looks he's getting from the orderlies are awful and do nothing to improve his mood. He's not a monkey at the zoo to be stared at. He's a person, god-fucking-dammit, and he has feelings, too. He doesn't need their damned pity.
A group of patients walk by and he attempts to curl up further into himself. It's probably breakfast since they seem to be going to the cafeteria. The group consists of seven boys who look to be around his age and now he positively wants to sink to the floor in embarrassment. Arthur had never been terribly self-conscious before, but now there's a nagging voice whispering sharply in his ear that they're all judging him: his rimmed-red eyes, pale cheeks, and unkempt hair. He probably smells too and he fights the urge to sniff his underarms. He had never been good at first impressions.
They pass by without a second glance, and for once in the past twenty-four hours, he visibly relaxes.
Toris soon comes to fetch him.
The room is small and he has a roommate. Arthur can't decide if that's good or bad yet but, considering the location, it's looking like a bad thing. At least he'll have someone to share the crazy with (thought the boy doesn't look too friendly).
Yao Wang is a quiet Asian boy and Arthur is grateful for this small mercy. It's infinitely better than being put with a (surely) obnoxious American (or worse, Frenchman) and he's too tired to berate himself for stereotyping, not that it isn't true because all of the Americans he's had the pleasure of coming across are definitely obnoxious.
It soon seems like this arrangement isn't as much of a gift as he thought. His new roommate has yet to utter a word and Arthur certainly isn't going to be the first to speak so they sit there in silence. It's uncomfortable, to say the least, and in the boredom and awkwardness Arthur is hit with another wave of intense homesickness. Not that that does any good; this place is probably the closest thing he'll have to a home from now on, considering his current (past?) situation.
Luckily, Toris comes to pick them up and take them to something called 'clubs' (which is apparently just a stupid name for group therapy, according to Yao, who had finally decided to speak to Arthur. Thank God for small miracles. Not that Arthur believes in God; he gave up on religion a long time ago).
Arthur tries not to pay attention to the way Yao struggles when they leave the room and how utterly terror-stricken the boy looks. He feels awkward standing by the door while Yao looks utterly terrified. He swallows back a panic attack of his own, feeling completely hopeless. It always makes him want to cry when someone else starts crying, especially the prospect of the noise of crying and the act of seeing another person cry. His eyes almost tear up merely thinking about it. Screw empathy.
Toris looks like he's been in this situation many times, though, enticing Yao with a stuffed cartoon cat pillow. Arthur vaguely remembers the character as some silly product for young girls (but who is he to judge? He's in a Mental Hospital).
Eventually Yao gives in and the two are led down a maze of hallways, down the elevator, and end up in a room with lots of windows (all barred) and a circle of chairs. Dr. Tino is there, much to Arthur's chagrin, and so are three (four?) other boys and two (three?) other girls. Or maybe three boys, two girls, and a boygirl. He really can't tell, at least not from this angle (and he can't really bring himself to care).
"Ah, Arthur, Yao, welcome!"
Dr. Tino is much too chipper, in Arthur's opinion.
"Everybody, Arthur's joining us at our little home here! Let's introduce ourselves!"
Don't speak in first person plural, Arthur thinks scornfully, it makes you look like a prick.
The first boy stands, all arms and legs in an awkward, gangly mess. He smiles cheerfully, but it doesn't fit on his face, as if it's forced. "Hiya! I'm Alfred F. Jones! But you can call me Al! Uh... What are we supposed to say, Doc? Well, I like sports like football, the awesome American kind, not soccer, it's totally boring and un-heroic. Aaaaand... I think that's it!" Arthur decides this "Al" is obnoxious and should be sedated on the spot.
The next boy (or is it a girl?) stands. "Hi, I'm, y'know, Feliks, and uh... Yeah. Hi." Ah. So he was a boy and apparently shy, according to the pink stain on his cheeks.
"I am Ivan and we are going to be good friends, da?" A tall, pale boy stands, smiling widely at Arthur. He shifts uncomfortably. Something about Ivan doesn't seem... right. He shrinks back a little, feeling a slight chill.
"H-Hi, I'm Matthew, Alfred's little brother. S'nice to meet you " the blond keeps his head down, clutching a stuffed polar bear to his chest, trembling slightly.
"Likewise," Arthur grunts. It's the first he's spoken all day. His voice is hoarse from lack of use and crying hours earlier.
A rather chesty girl is supposed to speak, but instead she keeps quiet, tearing up. Arthur swallows thickly, wondering what, exactly, he did wrong (and if he's going to have to witness a sobfest which he's really not in the right mental state for), until Ivan speaks up again.
"This is my older sister, da? She is Yekaterina. She does not speak," he explains, somehow managing to sound childish. "This is also little sister, Natalia," he gestures to the girl next to Yekaterina.
"I can introduce myself, brother." Natalia glares, but reaches out to take Ivan's hand. The boy instantly panics and starts backing up with a wild, scared look in his eyes. He repeats something in Russian over and over (or what Arthur assumes is Russian. It could be any Slavic language, for all he knows).
"No touching, Natalia! Remember that!" Tino chirps, forcefully pulling Natalia away from Ivan. She glares, but sits.
I'm surrounded by lunatics.
Oh, wait, that's the point.