Part 11 - Asylum

I woke up and saw nothing but white. white. white. clean. pure. institutional. intense. blinding. ethereal. neon. white.

I let out a groggy groan, tasting dry cotton in my mouth, undoubtedly where they'd stuck the leftover from what had been packed tight inside my throbbing skull. My stomach hurt; my throat was sore; my eyes ached; my ears rang. Fighting back nausea, I tried to curl up on my side, to curl in on myself and retreat back into blissful unconsciousness.

I quickly discovered that I was strapped to the bed.

Thick leather cuffs padded with soft sheepskin were lashed tight around both my wrists, and my ankles, too, and each one was tied securely to the functional metal frame of the thin hospital cot I'd just woken up on. One glance around the small, otherwise empty and completely, maddeningly white room and I was screaming and thrashing in an attempt to escape. I didn't know where the hell I was or how the hell I'd gotten there but it sure as fuck wasn't where I wanted to be.

It felt like forever before a tall male healer dressed all in white entered. He was kind of goofy looking, with big ears and stand-on-end blonde hair and a lopsided smile, which he shot me as he wheeled in a white tray of little pill cups.

"Hi," He stated politely, stopping at my side and seeming completely unfazed by my screaming and struggling, "I'm Healer Wheeler."

I blinked at him in confusion, and then suddenly couldn't stop laughing. "Dear fucking god," I declared, only vaguely aware of the tears streaming from the corners of my eyes into greasy, unkempt hair and my flat, starchy pillow, "Why do I always get the mental health professionals with the punny names?"

It was his turn to look confused, but the young man quickly shrugged it off, probably filing my reaction into a category entitled Junkies Say the Darndest Things before he informed me, "You're in St. Adelaide's Psychiatric Hospital. Do you remember how you got here?"

"Hell fucking no," I responded angrily, "If I had been conscious for that part, then you pricks would have had a lot harder time getting me into these fucking cuffs... by the way, GET THESE FUCKING CUFFS OFF ME!!!"

Healer Wheeler shot me a quirky little smile before busying himself with the tray of pill cups. "Sorry," He stated, "All suicide watch patients are kept restrained until one of the psychiatrists says otherwise."

I blinked dumbly at him, not once, not twice, but thrice. "Suicide watch?" I demanded, "You think I'm suicidal? Where the hell did you get that idea?"

"I'd say probably the overdose of sleeping draught you drank," Healer Wheeler chuckled warmly, making a few notes on his clipboard before holding out a pill cup, "You took enough to stop your own breathing, you know? And you've been asleep for nearly a week and a half. But, then again, I'm not a psychiatrist so I guess you'd have to ask them why they think you tried to kill yourself. Open up for medication."

"LIKE HELL!!" I shouted, thrashing as best I could still strapped to the bed, "I'm not taking anything!! You get me your fucking manager right now!! I wasn't trying to kill myself!! I was just tired!!! I don't belong here!!!"

He gave me another one of his increasingly irritating smiles before darting out to seize my head and force the pills on me. I would've spit them right back in his face, but he held his hand over my mouth and rubbed my throat, like you would for a diseased dog until I had no choice but to reflexively, tearfully swallow. "Relax," The young man soothed as he went back to his clipboard and wheeled tray caddy, "It's not so bad here. You're going to get the help you need."

I was crying, sobbing hopelessly, feeling utterly helpless and completely revolted with myself. Whatever was in the pills slowly seeped into my system, making me calm even though I didn't want to be, even though I was scared and hurt and resentful and just wanted to scream at the whole fucking world. My vision got blurry. The last thing I remember is the wheels on Healer Wheeler's cart squeaking as he pushed it out of my white white room.

xxXxx

St. Adelaide's Wizarding Psychiatric was founded in 1852. Located in scenic Birmingham, it was the first mental health facility run by wizards for wizards, to keep magically gifted loonies from cursing muggle doctors. Like most nuthouses, it had quite a sordid past, complete with involuntary frontal lobotomies for sixty percent of the patients, far sub-par hygienic standards, and a circus-like tour that used to run through twice a day.

"Step right up folks! Witness the horrors of the mad, mad, mad!! Wailing, frothing, incoherent sideshow freaks!! Come take a peak at God's forgotten children!! Only three sickles! Children under two get in free with a paying adult!"

I'm not even making this shit up.

The first floor was mostly drunks and vagrants, moaning and sleeping in their own filth as they tried to struggle through their muddled minds enough to even figure out where the hell they were. People reached in through the bars and ripped off huge chunks of their hair; supposedly, hair of the lunatic used to be a rumored to have strong magical properties. And here I'd gone fourteen years of my life without even suspecting I was carrying around a fortune on the top of my head.

The second floor was where they put the bonafide lunatics, the violent schizophrenics and bipolar cases, mostly chained up, strapped to beds, subjected to cruel, ineffective "therapies" such as electroshock and dunking and many others that would have been much more properly labeled as tortures. Second floor was never quiet, never quiet, always filled with screams.

Third floor was where they put those on whom all therapy had failed, those who had been lobotomized and were now incapable of thought or speech or bowel control. The unfortunate souls sat in that institution for the remainder of their miserable lives, drooling and searching for memories of how to function that had been cut straight from their skulls.

Of course, when I was there, none of these practices were still in place. St. Adelaide's was clean and widely regarded; it was doing great work in trying to treat mental illness through magical means, a field which had been mostly ignored aside from the basic use of the cheering charm as a cure-all.

They had added new stories; there were five during my stay. I woke up tied to a bed in a small white room somewhere on the fourth. I spent three days in a drugged stupor before a doctor actually came in to talk to me.

Struggling hard to make my vision focus when I heard the door open and shut, dreading being forced to swallow anymore pills, I looked up and saw a slightly pudgy, unremarkable middle-aged man with wire-rim glasses and salt-and-pepper hair. His nametag read "Dr. R.P. Shokter, M.M.D." I was too out of it to even laugh at yet another punny name.

"What does 'R.P.' stand for?" I questioned deliriously, my voice sounding unfamiliar, far-off, like it was coming out of someone else's mouth, "Is it some kind of euphemism for R.I.P? Because that's kind of ominous, don't you think? It doesn't exactly instill patient confidence."

Hardly paying attention to me as he made notes on his clipboard, the man replied, "Richard Paul. Please, call me Dr. Shokter. I'll be your primary care physician while you're staying here with us."

"'Bout fuckin' time," I quipped, no affect in my words, "Took ya long enough, Dick."

He glared menacingly, correcting, "Dr. Shokter."

I glared back the best I could, feeling my bloodshot gray-blue eyes cross stupidly in my skull as I argued, "Dick."

"This isn't going to work if you don't cooperate," The doctor reported, stashing his pen away in the front pocket of his pristine white lab coat and folding his arms over his soft gut, "And part of that cooperation will include respecting hospital staff."

"Gimme a break, Dick," I snapped weakly, "I shouldn't even be here. I'm a nut but not a needs-to-be-medicated-and-physically-restrained nut. Take these fucking cuffs off and point me to the nearest emergency exit."

He turned around and left, just like that, calling casually over his shoulder, "I'm decreasing your meds but you won't be let out of restraints until you agree to abide by the rules. Let me know when you change your mind."

Changing my mind took two weeks of solitary confinement.

I remained strapped to the cot. I had to get spoon feed some kind of tasteless, nutrient-rich mush by Healer Wheeler, who'd been given orders not to even speak with me. I had to piss and shit in a bedpan. I got pressure sores all over my back and my arms and legs were constantly cramping from the atrophy they were beginning to suffer.

And the worst of it was that those kindly mental health professionals weren't even keeping me doped up enough for it all to be even remotely bearable. Before, I could decide I was too bored or terrified or humiliated by my situation, shut my eyes, and just drift away from reality for awhile; I could give myself a break. After, it was hard to sleep even at night, lying there in the dark yet still somehow still blindingly bright neon white room with only my thoughts to keep me company, painfully aware of just how far I'd fallen.

If I hadn't been crazy when they brought me in, then that two weeks of isolation torture certainly would have done the trick. I was begging for Dr. Shokter by the end.

I please and thank you-ed my way through an interview, answering his stupid questions with as little sarcasm and swearing as I could manage.

"Are your eating and sleeping habits regular?"

"Much as they can be with three twittering bimbos for roommates and a highly overrated cafeteria."

"How often do you ingest drugs or alcohol?"

"I dunno. Often as I can get them. I've been trying to cut back since the twins made me promise, but you know how it is."

"How often do you experience feelings of despair, paranoia, or persecution?"

"Constantly. Does that chart even have my name on it? How could you not already know that one?"

It was lots of boring shit like that, questions driving at but not really hitting on everyone's favorite subject: what the fuck was wrong with Stella Black.

He eventually came to his point, the whole reason I was in there. "Why did you try to kill yourself?" Dr. Shokter asked, sounding unimpressed and really rather bored.

"I didn't," Was my claim, same as it had always been, "I was tired and couldn't sleep, so I drank a sleeping draught. It wasn't working fast enough, so I drank a few more. This was just a big misunderstanding."

"You stopped your own breathing," He informed me bluntly, pushing his glasses higher up on his long, fat nose before jotting down a few notes on his clipboard, "You were clinically dead for ten minutes, and I'm supposed to believe that it was just a misunderstanding?"

"I know how it must look," I pleaded desperately, "But I really wasn't out to kill myself! I would never do that! I-I... I was just so tired..."

"I see," The man stated, making me want to laugh right in his face--he didn't see at all.

Well, he eventually decided that I'd behaved enough for him and flicked his wand towards my cuffs, opening them as he stated, "You'll find a bathroom through the door if you'd like to clean up before you're taken to group therapy."

And then he left and I was free. My limbs were incredibly weak after being tied down so long. I wobbled uncertainly on my journey towards a slightly open door that I know hadn't been there before Dr. Shokter released me. I didn't care so much. I wasn't tied up anymore; I was being allowed to shower; I was going to get out of that fucking white white room.

The bathroom was small, the same white white as my room, with a toilet, sink, mirror, and open shower. There was a camera bolted to the ceiling in one corner. My other room had a camera in it, but the one in the bathroom surprised me. They were going to watch me shower and piss. It was deeply humiliating.

But I decided I wasn't going to care; I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. I stripped, all the while shamelessly staring right up into the lens, into the blinking little red light. I kept my eyes on the camera throughout my entire shower, even while I dressed again in a pair of clean, pale blue cotton pajamas that had appeared from nowhere.

When I walked out of the bathroom, Healer Wheeler was waiting, blushing. I smirked. "Let me guess," I teased the tall, goofy blonde, "It's your job to watch me shower and make sure I don't try to kill myself?"

"Um, ya," He answered uncomfortably, dark hazel eyes on his uniform white shoes, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," I answered with a shrug, starting towards the door and encouraging to the young man to start leading me to group therapy, whatever the hell that would entail, "It's your job. And I guess it's better that it's a cute boy my own age rather than creepy old Dr. Dick."

Am I bitchy for enjoying the way his whole face turned beet red?

Ya. Thought so.

Hey, I had to keep myself entertained somehow! I would've went mad otherwise!

Well... you know what I mean.

The rest of the hospital turned out to not be so blindingly white. Yes, the walls were painted white, but the floor was cool blue linoleum. There were windows letting sunshine stream inside the sterile building and framed pictures of calming flowers on the walls. It felt unbelievably good just to have color.

The room where group was held was connected to Dr. Dick's office; it had a green patterned carpet and white walls and a small circle of uncomfortable green armchairs right in the center. All but one was occupied by the time I arrived.

"Take a seat," Dr. Shokter instructed gruffly, distracted with his clipboard yet again. Healer Wheeler gave me a tight, reassuring smile and nod as he left. I took the free seat across from my shrink.

"Why don't you girls get acquainted while I'm finishing this up," The doctor stated. My fellow loonies immediately sprang into action.

"HI!!" A skinny, bubbly young preteen girl with short black hair chirped from the chair immediately to Dr. Shokter's left, "My name is Victoria!"

"Lindsay," The doctor scolded absentmindedly. The girl blushed, looking ashamed as her bright brown eyes dropped to her feet. "My name isn't really Victoria," She admitted sadly, "It's Lindsay. I'm sorry... I have a problem with lying."

"That's cool, Victoria," I told her with a friendly smile, "My name is Philomel."

"Stella," Dr. Dick snapped, glancing up briefly and sounding very irritated.

I grinned at him, challenging, "What? Her disorder sounds like much more fun than mine!"

"Behave," He warned, "Or you can go back to your room." I quickly shut my mouth. But don't worry, it didn't last long.

Directly to Lindsay/Victoria's left, on my right, there was a perfectly calm, normal-looking young woman with shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair and wide green eyes. She looked to be in her early-twenties. "I'm Eden," She stated pleasantly when she saw me staring at her.

"Hiya, Eden," I answered, cutting my eyes nervously at Dr. Shokter as my mouth ran away with me, "So, what landed you in this whack-shack?"

Instead of being offended, the woman gave an imbalanced little grin, reporting, "I like fire."

"Huh?" I responded dumbly.

"Eden is a pyromaniac," The good doctor announced, not looking up from his clipboard as he continued to scribble notes.

I nodded, commenting, "Wicked. Then you'd probably be the one to go to get some fucking cigarettes in this place, huh?"

Eden opened her mouth to answer but thought better of it when Dr. Dick brought his head up to glare at the both of us. There was probably a white white room and cuffs waiting somewhere for Eden as well because she curled up into a small ball and remained silent.

The last member of our little group was seated to my left. She looked like to be around seventeen or eighteen, and was gazing at me shyly through a curtain of sleek, unnaturally long dark hair. "Hi," I said with a smile, "I'm Stella."

She returned the shy smile, stating, "Hello. I'm Claire... I like your hair."

"Thanks, doll," I answered sweetly, "I like yours, too."

She blushed but brightened up a bit, sitting up a little straighter to reveal an angelic porcelain doll face and wide, glassy deep blue eyes. Hesitantly, she reached out her hand towards me, like she was going to pet my hair. It was a little odd but I didn't move. She seemed pretty harmless.

"Claire," Dr. Dick warned quietly. The girl drew her hand back like it had been burned, curling in on herself in much the same way as Eden. That was a lot more disturbing than her trying to touch my hair.

At my confused expression, the pudgy doctor calmly explained, "Claire suffers from a sexual compulsion and knows that touching is against the rules we've agreed upon to encourage her recovery. She needs to learn to keep her hands to herself."

"Are you trying to tell me that being a big slut is a disease?" I gaped incredulously, laughing right in the old man's face, "Well, shit. I guess that's another one you can add to my long list of infirmities."

All the girls laughed, both Claire and Eden uncoiling in order to enjoy the joke. Lindsay/Victoria nearly fell out of her chair in hysterics.

After a few moments of Dr. Shokter yelling at us all to be quite, Claire jumped up out of her seat and launched herself at me, enfolding me in a great big hug and wrapping her long, skinny legs around my waist. She gave a happy sigh. I imagine finally getting some physical contact gave her as much joy as finally getting some color gave me. I hugged her right back. What can I say? I'm a giver.

But it didn't last. A troupe of orderlies stormed in and grabbed Claire, prying her off of me even as she screamed and cried. They stunned her. They shot her up with a syringe full of some narcotic. They put her in a straightjacket. They dragged her away.

xxXxx

Claire was absent for a few weeks and every time I asked about her, Dr. Dick merely brushed me off, the same as he did whenever I demanded to talk to Uncle Remus, or Fred, or George, or Tonks, or asked who was taking care of my turtle, or inquired what they'd done with my mood ring, or insulted the food. I was enraged by the man, by his useless therapies and cruel dictatorship of the hospital that was now my home.

By the time Claire came back, I was already pretty good friends with Victoria and Eden. They were sweet. Victoria (or Lindsay) was twelve and had been locked up by her family just a few months ago for all her lying, which they took to be evidence of some deep psychological disorder. I thought she was just bored with her life. She liked to tell stories and she always had the best ones. In different circumstances, she probably would have been winning writing awards.

I learned that Eden was twenty-one and had been locked up in St. Adelaide's since she was nine, when she started her family's home on fire. They never visited ever. She didn't like to talk too much, but she was a phenomenal painter. She gave me a few of the pictures she did during arts and crafts time and I hung them up in my white white room. The space didn't seem so bad after that.

When Claire came back, she was incredibly calm. But that was because she was pumped full of drugs.

"Hey, doll," I greeted the morning I wandered into the small, pastel pink lounge area to find her sitting alone and staring out a window, "How've you been?"

"Alright," She sighed, disinterested and not even looking at me. She didn't elaborate.

Standing in front of her, I took it upon myself to snap her out of it. "Read any good books lately?" I questioned stupidly, unable to think of anything else to ask.

"No," She responded flatly, seeming like she was barely able to get her big blue eyes to focus on me.

"They doped you up real good, huh?" I asked, walking around behind her and jumping up to sit on the backrest of her chair. She nodded blankly.

"Hmm," I hummed, reaching out to gently comb my fingers through her long dark hair. It was all in disarray, tangled and not sleek like I remembered it from our brief meeting. "It'll wear off soon," I comforted as I set to work undoing all the damage that had been done to her hair during the weeks of neglect. It was a fairly time-consuming process, but I didn't mind and neither did she. When you're locked up, you have to learn pretty quickly that keeping occupied is vital to keeping yourself sane... well, you know what I mean.

After about a half hour, her hair was untangled and shined like a length of silk. She had tears streaming down her face. I leaned down and put my arms around her neck, hugging her tight as she began to just all out bawl.

Dr. Dick came running in at the noise, two orderlies trailing behind him. "What's going on in here?" He demanded, all blustery and out of breath after the short jog from his office, "Separate right now!! You know the rules!!"

I couldn't resist the smirk. "Ya, you've made them very clear," I placated, not letting go of Claire as she continued to sob, "Only, there is no rule against me touching her, only her touching anyone else."

He opened his mouth like he wanted to yell but no sound would come out. I had him so beat.

"Just go away, Doc," I snapped, rocking Claire as she turned her face against my shoulder, "I may be shit at comforting crying girls, but I have to believe I'm way better at it than you are."

He stood right where he was, mouth gaping.

I shooed him away with a dismissive little wave, turning my back on him and his orderlies as I cooed to Claire, "It's alright, sweetie. You go ahead and let it all out. I gotcha."

xxXxx

Dr. Dick changed the rule that afternoon: Claire couldn't touch anyone and no one was allowed to touch her, either. I argued, of course, but the good shrink had a very small fuse where I was concerned and there was only so much I could do for the girl short of getting myself thrown back into solitary. Regardless of what anyone may tell you, I do know how to pick my battles.

With Claire back, my days got a big more interesting. Don't get me wrong, Victoria and Eden were great, but Victoria, while entertaining, was far too young for me to really talk to and Eden, while a bit more at my maturity level, was shy and reserved and, due to having been locked up so early in life, astoundingly innocent and naive.

But then there was Claire, loud, boisterous, funny (when she wasn't drugged, of course), and it was definitely easier to relate to her.

She had also figured out a way to override the door locks and loop the security feeds of the cameras in our rooms with just a small, untraceable amount of wandless magic. I had not yet learned any amount of controllable wandless magic so that was very useful.

She liked coming into my room late at night so we could talk, just the two of us, with no prying eyes or ears. I would brush and braid her hair while she painted my toes with what was left of some nail polish she'd gotten an orderly to smuggle in for her over two years ago. She paid him for the service with sex, but that was before the arrangement was discovered and he'd been fired and most of what he'd been bringing in for her, nail polish, make up, candy, magazines, had been confiscated. Having to pay the orderly with sex didn't bother her as much as her hard earned stash being taken away.

We talked about stuff like that. For the first time, I had a real... girl friend, the kind you can talk about sex with. I love the twins, but there was no way in hell I wanted to tell them about everything that happened between me and Oliver. Ginny was too young, Hermione was too young and too loyal to Harry, and Tonks was just too... Tonks... too my cousin.

Claire was older and wiser and brought some insight into my situation. I didn't feel quite as stupid and betrayed after she told me that she'd also been tricked by boys who had pretended to be nice and turned out to be ruthless and borderline psychotic.

"You really pulled a knife on him though?" She gaped, seeming impressed as she held out a piece of stale piece of Drooble's Best from her stash. She was seated on the ground next to my bed. I was on the bed, one of my legs over her shoulder as she painted my toes bright pink and I brushed and braided her unnaturally long dark hair.

I grinned, popping the gum into my mouth and chomping happily. "Yup," I answered, quite proud as I blew a big bubble and let it pop against my nose before, "He should have just left me alone. It was bad enough, you know? Him turning out to be such an arsehole, but then he had to go and start attacking me? How would that help the situation?"

"And you couldn't have gone to the teachers?" Claire asked quiet.

Shaking my head, I spread my toes a little further and answered, "He's everybody's golden boy, captain of the quidditch team, destined for superstardom. They wouldn't have believed me."

"That's messed up," She responded, snapping her gum loudly, "What about your uncle though? He would've done something to help you."

I snorted. "Ya, I can just imagine the conversation," I deadpanned, turning on my best bimbo voice as I mocked, "'Um, Uncle Remus, this seventh year I've been secretly fucking got mad when I refused to be his girlfriend, and, like, now he wants to hurt me. Can you... I dunno, call him mummy and get him spanked?'"

Claire laughed, finishing the polish job and blowing lightly on my toes as she said, "Well, it would have been better than getting beat up again!"

"Or he would've shipped me off to the whack shack earlier," I grumbled, finishing off Claire's elaborate French braid with a small rubber band.

She got really quiet for a few moments, then turned around, going up onto her knees between my legs. "Is it really that bad though?" She asked flatly.

I raised an eyebrow at her, stating, "I have severe problems with authority and being held against my will. What do you think?"

"But," She started softly, licking her lips slightly as she looked right up at me with wide open, deep blue eyes, "Isn't there anything about this place you like?" She rose up a little higher, putting herself eye to eye with me. She reached out and cupped my face in one smooth palm as she pleaded, "Anything?"

"What are you-" I started to ask, only to be cut off when she leaned in and kissed me, soft but insistent and sugary.

After the briefest of moments, I pushed her away, shocked and utterly confused. "Claire," I gaped, "I'm straight."

"So am I," She answered impishly, leaning in for another kiss.

I held her back. "No," I said, "Really. I don't like girls, and I only like you as a friend... sorry."

She sat back on her heels, pouting like I'd just taken away her favorite toy. "That sucks," She grumbled petulantly, "I thought... well, never mind. Guess I should get to work on one of the orderlies then... or maybe Healer Wheeler. He's kind of cute."

Relieved as the awkwardness passed effortlessly, I smirked, snapping my gum as I agreed, "Ya, he kind of is. Quirky, but quirky is good... I heard that his first name is Henry..."

xxXxx

Weeks passed. The therapy did me little good; private sessions with Dr. Dick were awkward and unproductive and group always turned into chatting time. My days were boring as hell and my nights weren't as strange as I thought they would be. Claire didn't try to kiss me again and things seemed pretty much normal... well, normal for a nuthouse, anyways.

The last week of March was exciting. My birthday was coming up, that very Friday, in fact, and I'd been told by Dr. Dick that, since I'd been behaving for the most part, he would allow me visitors that day. The twins were going to come! And Remus, and Tonks, and Auntie Andromeda, and Uncle Ted! They were going to let me have a cake, and presents, and my fellow loony tunes were going to be allowed to participate!

It was all anyone could talk about.

Well, that and who we thought wasn't going to get the privilege of attending.

"No way is Dr. Dick letting Eden into the party," Claire smugly announced as were all sitting around in the lounge the night before. As per the rules, no one was within arms length of our resident sexual compulsive.

"Why do you say that?" Eden asked quietly, wide green eyes growing wet with impending tears.

Rolling her eyes, Claire responded snappishly, "Hello! A birthday cake means candles. Candles mean fire. Fire in your hands means we all get to die a really unpleasant kind of death."

Eden sadly hung her head, looking ashamed as she drew her thin knees up into her chest, as her long strawberry blonde hair fell around her pale face.

I patted her on the shoulder, soothing, "I'm sure you'll be allowed in... and I'll just blow out the candles really quick, before you even get a chance to get tempted by them." The young woman shot me a shy, grateful smile.

"Quit being a bitch, Claire," Victoria piped in, the small twelve-year-old somehow managing to take up more space on the sofa she'd claimed than all the rest of us put together, "If anyone won't be allowed in, it's you. There'll be boys there and, besides that, you're still in trouble for pinching Healer Wheeler's bum."

I snickered. That was a very funny day. He squeaked pretty damn loud and dropped a tray of pills onto Dr. Dick's head.

Claire scowled, contemplating deeply. After only a few moments, her pretty face broke into an absolutely devious grin. "You know what we could do?" She whispered, making us all lean in closer to hear, "We could break into Dr. Dick's office tonight and get a look at our files. He has to have been making notes about who he's allowing to go to the party."

"We'll get in so much trouble," Eden gasped, wide-eyed.

Smiling brightly, I slung an arm around her thin shoulders and excitedly chirped, "Only if we get caught! Besides, it sounds smashing! I haven't been up to any real trouble in ages and I'm going through withdrawals!"

So it was decided. That night, Claire worked her magic on the security system and she, Victoria, Eden, and I crept out of our rooms and into Dr. Dick's office. It was a meticulously tidy room, so we had to be careful not to mess anything up or he would know someone had been in there. All the same, I was really curious as to what he had written about me.

After digging all our files out of his cabinets, the girls and I scattered ourselves throughout and read by the dim moonlight coming through the windows. I must have gone over my file a hundred times, committing the most troubling passage to memory:

"Miss Black's high level of intelligence makes her particularly vulnerable to paranoia. Fantasies of persecution and conspiracy are common in her speech and her prior physician has made notes in her chart that they have previously manifested themselves as visual and auditory hallucinations. Although I have yet to succeed in persuading Miss Black to open up about the events of her childhood, I suspect that her psychoses and delusions stem almost exclusively from the trauma of her father's arrest, her mother's miscarriage, and her mother's death. Miss Black has hinted at feelings of crushing guilt surrounding all three events. I am truly unsure if there is anything medicine can do to help her get past these feelings and I don't expect to be able to release her until she has had at least several years of intensive therapy in order to come to terms with her past."

My mouth dropped open. Several years of treatment.

Fuck.

I was going to be stuck there for years!!

YEARS!!

"This is fucking bullshit!" I raged, barely remembering to keep my voice down, "Dr. Dick is a goddamn quack!!"

"Lemme see," Claire said, scooting over to sit close against my side as she tugged the file out of my fisted hands. Her eyes skimmed the notes. Her slight smirk did not match her statement of, "That sucks."

I glared at her, accusing, "You don't seem all that broken up about it."

Shrugging, the young woman answered, "Hey, I've got life sentence of my own over here. At least you're going to be there to keep me company."

I leaned back against the wall and stared into the dim room. That's when it hit me.

It was a life sentence.

xxXxx

I couldn't sleep and I walked around in a fog during the early morning hours of my birthday. The weight of my situation felt like it was literally crushing me, making it hard to breathe. Most young people can't think of the rest of their life as a whole. There's too much time to fill and too many variables, so much potential for both fun and heartbreak.

I thought about the rest of my life and realized that I would probably be seeing the same rooms, the same doctors and patients for the rest of it.

Healer Wheeler set a tray of food in front of me during breakfast, the exact same toaster waffles we had every Friday morning, and I had to run out of the room crying. I barely made it to a bathroom before I threw up.

But I tried so hard to hold it together. I wanted a birthday party. I wanted to see Uncle Remus and the twins, Auntie Andromeda, Uncle Ted, and Tonks. I had to see my family.

Remus arrived at around noon with the twins in tow. I was sitting curled on one of the couches in the lounge, ignoring the chattering going on around me as the other girls hung some streamers. I was staring blankly out the window, trying my hardest not to cry and wishing to be anywhere else in the world.

"Stella?" I heard a voice calling my name, but it sounded far off and inconsequential. "Stella?" It persisted, "Some of your visitors are here."

I turned, blinking up into Healer Wheeler's face. He smiled goofily, asking, "Aren't you excited?"

"Thrilled," I said, gingerly getting to my feet because, suddenly, my whole body ached. I felt like a frail old woman and I'd barley just turned fifteen. I felt... hopeless.

Slowly picking my head up, I saw Remus in the doorway, grinning sheepishly and flanked by the twins, George on the right, Fred on the left. Both boys had let their red hair grow out a little longer than normal. It was shaggy against their broad shoulders and they seemed... taller. more mature. more serious.

As soon as I acknowledged their presence, both boys ran straight at me and dive-tackled me into the floor, both babbling a mile a minute as they hugged me fiercely and kept kissing my cheeks.

But I was far gone by then because not even the twins could lighten my mood. I stared blankly at both of them, not managing to conjure the warmth and happiness that should've been automatic. "Hey, guys," I stated flatly, "Happy birthday."

And that was how the rest of the day went, hopeless rage smothering me to nothingness, making it impossible for me to appreciate my best friends, my family, the people I loved.

I know now how much I scared them. Really, they all expected to show up and have me bitch them out, maybe throw things, crack some inappropriate jokes. Dr. Dick had been telling them that I was oppositional, but doing fine. The despair they found must've been... heartbreaking.

Fred looked completely crushed. He wouldn't let go of my hand and kept staring at me with big, sad blue eyes, talking to me gently and trying to prompt some kind of expected reaction out of my near-catatonia.

It didn't happen.

I don't remember when they left. I didn't notice.

Afterwards, Dr. Dick tried to talk to me about what was wrong. It was hard to talk at that point. My mouth felt like it was full of taffy.

A few days later, he prescribed a stronger anti-depressant he'd been working on.

The next month was an anesthetized blur.

xxXxx

So, ya, April passed into May. Halfway through the month, Dr. Dick tried another anti-depressant cocktail, one he said hopefully wouldn't make me so listless.

It's hard to be listless when you're hurling your guts out for hours straight, vomiting so hard that what's coming up stops being food, stops being acid and bile and becomes just blood from the ulcerated sores on your esophagus.

I was on bed rest until the start of June, on medications to help my throat heal, painkillers.

I liked painkillers.

I lost all the weight I'd put back on since coming to the hospital, and then I lost some more. In my more lucid moments, I counted the sharp cuts of my rib bones to pass the time. I always forgot the number I came up with soon after.

June 9th was a full moon. I had no idea at the time. Hell, I probably couldn't have even told you what year it was.

My door opened in the middle of the night. I wouldn't have even noticed if it hadn't been followed by someone shaking me roughly by the shoulders and hissing an insistent, "PSST!"

I merely groaned, unable to summon the strength to move.

"Stella!" It was Claire, I realized, "Stella! Wake up! Come on! We're getting out of here!"

"Huh?" I grunted dumbly, dizzy as I faded out of the painkiller fog. She was standing over me, unnaturally long dark hair falling around her pretty face as her wild blue eyes bored into mine.

"I understand now!" She hissed in a loud, unbalanced whisper, "Why you've been sad! We shouldn't be stuck here together! We should be out there together! Now come on!!" She seized me by the wrist, yanked my numb, limp body up out of the bed, and dragged me into the hallway.

We stalked through the dim corridors in complete silence, a dull buzz in my ears the only sound I could hear over my own labored breathing. Claire's progress through the building made me dizzy and I couldn't really keep up with where we were, where we were going, and I'd already forgotten why.

And then, just like that, we were outside. The night air was crisp, sharp and... intoxicating. My first lungful was like candy, sweet and cool and I wanted more. I got my eyes to focus a bit more and gazed at the deserted streets of Birmingham, up at the crystal clear night sky and gorgeous, heavy glowing moon.

"Wow," I gasped, moved to tears just from the beauty all around me as I rediscovered the world. "Wow," Was all I could come up with, over and over again. I sobbed it over and over again as Claire pulled me after her down the streets, racing us further and further away from the hell that was St. Adelaide's.

I have no idea how long it was until she finally pulled me into a dark alley and let us take a break. I was breathing so hard, crying and gasping for air but so fucking amazed to be free of that place. Doubled over to catch her own breath, Claire glanced over and shot me a cocky smirk.

Before I had time to think about it much, I found myself grabbing her in a tight hug, bawling hysterically into her neck, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"No worries," She answered brightly, giving me one last squeeze before reluctantly pulling away and holding up a small laundry sack she'd been carrying, "Let's get changed into some normal clothes before we go on. I snatched our stuff out of the property room before I came for you."

"You are a genius, Claire!" I beamed, the drugs in my system wearing off but still making me tired, even though I didn't want to be because I was so excited. The dark-haired girl of just eighteen grinned as she handed me the school uniform and leather jacket in which I'd been brought to the hospital.

Clumsily but eagerly stripping off my shirt, I chattered, "This is amazing! Why didn't you ever breakout before if you could?"

"Because," She answered, digging what I elatedly recognized to be my mood ring out of the bottom of the satchel and handing it over to me, "I didn't ever have anyone to escape with. This will be great! We'll be together and we'll have so much fun!"

"Definitely!" I agreed, sliding on my ring and stepping out of the faded white hospital scrubs, "I can't wait to get out of here! Do you have a plan? Do you know where we should head to? My vote is cast for everywhere but right fucking here and-"

I finally got around to noticing how close to me she'd gotten, the predatory gleam in her dark eyes as they traveled up and down my nearly-naked body. "What are you doing?" I asked, uncomfortable and rather terrified as she backed me against the icy brick wall.

She smiled--I'd never before realized how demented her smile was--and slowly brought her hands out to ghost the skin of my ribcage. I shivered and tried to pull away but there was nowhere for me to go.

"It doesn't matter where we go," She said, gaze locked with mine as her fingers trailed higher and picked idly at my plain, psycho-friendly cotton bra, "Just so long as we're together.

And then she leaned in and kissed me, sweet and insistent, and was absolutely prepared for my objection. No sooner had I caught on to what was happening than my hands flew up to her shoulders, flew up to try to push her away and remind the young woman, yet again, that I wasn't interested in her like that.

But she didn't have painkillers coursing through her system. She hadn't been depressed and bedridden and near-catatonic for over two months. She wasn't weak and slow. She wasn't very much bigger than me, but she was stronger at that moment. She had the advantage.

She grabbed my wrists and pinned them roughly back against the wall.

I cried out into the mouth bruising mine, tears coming down my face as the force of the kiss ground my skull hard into the bricks. She was grinding herself against my thin thigh, hot and damp and also in just the standard-issue white cotton panties and bra. Her tongue slid and wriggled against mine as I tried to scream.

"Claire, stop it!" I shouted as soon as she released my mouth in favor of trailing light, passionate, demanding kisses down my throat, "Claire! Stop! Get off me! Let go!"

Her lean body was pressed flush against mine, our breasts mashed together almost painfully and our stomachs melded with sweat from the run and our legs tangling as I struggled. Tears stung my eyes. This was not happening.

But it was.

Claire continued to hold me captive, both my wrists trapped in one of her nimble hands as she used the other to tease down the cups of my bra. When my breasts were bared to her, she began to pet and grope them, happily sighing, "It's ok, baby. No one can keep us apart now. We'll be together."

"N-No!" I stuttered, utterly horrified to find my body reacting to her gentle, expert touches, to find my nipples hard and aching in the cold air, my skin flushed and tense. "Claire, stop!" I ordered, "Stop right now! I don't want this! I don't like you like that! Please, just stop!" I kicked and thrashed and tried to buck her off of me.

"Shhh, don't be afraid," She cooed lovingly, ignoring my efforts to escape and easily preventing them, her free hand drifting lower as she began nuzzling the sensitive points of my breasts, "I'll take care of you."

I fought. I tried, I... but the drugs... my vision was blurry from tears and it was dark and I couldn't breathe and I couldn't get away and Claire's hand was suddenly in my panties and her fingers were sliding into the slick folds at the crux of my legs. Sobbing hysterically, I squeezed my thighs together in an attempt to keep her from touching me but she easily pried them apart, situated herself between them and held them apart as she began to stroke and pet.

And I was gasping, crying frantically and feeling so ashamed of myself because it felt so good. I didn't want it to feel good. I didn't want it at all.

It's a bit of a haze after that, seemingly endless minutes of electric touches and heavy breathing as I continued to cry and whimper, "No," Claire whispering that she loved me as she brought me off and took care of herself by simply rutting against my hip, just standing there, trembling and panting and naked for the longest time. Stunned.

But it all came crashing down again. I was hurt, betrayed and violated, and I needed her off of me or else I was going to break.

"Claire," I commanded, only vaguely aware of my voice cracking as the tears continued to fall, "Get off."

"But I like being close to you," She soothed, face pressed against my neck, half dozing in her oblivious post-orgasmic bliss. She hugged me against herself, her hands starting to drift again as I felt her smile against me. "Once more before we leave, baby?" She offered silkily.

I fucking lost it, all out bawling once more as I used her dropped guard to get my hands free and shove her as hard as I could away from me.

She stumbled backwards in slow motion, arms flailing as she tried to keep balanced, blue eyes wide with confusion and fear. She fell.

The back of her head hit hard against a locked fuse box. The meeting of skull and metal made a deep, resonating gong that echoed through the alley and off the cool night air, that drowned out Claire's startled yelp of pain. She dropped limply to the dirty concrete floor, unnaturally dark hair spread out all around her body, arms flung out at odd angles, and plain white underwear in an almost-accidental, almost-innocent disarray.

I knew she was dead because her eyes froze straight up and her chest stopped moving.

I slid down the wall where I was, shivering and stunned, and hugged my knees fiercely against my chest. I must have sat there for at least an hour in the dark, just staring at the body of my friend, my attacker, not moving and trying to make sense of what had happened to me.

Eventually, I got up. I changed my underwear because I just... didn't want the ones I'd been wearing when... I dressed, red plaid mini-skirt, white blouse, black mary-janes, black leather jacket, my key necklace and my wand. I found my switchblade in the pocket where I left it and tried to figure out if I would have used it on Claire, if I would have used it to stop her. I didn't want to hurt her but I didn't want what she did to me either.

But she was dead.

I had to remember that. Claire was dead and I was the one who killed her. I was a murderer. I murdered my friend, my friend, my attacker, Claire.

She was dead.

Still dazed, I wandered out onto the streets of Birmingham.

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Hehe, so, too weird? Just weird enough? Be sure to let me know! ;P