Running From Insanity

3. Ghost of a Chance

"Yeah, and so, I j-jumped off and broke my arm," Sam laughed, covering his face. "My brother, Dean, laughed his ass off. Thought it was hilarious."

I snorted, rolling back on the bed. My legs kicked as I laughed hysterically. "Because it is funny! It's fan-freaking-tastic!"

We were back in Sam's room. Next day. We were bored out of our minds, again, so we were sharing embarrassing stories. Sam looked exhausted, more than usual. Like he was getting worse. I semi pitied him, then remembered I was here for ten years, there was no pity to give.

I laid on his bed as he peered out the window, his smile fading. He missed his brother. Hell, I bet he missed fresh air. Anything other than white. I sighed and closed my eyes. Another pleasant sigh.

"Man, you must be really determined to wait out nap time."

The interruption caused my eyes to snap open. My head lolled on my shoulder to look at the door. Sam spun around, looking at the disturbance. My eyes narrowed.

Marin. She held up a chocolate bar. "Here." Without another thought, she tossed the bar my way and started to walk out.

Good, let her leave.

"Wait," Sam started, earning a 'seriously' glance from me. "Uh, share this with me?"

My eyes narrowed again. This time at Sam. What's your play?

"Thanks," she smiled, side-eying me. "I don't know why I'm thanking you for a candy bar I stole."

Sam huffed a laugh, catching a glare from me, and started trying to open the candy wrapper. After a bit of struggling, he gave up.

"So," Sam awkwardly stated. "How long have you been here?"

"Five weeks and counting," she answered. "Going for the record."

"Sorry, sweetheart," I scolded her. "Ten years over here. I've got the record."

Her eyes rolled and she crossed her arms. Eyes on Sam.

Oh, you little—

"How come?" Sam asked, trying to get me away from the fire. He looked genuinely curious, though.

"It doesn't matter." Defense. Poke the bear, Melinda. Poke it nice and good.

"That's a lot of bandages for 'It doesn't matter,'" I informed her, observing my nails. My eyes slid up to look at her, an innocent look plastered on my face.

She squared her shoulders and glared at me. "You want the doctor answer?" She huffed out a breath. "I'm psychotically depressed to a suicidal ideation."

"And the not-doctor answer?" Sam asked. I just now noticed he was sitting on the bed. Huh. Sneaky little ninja.

She sighed, her eyes glazing over. "I feel like crap. I just... want it to be over."

"What?"

She hesitated but answered anyway. "Everything," her voice cracked. My eyes slid to the floor. You're not the only one... "Come on." She laughed. "Tell me I'm young and have everything to live for."

Sam, looking quite tired, looked up at Marin and shrugged. "Why would you believe me?"

"True." She eyed me for a second, then continued her sentence. "I heard you're here because the voices won't let you sleep."

"Backoff!" I barked. She squared her shoulders back at me.

"And you because you see black-eyes. The ones that killed your friend." She leaned closer. "Do I have them?"