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Sleep is still clinging to my mind as I'm awoken by a strange noise. I sit up and bump my head, like always, on my sloped ceiling. I search for the source of the sound and smile when I see Kat balancing a plate of pancakes in one hand while bending down to clean the water she just spilled all over the floor with the other.

"Hey," I say rubbing my head, "one thing at a time." I get up and take the plate from her and set it down on my bedside table and bend down to mop up the mess with her.

Kat smiles at me and asks, "How's the head? You've been, erm, a little busy hurting it lately."

"Not bad, but it could be better," I reply, mopping up the last of the water. God, my head is pounding, though.

"Pounding, could definitely be better," She says with a smirk, having read my mind.

Kat takes the towel from my hand and shoved me back in the direction of my bed, "Sit, you've got to rest or else you're no good to us. Also, you have to try this new pancake recipe Ash whipped up."

When I'm all settled, she hands me the plate and I take a tentative bite, only to find that it's amazing. "Mmm, blueberry, s'good," I say after shoving another bite into my mouth.

She smiles and nods her head, "I know, they're the best. I'll leave you to eat, but I expect you downstairs for a shower after, you're all gross." She sniffs and makes a face as if I'm the most disgusting thing she's ever smelled, gets up and walks out without another word.

After eating the best pancakes in the world, I'm tempted to go back to sleep, but I know I have to have a shower, because I can smell myself, and it smells nasty. I get up and head downstairs, to the kitchen.

Everybody's sitting in the living room, which I have to pass through to get to the kitchen, and John yells me because I'm not supposed to be walking around. Kat laughs nervously as her brother yells at me and Ashley takes my plate, smacks my on my arm as she reminds me to take off my head bandage, and sends me on my way to the bathroom.

As I step into the shower, I let the water turn my skin red the second it touches it. I just stand there and let it fall over me, like it's somehow cleansing me from my mother's sins. That woman is evil, but she's still my Mamma. After my Dad died, she got a little weird. She became more involved with the church, and she made me go with her every Sunday, no matter what. I didn't want to, because my father had never liked going because he always fell asleep. He really only went because she asked him to, and we'd always go out for ice cream afterwards. But when he died, she began to mutter to herself and look at me funny.

One day in church, my father's ghost came to me, and I was just so happy to see him again I couldn't help myself but talk back while the minister was talking. My mother got mad, but not mad because I'd interrupted the ceremony, but because I was "talking with the Devil" she said. She had never really understood anything about Supernaturals, but she never hated me before for being one, she loved me. But after Dad died, it was like we were all evil. Then the Supernatural Act came about, and off to "Disney World" I went.

I was put in a room with a pretty comfy bed and a bathroom. I thought mental institutions were supposed to be terrifying, and at first I was pretty surprised at how well they treated me, but after my first day, things changed. Strange men came to my room early in the morning on my second day, and took me to the basement, where they said they'd give me some tests.

I'm being lead down the hallway, away from my room. The men are thinking mean thoughts about me, and I don't like them. They tell me some tests are going to be done, and I begin to panic, because I can hear what they're going to do to me in their thoughts. "No, you can't do that to me, it's not fair!" I yell as I try to pull away from their grasps, but they're too strong.

I shudder at the memory.

They strap me down onto a metal table and stick needles in my feet, my hands and my head. They shock me with this strange machine. The men take so much blood from me while at the same time they keep shocking me and replacing the needles in my feet, head and hands every so often. This goes on for five hours until I pass out from the pain.

I remember waking up the next day, my nurse had wake me up to give me this gross medicine. "It'll help with the voices," she said. And it did, it made me stop hearing people's voices, which at first, was okay. They didn't do any more tests on me for a few days, and they fed me some decent food as long as I was compliant, which I had no choice to be. But after about five days of having taken that medicine every morning, the men came again, but I had no idea what they were going to do to me this time, because I couldn't hear their voices. They burned me all over my body that day, and they tattooed a number at the bottom of my foot. It looked like a bar code. The number was 243. I was patient number 243. I still have the tattoo, and every time I catch a glimpse of it, my heart beats a little faster and panic runs through me like the electric current used to shock me.

When I'm satisfied that I don't smell anymore, I get out of the shower, dry myself off and shrug into my freshly cleaned boxers. I guess Ash washed a pair for me and put them in the bathroom while I was taking a shower, but I was so deep in thought that I didn't notice. That was nice of her, I guess. I mean, we all look out for eachother, so things like this, the fresh boxers, are a normal occurrences. But it's always nice.

As I quietly slip out of the bathroom and up the stairs that lead to my room, I remember that I have to re-bandage my head, so back down the stairs I go and into the living room.

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