The day I came here was forever stuck in my brain. It was clear as day and still so vivid that it seemed as if it was only yesterday. Not three hundred sixty four days ago.

 A year has practically passed since I've been here.

West London rehab, a large hospital building sitting right off the busy road leading into central London. Millions of people pass by each day with no plans to stop. Nobody really does to be quite honest. The building is nothing exciting on the inside or out. Just large, dull, and sad.

It is a four floor building. The bottom floor was the basic lobby entrance. To the left was a large rec center with large windows looking out to the roads. This was where we had free time and ate our meals. To the right was the normal check in and records office. Back behind there was the large office where the head of the rehab, Miss.Stort, had her office.

The second floor was the room floor for the younger kids. The kids who aren't here for reasons like me. They're here because either cancer or other major diseases like that have made it impossible for them to live their daily lives. It's heartbreaking to see them, but we rarely ever do. We'll be lucky to catch a glimpse. We're not allowed privileges like those. We're here for a reason.

The third floor is the most hospital like. Halls lined with large rooms for check ups and also for chemo for the kids. It also has the therapy rooms for us. Twice a week we were required to go. However, I don't think a week has passed without me going to more than two sessions. 

And finally the fourth floor was ours. It's where our, constantly watched by workers, rooms were. They say we each had our own room so no scrawls would break out in between patients. Though really it's because there's not alot of us here.

My room is the last one on the right. It looks just like everyone else's. Pale grey walls, a full sized bed with navy blue sheets and a grey comforter, a small desk sitting in the corner, and a tall dresser next to it. Besides that, the only other thing was a large window on the wall. It had a lovely view of the city along the horizon but the view was always messed up due to the long silver bars. It was like a jail cell almost.

We're not allowed bathrooms of our own due to the same reasons. So there's a large bathroom in the center of the hall where we can be supervised. When it was time to shower, someone always came and got us. At first it bothered me, but due to being here for three hundred sixty four days it doesn't any more.

 When I came here it was a rainy cold day. A favorite of mine and while I would normally enjoy it, I couldn't that day.

I was brought in a white van that belonged to the central London hospital. After I was "healthy" I left there and came here to complete rehab. Gloria, my mother if you would call her that, decided not to come that day because she was "busy." Me being in the hospital had already interfered with her schedule. She loosely promised to come visit the next day. Well three hundred sixty four days later, I haven't seen that witches face once. 

Not that I'm complaining.

When the driver had pulled up my eyes instantly snapped towards the top of the building. It was a very large drop that promised death. I had planned there that if I could get away, I would go there and end this mess. I tried my first week and failed. Silent alarms had lined that hallway leading up to the roof. I was caught and was assigned extra therapy sessions.

When I walked into the building for the first time, a strong stench of lemon cleaner hit me and since it's been stuck in my airways. The whole building smelt like that. Even my room.

Besides from the smell I noticed the dull interior. No color, no paintings, absolutely nothing but grey.

I was checked into the rehab in a matter of minutes and had a medical bracelet on my wrist in seconds. I was given a brief tour. It ended with me entering my room and being left alone.

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