Lost Cause » Void Stiles

02; caged animals

Following the abrupt end of group therapy, Lita was bored to say the least.

And with boredom, sometimes came various memories, along with the somewhat insatiable desire to kill everything & everyone in sight. Although, she hadn't had one of her "episodes," as the orderlies so chose to call it, in awhile, Lita wasn't in the mood to spend the rest of her day & night in the five-point restraint system. She & Malia were both very familiar with spending their nights stuck in overly tight handcuffs, unable to sleep due to the pain & numbness from lack of circulation.

So, in attempt to distract herself whilst Malia remade her bed ("blanket nest" as Lita liked to call it) with fresh sheets the nurses had brought by, Lita had declared she was going for a shower. She'd gotten a clean set of clothes from the nurse, collected a stupid little bottle of shampoo (which wasn't even close to being enough for her hair- that hadn't been cut once through her almost three years of residency in the nut house) & informed Malia of where she'd be.

The blonde had provided Lita with one last piece of advice to "use the shower in the boys' room. it's twice as hot, and the orderlies don't go in unless there's a fight" before returning to her previous activity. At first, Lita wasn't all that on board with the idea, but after a quick walk by the girls' showers, (where she'd spotted one of the Jesus freaks, a girl having a conversation with the shower head & an elderly woman cussing out a nurse who was attempting to help her) she decided to take Malia's advice.

Fast forward fifteen minutes, & Lita found herself standing under a heavy rainfall of scorching hot water, which oddly enough, felt good for a change. She'd grown far too accustomed to the mildly warm temperatures of the girl's showers, but now that she knew she could have this, she wasn't going back. Even better, the boys' room actually had curtains, (Lita guessed because it was partly a bathroom as well; much like the girls' room, which for some reason lacked decent curtains. Maybe it was because she tried using one to suffocate another patient after the girl had made a bitchy comment about her? Lita wasn't sure.) so at least she could go unnoticed for the most part.

The curtains distorted it enough so they could only tell she was girl if they stared, (it wouldn't surprise her) which would lead to her calmly getting her towel to wrap up in, and then proceeding to punch whoever decided to creepily watch her shower. Unless they were attractive. In that case, she'd mentally contemplate the idea of asking them to join her, which, due to her very seldom having a filter between her thoughts & words, would likely end up spoken aloud. Not that Lita would be embarrassed; she was well aware that she was one of the more attractive psychopaths on the premises, and she was fairly confident the offer wouldn't be turned down.

The soft scuffing of slippers against the aged tile flooring managed to ease her mind away from it's previous thoughts & back onto the dreary setting around her as she rinsed the last bit of shampoo from her hair (which hadn't been more than a quarter-sized amount in the palm of her hand to begin with, seeing as how the tiny bottles they provided were meant to last an entire week until the cleaning staff made their rounds). From what she could tell, without removing the steam-coated, blurry curtain from obstructing her view, the figure has posed in front of one of the mirrors, hunched over as though he were contemplating a life choice.

Lita knew the feeling- she contemplated life choices all the time. But, luckily for her, she was incapable of remorse, so she quickly resorted to her usual agenda of plotting & scheming to steal from the orderlies with Malia. Although, the boy at the sink didn't appear to be doing either; if anything, judging by the silence (excluding the heavy rainfall of shower water) he seemed almost sad, worried, maybe.

As curiosity soon got the better of her, Lita found herself peeking around the corner of the curtain in attempt to put a name to the blurred figure. Her eyes quickly scanned over his tall frame, taking in the sight of the familiar patient attire, accompanied by the all too familiar head of dark, messy hair; a style caused by the constant running of his hands through it. Within his hands, she could faintly make out a small shape, tinting a hint of the mirror's fog a bright orange, almost as though it were meant to draw her attention.