Eccentric [h.s] *ON HOLD*

eighteen.

"Strange times are these in which we live when old and young are taught falsehoods in school. And the person that dares to tell the truth is called at once a lunatic and fool." -Plato

-

The minutes seem to be passing by at the speed of a unbeating heart and it is slowly killing me. The hunger clawing at my insides doesn't make it much easier either. With the aching hunger comes the lightheadness and the uncontrollable urge to vomit- even if it's possibly just air that I'm emptying out.

    As the breakfast line moves along, I plop down the sticky, unappetising mush onto each inmate's tray, seeing the cringy looks on their faces.The hairnet over my head is itchy and every time I try to ignore the irritation, it only seems to be getting worse.

At first, I thought this would be easy. I told myself I could- and with no doubt in mind- let this day go by with absolutely no food. But now, it's just plain torture. Deep inside, I know I'm suppose to be grateful that at least it wasn't the real type of torture provided here. 

All this time, I am deflated. I can't even give anyone in the breakfast line a single smile as they pass by. I simply look down into the abyss of a pot, stuck in my annoying, blank-minded trance when I feel a familiar warmth radiating above me.

It's like I know his essence by heart now. It's a honey-like, sugary feeling that rushes through my veins when the smile I thought I couldn't give appears on my face. I divert my gaze to him.

"Hey Harry," I say softly, scooping up the awful looking porridge. "Thanks for, you know...bringing me to bed last night."

He has a bored expression on his face, chewing gum in his mouth. "Yeah, sure." He shrugs idly. Feeling a little confused and turned down by his response, I nod unnoticably with pursed lips, putting the food onto his tray.

I am a little wounded, a sting in my chest as he moves along the line with no interest in my presence at all. Wasn't it just last night he was all cuddly and understanding? I'm afraid this isn't just a side effect of his disorder, maybe it's how he really feels now.

What if I was going too fast?

What if he thinks I'm some scaredy cat after last night?

What if he just isn't interested anymore?

What if-

"Harry!" I call out, causing him to turn around lazily; uninterested. "Want to go to the recreation room afterwards?"

He lifts his shoulders and drops them down yet again, causing my hope to evanesce. "I'm not really feeling it today."

Despite the slight sadness that overtakes me, I nod, swallowing down on the lump clinging in my throat. "I understand."

He nods at me stiffly before leaving. I watch him move through the swarm of inmates with ease, ignoring the giggling girls undressing him with their eyes and being absolute perfection as he swipes back the hair from his forehead and sits down at a secluded table.

"Ouch," Beth winces, moving forward in the line with her tray, watching as I serve the person before her. "What is up with him today?"

"I don't know." I sigh, scratching my palm over the irritating glove. "I think he's having one of his mood swings again."

Beth frowns. "The doctors decided to put him off his medication for a while and now I think it wasn't a good idea." I put the food on her tray, knitting my eyebrows.

"Oh? Why'd they do that?"

She shrugs. "Probably experimenting with him...they did that to another patient once and they actually got better. It gets risky sometimes, though."