Gasoline // Newtmas

Chapter 1: Routine

"Well, how are we today, Newt?"

Cut the crap. We know how I am. I'm the same as I am everyday. I think I'm fine. You think I'm crazy. It's the same bloody conversation every day. I'm bored of it.

I don't answer, I've learnt it's better to keep my thoughts to myself.

"It's going to be one of those days today, is it?"

Yes, you stuck up tart. It's going to be one of those days. You're going to talk and I'm going to listen. You'll get frustrated because I won't answer you. You'll write notes in that stupid notebook of yours-the one with the spirals on it- and I'll pretend that I'm oblivious to it all.

Again, I don't answer.

"Have you taken your meds today, Newt?"

You know I have, you watched me take them. If this is your attempt at getting me to talk, it's not working. Why would I want to talk when all you'll do is tell me that the voices aren't real? But they are real. I can hear them.

The psychiatrist, Dr. Paige, sighs. I watch her close her notebook and put it on the table next to her.

"Have you spoken to Albert today?"

Alby. His name is Alby. You know he hates his full name.

I choose to answer her.

"Yes. I saw him at breakfast. We talked."

We talked about life after this. Once we get out of here, we'll go our separate ways but we promised to keep in contact. We're each other's best friend.

"Did you eat at breakfast this morning?"

Lie. Lie to her, you bloody shank. Shank? You're starting to sound like Alby. I can't lie. She knows when I'm lying. Worth a try, I guess.

"Yes. I ate."

Bloody hell. That was terrible. Prepare yourself for the lecture.

"Newt. If you don't eat, how do you expect me to help you? You really don't help yourself."

"Well it's not my fault. They tell me not to eat. I have to do what they say."

I always have to do what they say. If I don't, bad things happen.

"Newt, these...voices. You don't have to listen to them. They're not in control of you. They hurt you, remember?"

Of course I bloody remember. How could I forget jumping off a roof ? How could I forget the blinding pain I felt when the bones in my leg cracked? They made me do it. They make me do everything.

"Newt. You need to learn to overpower them. Make your own choices. Be the independent boy you once were."

Yeah. The independent kid with no parents. No family. No one who cared.  No one to talk to. Just the voices.

I lose it.

"Stop telling me who to be. I know who I am. I don't care if they control me. At least we actually talk. At least they don't ask me the same things every day. At least I'm more than an experiment to them."

She looks appalled.

Good. It's about time someone told the cow what they really thought.

"Newt, I-"

"No. Don't. I'm tired of being told what to do. I think our session is over for today Doctor."

As I stalk back to the hell hole that is actually classed as a room, I can hear her pen scratching away.

Let her write notes. Let her judge me. Let her report back to the other doctors.

I'm almost disappointed by her reaction. I wanted her to yell at me, but instead she still uses my outburst as notes. I'm nothing but a case study.

I slam the door behind me, taking deep breaths. I collapse on my bed, staring at the ceiling. It was probably pure white when they opened this place. Now it's a faded nicotine yellow, apart from the brown patch in the corner.

Apparently it's from a leak.

It looks more like a bloodstain they couldn't remove. A constant reminder of the pain this place thrives on.

I sigh. I turn at the digital clock that sits in the corner of my room. They don't let us have normal clocks. In case we smash the glass and use it to hurt ourselves.

They clearly didn't think that through. Digital clocks could mean electrocution, strangulation from the cable. I can't believe they call this a medical establishment sometimes.

Two hours. Two hours and then it's a medical check up. Dr. Janson will check my pulse, my blood pressure. My body weight. He's never happy with my body weight.

He's never bloody happy. It wouldn't be exactly kill him to smile once in a while, would it? And I thought I was depressed.

The only thing they let me do is read.

I'm surprised they're not worried that I'll paper cut myself to death. Stop it. They hear you thinking like that and they'll take your books away. The only thing that keeps you sane. But I'm not sane, am I? Not in their books.

I grab the book on top of the pile, admiring its leather bound spine. It's funny. Something so small and so insignificant is so perfect. So ornate.

I turn the cover, opening it up on the first page. I take in that new book smell, a mixture of paper, leather and ink. I breathe out.

Two hours. You've got two hours to escape.

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I hope you guys liked the first chapter! I'm really excited about this fanfic, so thanks for the votes on the prologue!

Love you all,
LJ xx