~Kiss, Kiss! Fall In Love! OHSHC x Reader~ {REQUESTS OPENED}

~You Think I'm Mad?!~ Kyoya x Mental! Reader

A/N: MEOW-COME KITTENS TO TODAY'S ONE-SHOT! I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT AND DON'T BE SHY TO LEAVE A COMMENT OR TWO!! SEE Y'ALL AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER!!

~FIRST POV~

~Tuesday, November 22nd: 8:10 am~

At 8:00 in the morning, you're supposed to be up and at it before you're in trouble. That wasn't the case for me, though. I was up 10 minutes after everyone else and sure enough, now I'm in this isolated room that we call conveniently call the "Cold Chamber". One, because it's cold as fuck in there. And two, because that chamber can change you. Not just in body temperature, but also in the mindset. As if being in a mental asylum wasn't changing the mindset already.

I'm in here because I have BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). A particular mental illness that makes me lose control sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean a lot. My step-douche said that in order for me to become pure again--yes he was one of those--I would have to go to this asylum and it'll cure me of my illness, making me pure once more and accepted by the Lord. My mom, being the religious person that she is, took on the deed and sent me on my way here. You're the real MVP mom.

Currently, I'm freezing my ass off. I hurdled my knees close to my chest hoping to get at least a bit of warmth. But I guess there is a reason why this is called the infamous "Cold Chamber". You're supposed to withstand this freezing chamber for 5 minutes, otherwise, it'll kill you. How do they know that? Funny story, they were experimenting with children who go here to see about the at the time newest torture device. A few kids went in for 15 minutes and died because of the harsh weather conditions. Another batch went in for 10 minutes, only to never be seen again aka they dead. Those lucky but still unlucky kids that were in the 5 minutes cycle are still here today, though they say that they would've like to have died instead of living their days in this hellhole.

To be completely honest, I can't blame them for that. I would probably also want that. Matter of fact, I want that right now. Or that might just be the suicidal thoughts that make up me having BPD.

"Time's up," Ione of the correctional facilitators said through the frozen door. He opened it, then yelled at me,"Make it quick, (L/n)! Wake up at the right time next time!"

I bolted out of that chamber and made my way back to my room, only to be called out of it again a few minutes later. He banged on the door loudly three times, making sure that I wasn't sleeping or catching a little shut-eye. "Your psychiatrist is here. Get moving, (L/n)!"

I always hated when people called me by my last name. I don't know why, but it just does something to me. I was given a first name for a reason and I think I just figured out the reason. It's so that strangers who really want to know me can actually call me by my birth-given name. Strangers that don't want to get to know the real me can just use my last name. Then again, I don't really feel like getting to know these fucked up correctional officers anytime soon. In fact, all I'm worried about is seeing my psychiatrist.

When I made it to the door, the officer knocked on it, then let himself and me inside. He sat me down on the chair on the opposite side of my psychiatrist's desk. He moved his swivel seat in order to face who just came into his presence.

I looked around the room, how clean and neat everything was arranged. I noticed the name plate on the corner of his desk. It read "Dr. Ootori".

Just then, Dr. Ootori told the officer to leave the room. The officer did as he was told and then things got interesting.

The doctor folded his hands together, then got out a small black book possibly in order to write down any key facts that would be presented in this meeting. He asked a series of questions such as,"Do you take any medications?"