What Am I Doing Here?

Patient 1639

Before you get to thinkin' I'm some pyscho or a maniac or even a serial killer, I'm not. That's how their makin' me look. My name is Aradia Tylers. I'm not 1639. I'm sixteen years old. I'm currently staying in some mental health center for ill teenagers. I shouldn't be here. My mom died after I was born and my dad has been recently murdered. All fingers pointed to me since I had the anger issues and we were never very close. But it wasn't me.

"Name."

"Aradia Tylers."

"Age."

"Sixteen."

"Height."

"5'6. Probably."

"Weight."

"Uh, 120 somethin'."

"Hair color."

"You can see it's red."

"Eye color."

"You can also see it's blue."

"Sexuality."

"Excuse me?"

I could handle a few questions from the owner of this place but was half of this really necessary? My sexuality? Couldn't he see my hair? This was literally a joke and I refused to answer anymore questions from that point on. Good thing I just sat there quietly because the questions only got more goofy from there. To shoe size to favorite color to how long my average shower was. It was ridiculous. I had just got here only for all of my privacy to be invaded. Bullshit.

I stared to the owner, the head if you will. He was a tall, slender man. He wore wire glasses that fit his slender face shape and semi-fair skin tone. He could be intimidating but I hadn't done anything to make him that way. The name plaque on his desk read Mr. Marcelo. That's the only way I had known his name at all. He wore dress pants and usually a gray, white, or blue button up shirt with the same colors of ties.

After a very long silence, Mr. Marcelo finally stood from his desk and walked towards the door. I followed.
"I'll show you to your new room and have you change from those clothes."

Forgot to mention we couldn't wear what we wanted. It was either white or black but they were comfortable uniforms.

I could've swore we walked forever. The place was a lot bigger than I thought it was. Cement floors and beige walls complemented each other nicely, in my opinion anyways. My room number is 432 and my roommate is 1586. A pale, blonde girl about my height with green eyes and really she just looked shy. Or angry. I had no clue. Mr. Marcelo introduced her to me as her number, I guess names didn't matter in a place so large. She would be my guide around. Like a buddy system, I thought.

"My names Aradia."
I said to her as I took the free twin bed to the right of the room since she had been sitting comfortably on the left one.

"Caroline."

She really had no tone to her voice. No happy, sad, shy, angry, nothing. I leaned my back against the wall as I sat across from my blank faced roommate who only found interest in staring outside our fair sized barred window. That's only when I realized it was still afternoon.

My mind circled back to 1586, or Caroline. I couldn't help but wonder what her deal was. Her color choice was white today, but it seemed like everyday since I had to borrow some from her until they arranged for my own clothes. It was so blan here.

I think we watched each other for hours without saying a single word. Only stares and weird feelings that she was reading me while I was trying to read her. It was uncomfortable but I got over it after awhile of this. She shocked me when she finally moved and spoke to me.

"Let's go. The line gets long if you don't get there early."
Still monotoned.

"Uh, where exactly?"
I asked even though I had already been following her. I finally saw other people leaving their rooms too.

"Cafeteria, it's dinner."

Little did I realize it was already dark outside. I wish she had been lying about a line. It was huge. There was so many kids but it did move fast. The ages must've ranged from 10 to 19 dispite it for teenagers.

I followed Caroline without much to say. This place had me at a loss of all words most of the time. We sat at one table with a few other people. Here's the rundown of those people.

Emily Grace, 10, very small, dark hair, green eyes, doesn't say much.

Walter Burch, 17, tall and lean, carmel hair, hazel eyes, optimistic talkative.

Deon Vann, 13, normal sized, blonde, brown eyes, close to Emily.

Wendy Moore, 18, tall and curvy, brown curly hair, blue eyes, talks a bit.

Jack Winter, 16, fair sized, red hair, green eyes, not talkative.

After dinner, Caroline and I went back to our room where we both laid under our dark gray sheets in the dark. There was a long silence before I started asking questions. I could tell she was awake.

"How long have you been here?"

Silence.

"Since I was 12."

"Do you think you'll get out soon?"

"Not until I turn 20."

"Why?"

"It's nearly impossible to leave."

I didn't like the path I took, so I tried a different one.

"What's your favorite color?"

"White."
Of course.

"Who was your last roommate?"

"I didn't have one."

"Really? Why?"

"There is a lot of other rooms to fill."

I could tell this was a half truth. And I could tell I was probably getting annoying even though there was no tone in her voice to show me that. I had asked no further questions. I rolled on my side to face the wall until I had finally fallen asleep.

It was cold. That's all that really mattered to me was that it was freezing and I couldn't see where I was going. Every step I took was a caution because I  couldn't see my own legs to know where I was stepping. I must've walked forever before I saw this weird street light out of nowhere. I ran to it anyways but I didn't make it in time before I was grabbed by my hair and jerked back. I couldn't scream but I tried. I had to dig my nails into this awful feeling ground that was damp and cold. It smelled like booze and blood so bad I nearly puked. I didn't realize the blood smell was coming from my scraped fingers until this thing stopped. The footsteps got closer to me until I felt it grab my face. I screamed.

I woke up to Caroline jerking my face towards her to wake me up. I must've woke her up but her facial expression didn't seem to mind but she never said a word to me. The rest of the night we sat on my bed until the alarm went off.