Don't Scream (Original)

Chapter 7

        I thought Sundays were supposed to be days for rest and relaxation. This principle apparently did not apply at the nut house. After being interrogated and raked over the coals by Dr. Sprite, I was all set to isolate myself in my dismal room and sulk for the rest of the day, but my captors had other plans. After lunch, the hospital patients were split into three small groups and taken into separate rooms for group therapy. Now, I sat in a circle with roughly thirteen other female patients, about to discuss who knows what. Mixed into the circle were Dr. Sprite and Avery, and the good doctor had her ever-present, trusty clipboard clutched to her chest as she beamed at us all brightly.
"Alright then, let's get started! For those new to us," She gave a slight nod towards me, and my already unpleasant scowl turned positively sour. "As frequently as possible, we here at Brooks County Hospital like to hold group therapy sessions. These have been proven to improve morale and lift spirits, as well as help patients on the road to recovery! Basically, the floor is open to all of you, and Nurse Avery or I will direct the topics."
I glanced at the vampire who was sitting three seats away from me and directly across from Dr. Sprite. He looked tired and worn, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep. He probably hadn't, seeing as it was one o'clock in the afternoon.
"Okay! First things first. I want you all to go around and say your name, how old you are, how long you've been here, and one fun fact about yourself." Dr. Sprite's chipper tone and expression hardly reflected how any of us looked. It felt fitting somehow, with the setting being a bleak, cold room. The floor was nasty gray tile and the walls a shade lighter. Even though the sun was out, it seemed to stop short once it hit the hospital windows. Maybe it had enough sense to stay out.
"Henrietta, why don't you start?" Dr. Sprite smiled at a young, round girl who sat across the circle from me. She had glasses and was holding a small, stuffed bunny in her doughy hands. As we all stared at her, she averted her gaze downward and started fidgeting nervously while audibly panting.
"Umm..." Her whiny voice sounded.
"Now Henrietta, remember what we talked about?" Dr. Sprite sounded like she was chiding a five year old. Henrietta nodded vehemently and took a deep breath, then looked up. Instead of gazing at all of us however, she stared unwaveringly at a spot on the wall behind me, still absently turning the toy bunny around in her hands.
"My name is Henrietta Jarver. I'm twenty years old. I've been here for three months, and I like stuffed animals." Her voice came out measured and monotonous, as if it were previously recorded and played back for us.
"Excellent!" Dr. Sprite exclaimed. "Now, moving right."
I glanced over one spot to see the girl who had talked to me yesterday, Eva, pushing a strand of her thin black hair behind her ear. She was wearing a baggy scrub top that seemed to swallow her whole, and I could easily see the scarred, rail-thin sticks that were supposed to be her arms. I shuddered. There didn't seem to be an ounce of muscle or fat on them. Her bright, gray eyes glanced upwards and she smiled at me, then started twisting the bottom of her shirt nervously.
"Hi, my name is Eva Morrissey. I'm seventeen, and I've been here for a year. Before I came here, I spent most of my free time either dancing or practicing it. I was on my school's dance team, as well as attended a local dance academy." She laughed slightly while glancing up at all of us sheepishly. For a dancer, she sure seemed to be shy. But maybe it was the atmosphere. Brooks County didn’t exactly bring out the best in people.
        Everyone went around the circle, and I learned that the other patients ranged in age from seventeen to twenty-two. Some had been here more than a year, and others only a week. I also learned that a couple people in the group hated their mailman, one couldn't stand the sight of oranges, and another's best friend just so happened to be a kitchen sponge. Once it was my turn, I felt slightly obligated to say something weird, just so everyone wouldn't hate me for being sane. Of course, they probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I cleared my throat.
"Uh, my name's Abigail Turner. I'm eighteen, been here for about three days, and I love music."
"What kind of music?" A young woman with prominent buck teeth yelled from a few seats down. She was leaning out of her seat and grinning at me like I was the coolest person on the planet. My eyes widened and I opened my mouth, although I wasn't sure what to say. Thankfully, Dr. Sprite took care of it for me.
"Courtney! That wasn't your turn!"
She sat back in her chair and pulled her feet to her chest while glaring at the doctor, embarrassed and indignant.
"Now, how about we discuss a topic that we all have in common: Our fears. I'm opening the circle to anyone who wants to start. What have you been afraid of, or maybe still are, and what techniques have helped you conquer them?" Dr. Sprite asked, looking at us all expectantly and forgetting Courtney's outburst. She also had her pen out and poised above her clipboard, ready to write. After a few seconds of shifting around and everyone looking at each other, Eva raised her pale hand.
"Well, I've always been afraid of being alone at night. Because that's when the scary things know you're vulnerable, and they take advantage of that."
Avery shot a furtive glance over to her, but she didn't catch it and continued.
"And before I came here, I always tried to be with people as much as I could during the night, but when I went to bed, I burrowed underneath the covers and tried to block out the noises of them moving around my room. Sometimes I would take pills to help me get to sleep faster."
I tried to keep my mouth closed as I stared in disbelief at he frail girl before me. What in the world was she talking about?
"But Eva dear, how do you cope now, and where do these scary things come from?" Dr. Sprite asked accusingly. Eva raised her glassy eyes to the ceiling, almost as if lost in thought.
"Oh! Well they usually come every night from my closet, under my bed, through the window-" She stopped short and her face fell, as if she had just remembered something. "I mean... They come from my imagination, and I tell myself that they're not real and they go away. My medication helps, too." She spoke quietly to her lap, and I couldn't help but feel bad for the sick, broken girl.
"That's right, Eva. Most of our fears are unfounded and irrational."
Eva nodded slowly, her tiny head still bowed.
"Oh, oh! You know what else is really scary? Cereal!" A thin, excitable girl nearly leapt out of her seat with her hand in the air, then proceeded to tell us all about the evil breakfast food.
And that's how my first session of group therapy went. I couldn't wait to see what other fun-filled activities this place had to offer.