Today is the day I get out of Solitary Confinement.
Thank you, God.
I'm laying on my cot, the cotton rough beneath my bare arms, when I hear the soft click of the lock outside the hidden door. It's pushed open to reveal two male nurses. I'm assuming they're here to escort me to Dr. Frederickson. I keep my position on my bed, but offer them the sweetest smile I can summon.
"Hello, boys. Here to take me away?" I like to flirt with the nurses. It's the only form of entertainment I have, really.
The tallest one rolls his eyes. "Get up, Gerard. Dr. Frederickson would like to see you now." The two nurses stride into the room and each grab one of my arms, trying to hoist me up.
"Woah, woah! Cool it there, guys. I can get up myself." I spit as I struggle out of their firm grip and get on my feet. I dust off my arms and then stare at the nurse in front of me. He must've taken this as a signal that I was waiting to be taken because the tall one reached to grab one of my arms, but I pulled it out of his reach. "Look," I breath in through my nose, "Joe, I'm not going to try and escape. And if I do, I'm sure shorty here will be able to catch me, isn't that right sweetie?" I say, taking a step towards the other nurse and smiling down at him. He blushes a little bit, but I can tell its nothing. I know this nurse. He's straight. I just think it's amusing to get him all worked up over nothing.
"Quit your smooth talking and just go!" Joe orders from behind us.
I roll my eyes and huff. "I'm just having a little fun with..." I lift the shorter man's chin up and inhale his scent. "Patrick." I smile sweetly.
Patrick bats my hand away. "Just go!" he spits, harshly.
"Fine..." I sigh before trudging down the hall towards Dr. Frederickson's office. His office is actually quite nice. Wood panelled walls and a hardwood floor covered with a fancy rug his daughter got for him while she was stationed in India. I sit down in the elegant leather chair placed in front of his desk and look at him expectantly.
Maurice Frederickson is a tall man with very little hair on his cherry red head. His name is pronounced like MAR-ISS. Like it rhymes with bar kiss. Americans pronounce it as MORE-ESE but that's wrong. He's told me it's pronounced like this in Ireland, where his family is from. He was born in North Carolina.
"Hello Gerard." He greets me.
"Dr. Frederickson." I reply with a slight nod.
He rolls his chair forward slightly and folds his hands, resting them on a stack of manilla folders. "I hope you've learned your lesson."
I scoff and relax my posture a little. "Well I would hope so as well! I've been locked in a room by myself for fourteen days!" I exclaim.
He shakes his head and moves his gaze to his folded hands. "You had to be punished, Gerard. I'm not going to allow you to run amuck and wreak havoc. You endangered the life of a patient."
I roll my eyes and smirk menacingly. "It wouldn't have been the first time, now would it?"
"Gerard!" He snaps threateningly.
I sink down into my seat and stare up at him with innocent eyes. They probably weren't that innocent judging on what I've done in the past., but a guy can try. "Sorry..." I mumble.
He sighs, closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He does this quite often when I'm around. People tell me that it helps to do this if you have a headache. Do I cause Dr. Frederickson that many headaches? Wow.
"Gerard..." He says opening his eyes to stare into my own. "I'd like to try something."
This scared me.
I don't like change. I don't like new things. I like things plain, simple, and easy. That's probably why I'm such a loner. Having no friends makes it easier. Sure, you don't have anyone to rely on, but then you don't have people relying on you. No one to disappoint. I mean, I am sort of friends with one of the nurses here. We keep small talk early in the mornings before her shift begins when she sneaks me a cup of coffee. I don't have any friends that are fellow patients though. I have a few acquaintances, but we don't exchange more than a quick 'Hello' most days. I sit by myself at lunch, and I like it this way.
"I've noticed you sit alone at lunch, Gerard."
Holy crap.
Is this man a mind reader, or something.
I mean, that was pretty creepy.
I just nod as a reply.
"Well, you've been here for six months now... I want to know why you haven't made any friends."
I shrug and avert my gaze to a pencil on his desk.
He sighs and I hear him shift his weight in his chair. "Gerard..." I look back up at him and he rubs a hand over his bald head before looking straight into my eyes. "I'd like you to attend group therapy."
No.
Nope.
Negative.
Nuh-uh.
No way.
Not happening.
I am not going.
Group therapy is just you and your group of friends talking about your feelings for an hour and a half three times a week.
Or, more commonly known as, Satan's fiesta.
Luckily, I have never had to go because I have no friends.
"I'm not going."
"Yes you are, Gerard."
"Nope,"
"Yes."
"Nope!"
"Yes, Gerard. I spoke to my two o'clock Monday, Wednesday, Friday group. You know a few of the boys in the group. They're lovely, Gerard. They've asked me to tell you that they'd like you to eat lunch with them today."
"I don't care how nice they are! I don't know them, I probably won't like them, and I'm. Not. Going."
"You do know them. You tried to kill one of them two weeks ago."
"Billie?"
He nods. "Look, Gerard. I spoke with Ryan, Ray, and Billie today. They're kind people. You'll like them, Gerard."
"Why do you say my name so much?"
His face contorts into one of confusion. "Pardon?"
I pick at the dirt under my nails. "When you talk to me. You say my name quite a bit." I move my gaze to look into his eyes. "Why?"
He rubs the bridge of his nose again. "I don't have time for this." he breathes out.
"Well, then I guess I'll see you tomorrow because I'm not going to group therapy..." I say, getting out of my chair.
"Sit down." He says, crossly.
I know to shut up and do what he says when he uses this tone of voice.
"You are going to group therapy, Gerard, but is there anything I can do to make it a little easier? Anything you want to know?" He asks gently. Almost as if he spoke and more firmly, I'd shatter.
I'm not that fragile.
"I want a backstory and diagnosis."
I didn't think I'd get it. Since I'm just a patient, I shouldn't be trusted with that sort of information. I was surprised when Dr. Frederickson opened one of the manilla folders and pushed a mug shot of a boy towards me. We're forced to take mugshots when we arrive in this place, so if we escape, the police have a reference. The boy in the photo before me was giving a camera a toothy grin, and even when he turned to his side, you could still see his bright smile. He has curly hair that surrounds his head in an afro. The information at the bottom of the page read Raymond Toro. I guess he doesn't have a middle name. He's 6'1, has brown eyes, and is twenty two years old.
"That's Ray. You'll probably be approached by him first. Ray was born with a very low IQ and has Immature Personality Disorder. In easier terms, he acts like he's three. He's your roommate, but he instead stays with one of his very close friends in the group." He slides another mugshot towards me. "Ryan. Ryan takes care of Ray for the most part. He has Anorexia which caused his depression and self harm. He's recovering quite nicely, though. I'm sure in a month or so, he'll be going home."
George Ryan Ross the Third was his real name, actually. But I presume with a mouthful of a name like that, you'd go by something shorter. In his photo, he is staring at the camera almost like he's afraid of it. Like he's staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. His cheeks are sunken into his face and he looks a bit pale. His short brown hair is tousled and a few pieces fall around his chocolate brown eyes. He's 5'10 and eighteen years old.
"Ryan's good friend is called Brendon." He says, as he slides another photo in my direction. "Brendon was neglected at a young age and was put up for adoption at six. His current parents noticed him speaking to himself in the garden a few years ago. They thought nothing of it, until he began to mention new friends. Now this was unusual because Brendon is homeschooled. A month or so later, and Brendon's parents noticed self inflicted wounds on his arms. When asked why, he says that his friends made him do it. Brendon's friends are animals. He believes he can talk to animals. Brendon also has short term memory loss and extreme absent mindedness. He's always preoccupied with a reality that is completely his own."
Brendon Boyd Urie is 5'9 and 18 years old. He has dark brown eyes that match his dark brown hair. He's smirking at the camera. Not a devious smirk. Just a soft smile.
"And this is Dallon." Dr. Frederickson says as he slides a fourth photo my way, "He is roommates with Brendon. You'll probably never see Dallon as he has severe insomnia. He never speaks, and hardly eats. The boy is basically nocturnal. Brendon has to tell me what he's feeling because he's the only person Dallon'll talk to."
Dallon James Weekes looks as though he had just woken up from an a thousand year nap. The dark circles under his eyes and his bed head make the twenty two year old look absolutely exhausted you can tell that his eyelids are drooping as they take his photo.
"Next is Billie. The boy you tried to kill." He adds bitterly. I roll my eyes and accept the new photo. It says that Billie Joe Armstrong is 5'7 and my same age. He has blonde hair and lost look on his youthful face. I could tell that this boy had been hurt and that he would be scarred for the remainder of his life. "Billie's past is a horrific one. He's one of our few patients that will be institutionalized for the rest of his life. He's been hurt so badly that he'll never be able to function in normal society. Billie was born at home and his parents never told anyone he had come. They told all their friends and family that Billie's mother had a miscarriage when in reality, Billie was locked in their cellar being their personal little torture doll. He was beaten, drugged, raped, and starved by his parents for eighteen years. Until one day, a neighbor kid accidentally threw their ball into the Armstrong's yard and asked his older brother, David Castillo to get it for him, as he was afraid of the odd couple. His brother hopped the fence and grabbed the soccer ball that was perched right next to the inground cellar doors. As David bent down to retrieve the ball, he heard soft whimpers coming from behind the wooden doors. He knocked, asked if someone was down there and said that he was just the boy next door getting his ball. David said that he heard a soft voice call out the words 'Please help me.' He smashed the doors in with a nearby tree limb and went into the basement to find a small boy, naked and huddled in a corner, his back littered with belt marks. He covered Billie with his jacket and took him to his home where his mother called the police, cleaned up Billie's wounds, got him clean clothes, and made him food. He stayed with the Castillo's while the trial was happening. His parents eventually confessed and explained that Billie was eighteen and that they lied and told everyone that he was a miscarriage so that they could keep him locked away for fun. Billie eventually became suicidal and such a threat to himself that the Castillo family just couldn't take care of him anymore. That's how he ended up here. He's made a lot of progress in the four years he's been at Green Oak. But he's also been through a lot of heartbreak. He's seen so many of his friends go. Billie's doing very well though. The only reason he has spells anymore is when there are flashing lights and loud noises. But, his boyfriend Tré takes good care of him."
I instantly regretted pulling that fire alarm. I guess I can't beat myself up about it though... how was I supposed to know about Billie's troubled past or his bloodthirsty parents? My thoughts of remorse were ended when another mugshot was pushed my way. This boy has faded green hair and a large nose. Probably german. His name is Frank Edwin Wright the Third. Hm. Another mouthful of a name. His eyes are stranger than the others. He's glancing nervously to his left and when he's turned, he's biting his lip in an anxious manner. He's my age as well and only an inch shorter than Billie.
"That's Tré. I know it says that his name is Frank, but he prefers Tré Cool. He came to us with that nickname. He says that it means 'Very Cool' in french and that his friends from his band he used to drum for gave that name to him. After his mother's recent death, he developed severe anxiety. That lead to self harm and suicidal tendencies. His father admitted him here after his older sister found him in his room with shoelaces around his neck. He took a quick liking to Billie and the two have been inseparable ever since. They have another good friend. His name is Mike."
The next photo is the strangest of them all. A tall boy named Michael Ryan Pritchard with dark hair and blue eyes. The boy was being held in place by two nurses. I recognized one of them as April but I don't know the other. His mouth hung slightly open as if he was saying something, and tears were falling from his eyes. I hear a sigh from Dr. Frederickson so I tear my eyes away from the blonde boy to see Dr. Frederickson shaking his head.
"Mike has severe Paranoia caused by PTSD. He was adopted by a lovely couple at the age of five. When he was seven, his parents split and his father moved out of state, leaving him and his mother alone. His mother had to take on two jobs in order to pay the bills so she was rarely home. Mike walked to and from school alone and one day after school, a man came up to him on the sidewalk. He told Mike that he had lost his dog and was hoping that Mike had seen him. MIke said no and offered to help look for the missing dog. After Mike was a long way from home and there as still no sign of the dog, the man offered to drive Mike home. He took the man up on the offer and got in his car willingly. That's when things took a turn for the worst. The man took Mike to a cabin out in the woods. He raped him and kept him overnight. In the morning, he took Mike back home and the whole way there filled poor Mike's head with lies about how 'boys can't be raped' and how 'no one would believe him'. So for months, these thoughts pestered and fermented in Michael's head which later led to him forgetting the whole incident and believing that there are 'monsters' chasing him and hunting him down. He never speaks too loudly or stands very tall. He wants to be as invisible as possible." He takes back all the mugshots and stacks them neatly. "And that's everyone. Now, I want you to sit with them at lunch today. Their table is in the back left corner. Just go over there and I'm sure one of them with recognize you."
I nod once to show I understand. "What time is it?"
He rolls his sleeve up to check his watch. "10:46."
Lunch starts at 12:05. I have time to vent to Selena. "Thank you. Um, may I be excused?"
Dr. Frederickson nods and begins to write on a notepad. I rush out of the office and down the hall, my shoes squeaking as a round the corner to the left. Right into Depression Drive. I call this hallway by that name because this is where everyone goes to sit in a ball on the floor and be sad. I don't know why, but there are people littering the tiles I've come to know so well, their knees pulled tightly to their chest and their head down. Some were whimpering like they're crying but trying to stay silent, and some would occasionally hit the wall with their fist. I continue to run, anxious to get back to my room. I round another corner, going left again. I count the rooms to the right as I pass. One, two, three, here. I read my big sign that they required we make when we get here. The words 'Gerard Way' staring at me in bright orange marker on a blue and white polka-dotted piece of scrapbook paper. I smirk as I push open my door. Home. I collapse on my bed and take in the beautiful sight of my clothes strewn messily throughout my room and my art work littering the grey walls. I'm still laying on my bed when I hear a soft knock at my door.
"Gee? Are you back?" Selena calls.
My face breaks into a large grin. "I'm back, Quintanilla."
She bursts through the door and captures me in a tight embrace, kissing my cheeks and forehead. "God, Gerard! You don't know how much I've missed you! You're the only cool one here. Everyone else is such a bore."
"Really? What about your doctor friends? I'm sure they're very entertaining. What do you do at parties? Try and name off every bone?"
"I told you, Gee, I'm not a doctor. I'm only a nurse. And no, thank God. I don't get invited to their parties and I'd like to keep it that way."
I chuckle and she finally crawls off of me, allowing me to sit up and hug her properly. "Solitary Confinement's so boring. I missed you, Sel."
"Missed you too! And I tried all that I could to shorten your time but Frederickson wouldn't budge."
I release her from my arms and shrug, folding my hands in my lap. "It's no biggie. I liked the time alone."
"Tell me what it's like, Solitary Confinement." Selena shifts her position so that both of her legs are on the bed. She criss-crossed them and rested her chin on the hand she had propped on her knee. I giggle because she looked like a kindergartener. "What?"
"You look cute when you sit like that." I laugh.
She rolls her eyes and slaps my shoulder. "I always look cute. Now tell me about Solitary."
"It was very..." I sift through my extensive vocabulary, searching for the correct words to describe the place I've been living in for the past two weeks, "very..." I repeat, taking a few moments longers to think. I finally speak when I found the three words I'd like to use. "Dull, monotonous, and isolated."
She nods, interested. "What'd you do?"
"Slept and thought mainly. I drew a little, too." She cocks her head to the side in a confused manner so I add "with ketchup."
She nods again and sits back up straight, placing her hands in her lap. "That sounds like it really sucked."
I chuckle. "Yeah, it really did. Oh! Guess what else sucks?"
"Hm?"
"Frederickson's forcing me to go to group therapy! Imagine that! I don't want to do to group therapy! I hate people! And all the people he's put me with are such weirdos. They all have troubled pasts and crap. I have to go with Ray Toro, Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie, Dallon Weekes, Billie Joe Armstrong, Tré Cool, and Mike Pritchard. I don't even know these people! All I know is their diagnosis and backstory! So in short terms, Frederickson's making me go spill my feelings to a bunch of complete strangers. Ugh!" I flop backwards and sprawl my arms out. I turn my head to look at Selena. She's cringing slightly. "What's that face for?"
"Well, Gee... um..." she twists her hands painfully, "I'm speaking as your nurse, not as your friend, I actually think... that... uh... group therapy will be really good for you."
"What!? How?!" I sit up angrily.
"You'll make friends! I'm your only friend so far, and I'm not even a patient. C'mon, Gee, it can't be that bad!"
"I don't know..." I say, turning away from her.
She clasps my hand and I turn back to face her. "Look, if you hate it, I'll try and convince Maurice to get you out of it. Okay?"
I sigh, "Okay."
"Okay!" She says, jumping up and looking at her watch, "you need to go to the cafeteria... I'll talk to you tomorrow." She says, hugging me.
"Yeah, okay... bye Sel..."
"Bye!" She says excitedly, skipping out of the room. That's what I love about Selena. She's always so open minded and optimistic; so excited about everything. I stand up lazily and drag my feet to the cafeteria, going to the end of the line to get my food. I glance towards the back left corner, seeing the table I'm supposed to sit at today. The seven boys I've heard about are chatting excitedly together, already eating their lunch.
"More or less, baby?"
The lunch lady's sweet voice brings me back to reality. I look at the pile of french fries she's put on my plate, next to my Cocoa Krispies. She knows me so well. "That's fine, thank you."
"You're welcome, Gee. Have a good day."
"Thanks. You too." I say as I begin to make my way towards the back left table, everyone's eyes following me as I do so. I finally reach my destination and all seven of the boys are smiling up at me. I smile back for a quick second before I scan the bench for a seat.
"You can sit next to me!" I hear a high-pitched voice to my right say. I look over and recognize the grinning boy as Ray. Frederickson was right. I nod and set my tray down, taking a seat next to Ray soon after. The curly haired boy turns towards me, still smiling, and begins to speak.
"Hi! I'm Ray! And that's three letters, see?" He began to count on his fingers. "1, 2, 3. R, A, Y. See? Three!" He wiggles three fingers in my face and I nod.
"My name's Gerard."
His eyes go wide "How many letters is that?"
"Six."
"Wow! That's..." he counts again on his hand. "Three more letters than my name!" I nod and smile. "I can count to thirty, wanna see?"
Before I could say anything he started speaking again
"One, Two, Three, Four..." he makes all the way to twenty three before a confused look crosses his face and he stopped his counting "Twenty Three... what's after twenty three?" I open my mouth to tell him, but I was shot down quickly "NO DON'T TELL ME, I KNOW! Is it... Twenty Five?"
"Close..." I say gently
"Twenty..." His brow furrows as he concentrates. "Twenty..." He gasps after a few moments. "TWENTY FOUR?!"
I clap my hands and smile "Bravo, Ray!"
He beamed and counted the last six letters. "Ryan taught me that last week."
"Well, that was very kind of Ryan."
Ray nods. "Wait, what did you say your name was again?"
"Gerard. Gerard Way."
Ray's face lit up "You're my roommate! I never stay in that room though. I like to sleep in the same room as Ryan. Ryan's my friend. Say hi, Ryan!"
A small dark haired boy seated next to Ray smiles and extends a hand. "Hi, I'm Ryan. Ryan Ross."
I nod "Gerard Way. Good to meet you, Ryan."
When silence and awkward glances fills the group, Ryan speaks. "Why don't we all introduce ourselves? Brendon? Would you like to begin?" Ryan asks, turning slightly to the boy next to him who I'm guessing is Brendon. The Brendon boy is staring into the ceiling, a glassy look in his eyes. A slight chuckle resonates through the group as Ryan sighs. "Brendon!" He pokes the daydreaming boy in the side. Brendon snaps back into reality.
"What? What happened?" Brendon stammers quickly.
"I was wondering if you'd like to introduce yourself to our new friend, Gerard." Ryan says, gesturing towards me. I give Brendon a slight wave and he smiles back at me.
"Oh yeah, sure! I'm Brendon. Brendon Urie. I'm nineteen and I've been living here for about a year now. I'm roomies with Dall right here." He nudges the sleeping boy next to him with his elbow. "Dallon Weekes is twenty two. His insomnia is really bad... the dude's practically nocturnal. He doesn't really speak, so don't get offended when he doesn't wanna talk to you."
The blonde haired boy seated beside Dallon speaks next. "My name is Billie. Billie Joe Armstrong. I'm twenty three."
"I'm T-Tré. Actually, I'm Frank, but I-I go by Tré C-Cool. I'm twenty two." He has a stutter. The blonde boy next to Tré looks around frantically before leaning in and whispering an introduction.
"Mike. I'm Mike. I share a room with Billie and Tré. I'm supposed to be Ryan's roomie, but Ray took my bed, and the happy couple had an extra bed because they can't stand to be apart." He nods towards Tré and Billie. "I'm twenty three." He smiles at me when he finishes.
"Well, I'm Gerard. Gerard Way, and I'm Ray's roomie. I'm twenty three"
"Well, we're happy that you're joining us for group therapy, Gerard." Billie says with a smile.
I nod and return the smile, and peer down onto my tray. I unwrap the spoon from the plastic and put the plastic wrappings in my pocket. I've been making a ball of the plastic for a few months now. It's pathetic what I must resort to to get some entertainment around here. I finish my cereal in no time and start munching on my french fries, stealing glances at the other boys now and then, but never long enough for one of them to notice. I'm kind of disappointed that I've finished my fries. That's my favorite part about Friday.
Friday, Frie Day.
Clever, isn't it?
Lunch is over too quickly for my liking. At 12:50, they're ushering everyone back to their rooms.
Group therapy starts at 1:00. It takes me two and a half minutes to get to the conference room. So I have seven and a half minutes to change and shower.
I grab my provided towel and rush down the hall to the bathroom. Turning on the water so the steam fills the room, I peel off the white clothes I was made to wear in Solitary and throw them in the dirty clothes hamper. I find my locker and punch in my code. 02-01-94. The light turns green and the lock clicks open. My black shirt and grey sweatpants are folded neatly with my bag of shampoo, body wash, lotion, and deodorant set on top. I take out the bag and walk under one of the shower heads. The showers are communal, so they're no dividers between them. Hardly anyone comes in while another person is showering, though. I stand under the shower head, letting the water run over my hair and body. The shower is a place of contemplation. I like to think while I'm in the shower. Grabbing my shampoo and squeezing a good amount into the palm of my hand, I begin to wonder what group therapy will be like. Will we just sit in a circle and spill our feelings? Will we do an activity? I scrub the soap into my scalp with my fingernails, wanting to feel as clean as possible in the little time I have. It's been two weeks since I've had a proper shower. When I've rinsed all the soap from my hair, I pour a good sized amount of body wash into my hand and rub the two together, making the soap get all foamy. Will the boys share their backstories? Will I share my backstory? Do I even have a backstory? I rinse the soap off my body and turn of the water, grabbing my towel I had flung over the shower head in the process. I dry off and put on my clothes. It's very nice that they provide you with clothing. When you're admitted, you have an assortment of colors to chose from for your shirts and sweatpants. I chose black for my shirt and grey for my pants. They get your size and write your name in the tag so that they know it's yours. Very nice system they have here. I put on my deodorant before throwing my shirt over my head and rushing out of the bathroom towards the conference room. My long, dark hair is still wet, but who cares? It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone. I push open the door to see everyone already seated in a circle. There's a vacant chair in between Billie and Brendon that I'm guessing is my seat.. Billie offers me a warm smile as I sit next to him and I return the gesture before scanning the group.
Billie, Tré, Ray, Ryan, who is that!?!
Seated next to Ryan is a small boy whose eyes are focused on his hands, twisted painfully in his lap and his dark hair has fallen over his eyes. He swings his feet back and forth a looks up for a split second, but not long enough for me to get a good look into his eyes. I try to breath in his scent but get nothing. It's almost as if he doesn't have a scent. He looks afraid, judging by his rigid posture and downcast eyes. Why didn't Dr. Frederickson tell me about this boy? I'll kill him later.
My thoughts are interrupted by the door slamming and Dr. Frederickson entering the room. "Hello, boys! How are you all today?"
A chorus of 'good' resonates throughout the room, but I'm too busy studying the nameless boy to answer.
"Good, good! Well, we have a new patient joining us today. Gerard? Would you like to share a little bit about yourself?"
"Yeah, um, I'm Gerard Way. I don't remember where I'm from or if I have siblings or anything like that. But I do remember that I've killed sixteen people so don't mess with me." I say with a chuckle. Why does everyone look so scared all of the sudden? That was a joke, people! You're supposed to laugh!
"Okay..." Frederickson says nervously, "Um.... Why don't we go around and talk about our day?" he turns to Mike who's seated next to him, "Mike? Would you like to start?"
"Sure," he whispers so softly I have to lean in to hear him "my day has been great. No sign of the monsters, so that's always good." he chuckles.
The next who was supposed to speak was the nameless boy but he shook his head quietly. Ryan, who was seated next to him sighed and began to speak. "The voice is back."
"Oh no... Ryan..." Billie says, sympathetically.
"Are you alright, Ryro?" Brendon says softly.
"Why didn't you tell me, Ry? I'm so sorry..." Says Ray, putting an arm around Ryan's neck.
He must've noticed my confused expression among those of sympathy so he explained what he meant. "I have anorexia. I was healing and getting over it but the other day at lunch, the voice came back. I have this voice in my head that calls me fat, worthless, ugly, and tells me I don't deserve food or friends or even to live. The voice sounds like my mom..." he adds quietly.
I nod and smile sympathetically. "Well, none of those things are true, Ryan. I've only known you for a few moments, but you really are a lovely boy."
"Thanks, Gerard. It just makes me mad, y'know? I was doing so well. I was healing..." Ray rubs his back in a soothing manner as a few tears spill from his eyes.
"It's okay Ryan... I'll just keep telling you how great you are and then my voice will drown out the bad voice in your head." Ray says.
Ryan chuckles, wiping a tear with the back of his hand. "Thanks, Ray." He says, hugging the curly haired boy.
"Wa-We're here for y-you, Ryro!" Tré adds, enthusiastically.
"Yeah, we're cheering you on!" Brendon exclaims, putting his fist in the air.
Ryan laughs. "Thanks, guys... Enough about me. Ray? Got anything to share, kiddo?" Ryan asks, rubbing Ray's back.
"Yeah! I uh..." he looks around nervously, "um... " he leans close to Ryan and whispers in his ear. "What was I gonna say again?"
"Remember? About how we learned the alpha-"
Ryan was cut of by Ray exclaiming "ALPHABET SONG!! Ryan taught me the alphabet song!"
"Wanna sing it for us, Ray?" Brendon asks, sweetly.
"Sure! A B C D E F G H I J K LMNOP" I chuckle at how he rushes through those last five letters. "Q R S T U V W X Y and Z. Now I know my ABC's, next time won't you sing with me!" He ends his song with a big, toothy grin and we all cheer and clap.
That is, except the nameless boy.
He keeps his position, head bowed and feet swinging in the air. I thought I saw a small smirk grow on his lips when Ray was singing, but I'm not sure.
"That was great, Ray!" Ryan says, giving the smiling boy next to him a pat on the back.
"Fantastic!" Tré says, clapping his hands.
"We're so proud of you!" Mike whispers, leaning in towards Ray to give him a high-five.
Ray giggles. "Thanks. Your turn, Tré!"
"Well, n-not much has r-really ha-ha-happened." Tré stutters, "but, I mean, I gu-guess that's wha-what we're ai-aiming for." He adds with a soft smile.
"Guess so." Billie says softly, holding Tré's hand in his own and gazing into his eyes, lovingly.
"Oh, will you two cut it out? You're making me want to vomit!" Mike murmers rolling his eyes and fake gagging. He doesn't speak very loudly, but louder than usual. We all laugh at his comment. Tré and Billie turn red in the face and drop hands quickly, turning away from each other. Billie sticks his tongue out at Mike and Mike just winks in return.
"I'll kill you later..." Billie says, smirking.
"Try me." Mike grins.
They both start laughing.
What the heck just happened?
He just threatened to kill him and now they're laughing about It?
What is this, Candy land?
Freaks.
"Now what about your day, Billie?" Dr. Frederickson inquires.
"Oh, my day has been just perfect, thanks." Billie say, grinning.
"Gerard?" Brendon asks.
All eyes were on me. Except the eyes that I wanted to see the most. The nameless boy still had his head down, but I could tell he was listening. "My day's been great. As you can see, I finally got out of Solitary Confinement so that was just terrific."
"Well, I'm glad you got out so you could join us today." Ryan says with a welcoming smile.
I'm not the best at smiles so I think he got my warm smile as a smirk.
Oops.
"My turn!" Brendon exclaims, "I made a new friend! He's a salamander who lives under a rock in the east end of the courtyard. His name is Martin. Very nice guy, but a little hard core. He's never had a wife or kids and was orphaned very young. He said to me "I don't trust no one, so no one trust me."" said Brendon in a Brooklyn accent. "I quite like Martin. Anyways, I have Dallon's response right here." He pulls piece of notebook paper from his pocket and smooths it over his lap. "It says," he clears his throat,
"I haven't been feeling the best lately. I've been more sad than usual, but last night, Brendon really helped me out. Awh! How sweet of him to say that! He says, I spoke to him about how I was feeling recently and Brendon told me I was wrong to feel terrible. He told me I should be happy because I'm a good person. So, thank you Beebo. Sincerely, Dall."
"Well, thank you, Brendon for being a good friend." Dr. Frederickson says with a soft smile.
"No problemo, doc. I'll do it anytime for Dall." replies Brendon.
"That's very sweet of you, Brendon. Is that everyone? Alright. Time for our activity. If you reach under your chairs, you'll find a pen and paper and clipboard." there was a rustle of paper as everyone bent down to collect their supplies. "Now, I'd like you to draw something to describe your day yesterday. You know those therapeutic drawings I taught you all how to do? Where you just begin to scribble and let your mind take over? Good, good. You have five minutes. Go!"
I took a deep breath and close my eyes, letting my mind take over. I thought of my day yesterday. I just began to scribble. Yesterday, I spent a lot of time trying to remember my victims. I couldn't of course, but I spent a long time laying on my cot, staring at the ceiling, in deep thought.
All I could remember is the feeling of someone's neck in my hands. The choking noises they made as I tightened my grip. Their fingernails scratching helplessly at the back of my hands. And finally, when they went limp in my grasp. When the gasps for air ceased. When the scratching halted. When I killed them. When I killed my first person. When I grabbed a sharpie and made my mark on their pale skin. What was their name? What was their name? What was their name? What was their name? What was their name? What was their name? What was their name? What was their-
"Time's up, guys! Check out what you drew, and we'll share it in a moment." Dr. Frederickson's voice pierces through my thoughts. I slowly open my eyes to see my drawing.
It's a young boy. His lips slightly parted and his glasses askew over his wide eyes, and few bits of dark hair falling over his face. He looks disheveled and frightened, like something terrible just happened to him. There are two letters at the bottom of the page. An M and an I. Then a line that runs off the page. I was writing his name, but didn't have time. Who is this boy?
"Alright everyone, let's go around the room to see what you all drew. Mike?" Says Frederickson.
I look at Mike and he's chewing on his nails nervously, gazing at his photo.
"Mike...?" Billie asks softly. "You okay, buddy?"
A silent tear rolls down Mike's cheek and he shakes his head, turning his drawing around at last so we can all see.
Ryan gasps and wraps his arms around Ray, holding his face to his chest so he can't see the photo Mike had drawn.
"Ryyy," Ray whines, "why can't I see?"
"You don't need to see, sugar. You don't need to see." Ryan whispers, placing a soft kiss to the top of Ray's head as Ray hugs Ryan in return.
"Is it scary, Ry?"
Ryan didn't reply. He simply drew the other boy closer.
When I tear my gaze from the two boys, I can see why Ryan doesn't want Ray to see Mike's drawing.
It's a scribbled drawing of a room, I'm assuming his, Billie's, and Tré's. There are fingers curled over every surface. You can't see who or what the fingers belong to, just long, slim fingers with long and pointy black fingernails. The most chilling part of the photo was the words scribbled at the bottom.
"'Watch out'? Watch out for what?" Brendon asks, reading the bottom of the picture.
"The monsters." Mike whispers, never taking his eyes from the window to his right, tears still spilling out of his eyes. "I thought about yesterday night. I knew I wasn't alone."
Without a word, Billie leaves his seat and walks over to Mike, wrapping his arms around him. Mike pulls him closer and begins to sob into Billie's shoulder while Billie tangles his hand in Mike's hair, rocking him back and forth in a comforting manner.
"Shhh... it's alright, Mikey... Nothing's gonna get you as long as I'm around." Billie whispers into the top of Mike's head.
Mike just sniffles and nods against Billie's chest.
Billie turns to look at Dr. Frederickson. "I'm taking Mike back to our room. Tré can share for me. My paper's pretty self explanatory."
Dr. Frederickson nods and Billie helps Mike to stand, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him to the door, still whispering comforting words in his ear. The door softly clicks shut and the room fills with silence once again.
Next is the nameless boy, but he again shakes his head silently. He hugs the paper close to his chest.
I sigh and shift my gaze to Ryan, who's looking nervously at everyone.
"What's yours, Ryan?" Ray asks.
"O-Oh, Mine? It's nothing." He says uneasily. "Ray? When was the last time you went potty?"
Ray's eyes widen "A long time ago... Be right back!" Ray says, as he jumps up to run out of the room.
"Sorry, but I had to get him to leave." Ryan explains to Dr. Frederickson. "I just didn't want him to see this."
He turns his drawing around and I'm shocked.
There's a face in the center, with big black dots for eyes and a tear falling from one. There is dark scribbles surrounding the face, with words such as 'fat', 'ugly', 'die', and 'worthless'. There is an especially dark scribble right above the face's head.
"I knew he'd never get to bed tonight if he saw..." Ryan says, gazing at the photo before lifting his eyes to look worriedly at Dr. Frederickson. "What does this mean, doc?" Ryan whispers.
"It means that the voice is back. That figure in the middle is clearly you, and those words are what the dark cloud hanging over your head is saying about you. None of it is true, of course, but it wants you to feel alone. Like no one likes you, hence the darkness surrounding the figure. Ryan, you can't let the voice get to you though... you have so many people here for you. And Ray. What would Ray do if you fell apart, or worse?"
"Yeah, I know... I really thought I was getting better."
"You are, Ryan. There's going to be temptations along the way. Just be strong, buddy." Dr. Frederickson says with an encouraging smile that Ryan quickly returns. "Do you mind...?" Dr. Frederickson asks, point at the photo.
"Oh! Not at all." Ryan says, handing the photo to the shrink.
"Thanks." Says Frederickson as he tucks the photo into a folder.
Right at that moment, Ray pushes the door open and comes bopping back in, a big grin still on his face. He sits in his chair and Ryan smiles at him, rubbing his back.
"Is it my turn?" Ray asks Ryan. Ryan nods at the older boy as a reply.
"Oh, goodie!" Ray exclaims excitedly, reaching under his chair to get his picture and show it around the circle.
The picture was by far the happiest. It was a childish drawing of two stick figures, both smiling under a large sun drawn in the corner. The slightly taller figure I recognize as Ray, due to the halo of curls around his happy face. The second is only a bit shorter. His smile is not a big as Ray's but still smiling. This figure had something unusual that gave it away as Ryan immediately. He had a dark scribble over his head. I flick my gaze to see Ryan's reaction and was not disappointed. His eyes were wide and his mouth kept opening and shutting, like he needed to say something but couldn't find his voice.
"Can you tell us what you thought about, Ray?" Dr. Frederickson says sweetly.
"Mhm! I thought about yesterday in the courtyard. Ryan and I made flower chains. It was really fun, but Ryan looked like he was kinda bothered by something. I guess that's how that black thingie got there." Ray answers, oblivious to Ryan gawking at his photo.
"That's a very nice drawing, Ray! Can I please have it?" Frederickson asks with a smile.
"Well..." Ray cringes and looks at Ryan, who had regained his self control and was smile curtly at his friend. "I was going to give it to Ryan..."
"I'm sure Ryan would love it! Right, Ryan?" Dr. Frederickson asks, flicking his eyes to his folder that contained Ryan's piece.
Ryan nodded slightly, showing that he understood. "I would love it!" Ryan answers, smiling at Ray, but he frowns dramatically. "But I really hope nothing happens to it..."
"What if I kept it safe in my office? So that Ryan can see it anytime, but it's not going to get messed up?" Dr. Frederickson offers, smiling at Ray.
"Yeah! That sounds like a good idea! Here you go!" Ray says, handing his photo to Dr. Frederickson and smiling at Ryan.
"Now, Ryan, you can come see this anytime." Dr. Frederickson say, tucking yet another photo into his folder.
Ryan nods and looks at Tré. "Your turn, T."
"R-Right." He grabs his two papers and looks at them before turning them around for the rest of the group.
One picture is a drawing of him and the other a drawing of Billie.
"Billie a-and I dr-drew each oth-other." He giggles. "I g-guess that just-just shows y-you w-what we th-thought about y-yesterday."
Dr. Frederickson laughs and shakes his head. "You boys...."
Tré giggles again and tucks the photos under his arm. He turns to face me. "Y-Your turn!"
I nod, offering a smile. When I turn my picture around, I hear a sharp intake of breath. I jerk my head in the direction the noise came from.
Dr. Frederickson was sitting in a rigid position, eyes wide.
"What? What does it mean?" I ask helplessly.
"Gerard... do you remember what you were thinking of when you drew this?" Frederickson says gently.
I think hard, straining my brain to have just a small bit of recollection. I have no idea what I was thinking of when I was drawing. I shake my head. "Who's M I?"
Frederickson shakes his head. "No one, Gerard... can I have that please?"
I pull the picture away from him. "Tell me who M I is."
Dr. Frederickson freezes, still tense from earlier.
"He can't tell you." Says a quiet, unfamiliar voice.
I turn my head, shocked to see the nameless boy staring straight at me.
He's beautiful.
Not just beautiful, he's stunning, gorgeous, lovely, exquisite, astonishing, charming, elegant, breathtaking, divine, handsome, ravishing, radiant, heavenly, sublime, picturesque...
Absolutely perfect.
He has murky green eyes are filled with something mysterious that I can't quite put my finger on, but it's making my heart flutter all the same. I take in as much of his beautiful face as possible because I don't know how much time I have to stare. His lips are slightly upturned without meaning to be. I know he isn't meaning to smile, but that's just how he looks. His hair is left long and dark on top while the sides are shaved and blonde, a few strands of the dark part falling over is gorgeous eyes. I must've been staring a while because I suddenly feel my paper being plucked from my hand. I turn to glare at Frederickson and when I turn back to the nameless boy, his head is bowed and his eyes are downcast once more.
"Why'd you do that?" I spit at Frederickson.
He shrugs, tucking the page into his folder. "You were staring and I took my chance."
I scoff and roll my eyes, crossing my arms as I pout.
'Brendon? Do you have your and Dallon's?"
Brendon was looking quizzically down at one of the drawings.
"Brendon? Breendooon?" Frederickson asks, snapping his fingers.
"Hm? What? Sorry..." Brendon says, coming back to reality.
"I said, do you have your and Dallon's drawings?" Frederickson asks, curtly.
"Oh, yes! Um, well, this is mine..." He turns his photo around.
It's more simple than any of the others have been, but still strange nonetheless. It was just two words in dark pencil, gone over many many times so that they're vivid against the white paper background.
The two words are "NOT REAL"
"I have no idea what this means, I was just thinking about talking to my friends in the courtyard yesterday." Brendon explains, biting his nail.
Dr. Frederickson nods and writes something down quickly. Clicking his pen, he sets his notebook back down. "And Dallon's?"
Brendon holds up a picture of a fountain that I recognize as the one we have in our courtyard. The fountain had a large 'X' over it.
"Sorry, Doc but I think I gave Dall the wrong instructions. I didn't tell him to think about his day, I just told him to do a therapeutic drawing."
"That's quite alright, Brendon. Thank you for doing that." Dr. Frederickson says with a smile. "I think Dallon's piece is just him remembering a bad experience he's had with the fountain."
Brendon nods and folds up both papers, handing them to Dr. Frederickson who tucks them in his folder with all the others.
"Alright, guys, you're free to go. Great session today! See you all in two days!" He gets up and grabs his things, smiling at the group.
"S-See ya." Tré rushes out quickly, probably hurrying to check on his boyfriend and best friend. The nameless boy goes next, and I decide to follow him, needing to know who he is, but was cut off leaving by Ryan and Ray blocking the exit. Ray was chatting to Ryan excitedly about something he saw on Disney Channel yesterday afternoon.
I turn around when I feel a hand placed on my shoulder. It's Brendon. "Hey, Gerard... I just wanted to say that I'm really happy you came today." He says, giving me a warm smile.
"Yeah, me too..." I say glancing at the now clear doorway. "Now, you'll have to excuse me." I say, turning to jog out the door and stopping in the middle of the hall. I look down my left and see nothing. When I turn to my right, I spot him. Head still down, staring at his shoes. I sprint in his direction, wanting to know his name.
Needing to know his name.
God, I just need to know him.
"Hey! Hey you!" I call after him, slowing down a little as I get closer. He lifts his head and turns around, his curious eyes meeting mine.
I swear, electricity ran through my body when he looked at me.