Reverse Rehab

0.1; And A Warm Welcome From Stoney Hill

I reluctantly shuffled up the cement walkway with my hands restrained behind my back and my head bowed toward the ground. I scuffed my feet along, trying to prolong the entrance to my personal hell for as long as I possibly could.

No, I wasn't a criminal, and I wasn't going to a jail. But I may as well have been. Last week the judge told me I had to go to Stoney Hill.

The local loony-bin.

I remember hearing about it in school. "It's the crazy house", "I heard one guy there used to eat people", "Did you know they put the craziest people in straight jackets". I used to believe those rumours, I once vowed that I would never visit Stoney Hill.

Yet, here I am walking through the doors and into the lobby with chunks of my hair ripped out, my eyes puffy, and my face still a little swollen and bruised.

A patient.

I had absolutely nothing to my name except the stories sure to be going around my high school and a couple sweaters.

The lobby was exactly like I expected. Bland. White walls, off-white linoleum flooring, a couple chairs and couches with suspicious stains. Nothing special but it screamed "a horror movie can take place here!" The emotionless men tugging me along didn't stop to admire the scenery though and dragged me straight to the front desk.

A short dialogue ensued between the old, wrinkly receptionist, who seemed to want nothing to do with anyone or anything here and reminded me all too much of my nasty first grade teacher, and the tall man in a dark suit helping to haul me along but I didn't catch much of it.

I felt my heart rate pick up, and heard my breathing become more rapid as it dawned on me that I was stuck here. I was stuck in this place where everything was too clean. Where it was too quiet. Where everyone had their nose in the air because they knew they were better than the little 15 year old who had hair missing. And, worst of all, where I was going to have to stay until deemed fit for outside life. Something that, even though I had been in the establishment for a measly 5 minutes, seemed less and less likely of ever happening as each second dragged on.

"Darling?'

My head snapped up. A kind looking woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, gave me a sweet smile, before glancing at the receptionist for a brief moment, "She's in B, room 9."

The woman, who I assumed was a nurse, stuck out her hand to me. On instinct I reached for it and became puzzled when I realized my hands were no longer restrained. When did that happen?
I tentatively put my hand in hers. She's shaking my hand? I'm here because I went insane and she's shaking my hand?

"Oh dear. You look some confused don't you?" the nurse nodded her head towards a pair of grey double doors, "Come on I'll show you to your room. Get you some new clothes. Then I can show you around if you want?"

Her dark brown eyes shined with hope and for the first time in 3 weeks, I spoke (or, well, whispered anyway), "That sounds nice. Thank you."

The nurse beamed at me and tugged my hand pulling me towards the double doors. Tears pricked eyes as we walked through them and into my "new life".

The hallway was barren. The nurses heels clicking on the floor echoed all the way through the hall. I seemed to be the only patient around. Maybe the crazies were just hiding.

I glanced around at the bland walls. There was no decoration on them and the paper that lined them was an eggshell white that made my head spin with nausea. The air was far too sterile. There was nothing on the walls. At home there had been- oh no.

Oxygen refused to reach my lungs and I began to hyperventilate. My throat burned as my pace began to slow.

Oh god, I hated when this happened.

I stopped short and pulled ragged breaths through my nose. The air being sucked in still refused to enter my lungs apart from a few quick bursts. The nurse, who had walked a couple feet in front of me, turned around when she no longer heard my footsteps following her own.

She walked toward me and touched my shoulder. I saw her mouth move but I didn't hear anything. Her brow furrowed and my breathing picked up.

She was making it worse. She needed to back up, "please move back"

She didn't move. She hadn't seemed to have heard me. I wonder if she actually heard me, if I actually spoken. I felt my mouth open but I didn't hear any noise come out. I tried again to repeat the words becoming more frantic as I did so. I need her to back up. Her face twisted into a worried expression and my attempt at words became more and more frantic. A stinging sensation began to envelop my entire scalp as my hands began tugging on the few hairs I had left.

Then I started screaming.

So let's see how this turns out? It's wicked short and there's probably some errors... oops.
Anywhore, bye.