Promises

Chapter 1

Mental hospitals are so weird.

A place where a bunch of crazy people gather around to help each other become less crazy.

That logic doesn't make much sense to me. Why would you send crazy people to help other crazy people become less crazy?

And don't get me started on the decor. White walls? Plastic chairs and cafeteria-style tables? The only place with some form of comfortable furniture is the common room, which consists of two 3-cushion couches and five plushed chairs, all a pale blue color. If you don't get to the room right at 3 o'clock, you're stuck with the floor or a stupid fucking plastic chair from the torture chamber. Except for a chair in the back right corner of the room, away from the door and other people. That's my chair, and let's just say that I'm not afraid to slap a bitch for it.

And there's the torture chamber. It's a medium sized, circular room that's the same horrible shade of white as the rest of this damn place. But what separates this room from the others is what happens here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Group fucking therapy.

We gather in a circle around Dr. Stupid Ass and discuss what new shit has happened to us and "how it makes us feel." It's a load of crap and I make sure to inform anybody that'll listen. Hell, even the people that won't listen I'll tell them.

The only sanctuary I find in this hell hole is my room, and sometimes the courtyard when I manage to sneak out there in the middle of the night. I live in a decent-sized room that has two twin sized beds, one in the back left corner of the room and the other in the front right corner, both facing the inside of the room. I sleep in the back bed, as far away from the door as possible. The beds both have the same white sheets, white blankets and white pillows. The only difference is that mine is never made and always messy, while the other bed is always neatly made and looks like it was just bought.

This is where I spend most of my free time, except for when Patrick makes me "socialize" and go into the common room. This is also where I found myself one morning when the nurses went around the rooms, or what I liked to call jail cells, to wake up everyone for breakfast.

I had already been awake for an hour, staring at the stupid white ceiling and contemplating the meaning of life and other fun stuff like that when I heard a knock and a familiar voice say something inaudible through the door.

"What?" I asked tiredly, hating having to get up at 8 in the morning.

"Time to get up, Frank!" Came Patricks cheery fucking voice through the crack he made in the door by opening it a little bit.

"Is it really, though?" I asked.

"Yes, now get up before I have to go in there and drag you to breakfast myself!" Patrick threatened me like I was a five-year-old.

"Two things, Patrick. One: I'm stronger than you and two: I'm a stubborn fuck, so you alone will not be able to move me." I could sense him start to argue, so I quickly added, "But I'll be out in 5 damn minutes."

"Good, and watch your language!" He scolded me before closing the door softly and continuing his mission to wake up the entire fucking state of New Jersey.

"Whatever, you big bitch." I muttered under my breath as I pulled myself out of bed and pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans and a band t-shirt with a logo so faded that I didn't even know which band it was for anymore.

I dragged my feet on the floor in some form of defiance as I walked down the corridor and into the cafeteria. There were only about 10 patients that were admitted to the hospital and almost all of them were already seated when I walked in. I sat at my usual table, alone and away from the other patients. There was enough tables around that me having my own wasn't a problem.