Lose Your Mind | Stiles Stilinksi DISCONTINUED

Chapter Twelve

|Stiles's POV|

"Why won't they let my Dad just take me there?" I complain to Brunski right now who was being a complete jerk off at the moment.

"I told you this already, Stilinski. The patients can only see family during visiting hours and we officials cannot let any of you out of our sights." I roll my eyes and groan for the ten millionth time.

"That's a stupid rule," I say, not looking at him directly.

"Glad you think so," he smirks and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "Because we just came up with it last month.

I explode. "What? I literally just got here three weeks ago! Why change the rule?" I shout at him furiously.

"Why not?" he sneers, the smile never once leaving his face.

"I hate you," I grit at him.

"Just get in the van." Brunski has trouble opening the large metal door of the van. He grips one handle with two hands, and almost falls backward when he forcefully pulled back. I asked him if he needed help, but he just yelled at me. So, I stood there with my arms crossed silently.

When he finally pried the door open with a loud creak, I climbed up and into to it, swearing as I was pushed forward, knocking my bad hand into the cold metal wall next to me.

This van, or whatever you wanted to call it, was so stuffy. It was regular sized, and square. But it's not the type of van you may be thinking of. Have you ever seen one if those heavily armed trucks in front of a store that carry all the money? Well, it was basically that except that it  carried inprisoned asylum inmates instead of money.

There was a barred window above my head that I didn't bother looking out. Across from me was a giant steel wall that connected all the way from the ceiling to the floor of the truck. It was supposed to separate me from whoever else was on the other side and to keep me from seeing where they were going. I was never the claustrophobic type, but this tight space and eery shadow constantly hanging over my head has been affecting me.

The voice errupted in my head. Let me in. No, I needed to get out. Now.

Staring at my fingers and starting to count, my breathing picks up as it usually does. "Let me out, let me out, let me out," I mutter over and over again to myself, trying my best to relax. Before I made it to ten, an image of Hunter popped into my mind. It was her in the dream, well, I guess not a dream. Anyway... She was sitting in front of me, and I was protectly waiting behind her. With that drea- memory- fading eventually, my breathing slowed as did the counting of my fingers. She calmed me down without being there.

Something Scott once told me before swelled in my mind. You need to find an anchor. I knew that his girlfriend, Allison, was his. But me? I had no one to always be by my side and help me relax. No one at all.

My pessimistic thoughts are rudely interrupted by the dumb orderly that was driving the prison-mobile. "Time to go," the hideous man grabs the hem of my shirts and yanks me out. Why are people so pushy today?

I take a deep breath, and relax when I feel the darkness trying to eat away at my soul as it does everyday.

I turn to see Jorge, who seemed to be everywhere I was, opening the other door of the van, about to take out the other patient. "Someone else is coming too?" I ask Jorge, disregarding the rude official holding my arm behind me back.

"Um, yeah," he looks around nervously as if he wasn't supposed to be talking to me. "Hey, Gary." Jorge says. That must've been the name of my guard. Ew. "You take the other patient while I walk this punk up to the building," I almost laugh at his remark. Gary scrunches his eyebrows in confusion, but chooses not to question Jorge. The two of them switch roles, and now Jorge was the one roughly pinning my arms behind me. I swore I saw a glimpse of white hair from the barred window of the van, it must've been my imagination. I couldn't tell who it was anyway.