Scars (Evan Peters x reader)

Chapter Six | Again |

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[Now Playing: 505 by Arctic Monkeys]
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"Hello, love! Welcome to your new home!" I stared at the overly enthusiastic lady, named Estelle, that would be my caretaker for the next few months.
"Yeah, I'm glad to be here," I said sarcastically. I put my bag on the ground and looked around the room. There was a big window that had a reading nook around it. The bathroom was in an opposite room beside the window. My bed was in the center of the room and there was a desk beside my bed. This is where I had to finish the rest of my high school years.
"Alright, love. You have your first session, come on out of here," she said. I left the room and I was escorted by a staff member to my psychiatrist. I nervously entered the room to see a man sitting on a chair. He gestured for me to sit in the chair across from him.
"So, Y/n, tell me why you want to harm yourself?" he asked, taking out his notebook and pen.
"I like it. I like seeing how bruised my hands would be after I hit the hard wall for a period of time. I like seeing my blood drip down my hands. I love the color of it, it's very pretty," I explained.
"And what do you feel when you are doing it?"
"I don't feel sad. I don't feel anything but the happiness of seeing how bad I hurt myself. I laugh whenever I see how badly I hurt myself, it feels great," I responded to his question. He quickly jotted down notes on his notepad and looked back up at me.
"I am going to have to prescribe you some medication and hopefully that would help with what you're thinking and what you're going through," he said, ripping off the paper from his notepad. He handed it to me.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, holding up the piece of paper.
"You'll give it to Estelle and she'll give it to a pharmacist," he said.
"Does that mean this session is done? Or do I still have to talk to you?" I asked.
"You're free to go for now but you'll come back for another session tomorrow. Same time and same place," he said. I stood up from my chair and left the room to go back to my room. I looked around the psych ward and it wasn't how I would've imagined it to be. The gardens were beautiful and well taken care of. The weather felt nice since it was a bit windy and it was very cloudy. Evan would've loved the weather here.
"Hey!" I looked to my left to see someone in their room. "Come closer! I got a surprise for you!" he said in a creepy-like manner. I stepped away from the room in fear. "NO! NO! Come back! Please! It's going to be a good surprise!" he pleaded as he rattled the door.
"Love, step away from that door." I turned around to see Estelle with a dark look on her face. I followed her instruction and stepped away from the door. "Louis? I think it's time for your medication?" said Estelle.
"NO! No more!" he yelled out. His hand reached out towards me but Estelle pulled me closer to her before he could grab me.
"Y/n, go back to your room. We need Louis' caretaker," she said. I listened to what she said and ran back to my room. I put the psychiatrist's note on my desk. I took out my sketchbook and quickly flipped to an empty sketchbook. But it flipped to a sketch I did of Evan before he was in a coma. I stopped flipping through the sketchbook to stop and look at it. In the sketch, he was sleeping across from me in the library.
"Sorry about that, love. Louis hasn't seen another person his age in a while. He longs for a friend but he also has to deal with his split personalities," said Estelle, entering the room. I handed her the paper that the psychiatrist gave me. She quickly took a look at it before leaving the room again.
"All patients, please head to the common room for daily journaling," the intercom said. I got up from my chair and headed to the common room. I saw a bunch of other patients heading in that direction as well. Most of the patients were in their 20s or older than that. There weren't a lot of teenagers in this psych ward, except I saw a boy that looked at least a year older than me. He looked very tired and his brown hair was very messy. I decided to sit across from him. He looked up at me and watched me carefully as I picked up a pencil from the center of the table.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"I'm Y/n L/n, I'm new here. What about you? What's your name?" I answered.
"I'm Louis, Louis Partridge. I've been here for about nine years now. My parents are business leaders so they don't have time to visit or talk to me. I don't think they care about me," he reveals.
"I don't think my parents care about me either. They left me in a psych ward because they don't have time to help me," I said. A worker came over and started handing out journals. I got a brand new journal that had a red cover. I opened an empty page and started writing.
February 17, 2020,
Dear Journal,
I was admitted to a psych ward after my parents found out that I had depression and anxiety. They thought it was so extreme that I had to be admitted to a psych ward but in reality, I would be able to control it if I had support. Even the doctor said that I would still be able to be home and learn if I had medicine and if I had the support of my family. But I guess that's too hard for them to do. Whatever, I needed a break from mom and dad anyways. I met a boy in the psych ward that's around the same age as me. He said that his name was Louis Partridge. Estelle, my caretaker, told me that Louis had a split personality disorder. I think he also has schizophrenia because he's acting as if someone else is talking to him at the moment but there's no one there. He can't seem to focus either and seems to blank out often. Anyways, I think I'll befriend him because I think he needs a friend to help him. I think that's it for today.
I stopped writing and closed the journal. I put the pencil back into the middle of the room but before I could retract it back, Louis harshly grabbed onto my arm.
"Don't leave yet," he pleaded.
"I'm not leaving. I'll stay here for a bit longer. I want to talk to you," I said. He shakingly withdrew his hand away from my wrist.
"You want to talk to me?" he asked.
"Of course, you're the only other person here that's my age. I also kinda want to make new friends here too," I said. Suddenly, his whole mood changed as if someone else took control of his body. He smirked and got up from his chair to move closer to me.
"It's great that you want to be friends with Louis, darling, but what about me? I'm Philp, one of those personalities that have taken residence in Louis," he introduces himself.
"Oh, of course, I'll be your friend and anyone else who's in there as well," I said.
"That's great! Louis, she's definitely a keeper," he said scooting closer to me.
"Louis! Step away from, Y/n," said his caretaker strictly.
"I'm not Louis, fuckwad, I'm Philp. Remember that, jeez, you're my caretaker and yet you can't tell whose who," said Philp.
"I don't care if you're Philp or if you're Tom or even if you're Alex. Get away from her," his caretaker promptly said. He sighed and backed away from me. He returned to his seat and grumpily sat down.
"We can still talk if you want," I suggested. He nodded his head and continued writing in his journal. "So, do you have any siblings?"
"I have one, or maybe my parents had a couple when I left. I have a sister, she's about three years younger than me. I was admitted here when I was eight years old, she was only five at the time. But I maybe have more, I'm not too sure," he said. "What about you? Do you have any siblings or friends that you left behind?"
"I have two older brothers, EB/N and OB/N. I left behind a very close friend of mine. Or actually, he's in a coma right now. But he and I weren't just close friends, I think we would've been closer if he wasn't in a coma right now," I responded.
"What was his name?"
"Evan Peters."