Scared?

Don't Touch Me

"Honey? It's time to go," my mother whispered from around my door.

I looked up at her scornfully. She knew I didn't want to go to an asylum. Oh, wait, it wasn't an 'asylum,' it was a 'sanitarium.' Still a place for crazy people.

Oh, I wasn't going to the place because I was insane. I was going because I had a phobia. One of being touched. It apparently made me need to be locked up. That was even worse, because if they tried to prod me, poke me, or study me, they'd get a great reason to have me locked up.

"Frankie, I said it's time to go," my mother said, a bit more forcefully. I turned around so I wasn't looking at her.

She was being persistent, I had to give her that.

"Frank Anthony Iero, it is time to leave!" she yelled, grabbing my hoodie.

I screamed and jumped away, my eyes beginning to overfill with tears. My mother didn't look fazed at all.

"Frank. It is time. To LEAVE. Get your things, and get in the car. NOW!" she yelled.

I shrank back and wiped my eyes, angry at her. She huffed and shook her head, mumbling something as she walked out, something I couldn't hear. I shook my head and grabbed my suitcase, full of a few shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, and my other stuff. Including my iPod, which I planned to use when I had the chance. Just to listen to music that I liked. Not the shit my mother kept trying to force down my throat. I wouldn't be manipulated that easily.

I stomped down the stairs and outside, and I climbed into the backseat of the car, careful to avoid my mother's cold glaring. I stared out the window the whole ride there. And when we finally got there, I dared to look up at the name.

'Coldson's Sanitarium for the Mentally Unstable,' the sign read. I snickered. Just fancy words for 'The Asylum for Insane Douchebags.' My mother looked back at me sharply and stopped the car. She climbed out of it and I eased out of the back, taking my time. I could tell it was pissing my mother off. Good.

We walked inside, and my mother stopped at the receptionist's desk. The woman looked up, a sympathetic smile easing onto her face when she saw my eyes darting around the room, horrified.

"Hello there, how can I help you?" she asked in a friendly tone. My mother smiled at her.

"I'm here to check Frankie in to the phobias ward," she explained. I rolled my eyes, earning a disgusted look from my mother.

"Ah, I see. Name please?" she asked, looking right at me.

"Frank Iero," my mother answered for me. I glared at her, just itching to tear her head off.

The receptionist tapped something into her computer and looked up at me, the friendly expression having been replaced by the loathsome one directed at my mother gone. She smiled at me.

"Just down that hallway, dear. Gerard should be there waiting for you," she told me. I nodded my thanks.

My mother walked with me down the hall, and she stopped right outside my door with me.

"Frank, if anything bad happens here and it's your fault, don't expect me to bail you out. I may be your mother, but you, young man, are eighteen years old," she said sharply.

"Yeah, and I haven't even graduated junior year in high school," I retorted. My mother turned a shade of dark red, meaning she was MAD.

"Whatever. I'm leaving now. Behave, Frank. I mean it," she snapped, and began walking back down the hall to the front of the building.

I rolled my eyes and gently pushed open my door. Standing there by my window was a friendly looking man who I assumed was Gerard. He smiled at me a bit and I returned the gesture, but inside, my brain was working overtime trying not to completely shatter my already fucked-up psyche. My nurse was a man, and that was even worse. I was gay, so this was going to kill me being around such an attractive, yet such an off-limits, man.