Logan was, to put it simply, terrified. He had just been marched through a thoroughly depressing set of halls, and he was now standing in an equally depressing room. The only furniture was two twin beds with matching side tables, one of which was desolate. The other, however, was littered with someone's possessions - someone who Logan realised he would be sharing the room with. He turned to the nurse who was accompanying him.
"I thought I would have my own room." He said, frowning.
"Ha! We aren't made of money!" She laughed, not unkindly. "Don't worry, you'll get used to having a roommate. Everybody else is eating lunch right now, but," She checked her watch. "They should be done in about ten minutes or so. You'll meet him then." Logan nodded, pretending like he was okay with that. In reality, he could think of nothing worse. He sat down on the unoccupied bed, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, which, to his dismay, he had been forced to chop the strings off. 'Safety precautions', apparently.
"Alrighty, what else?" The nurse mused. "Let's see. A couple of things you should know: mealtimes are at 8 a.m., 12 p.m., and 6 p.m. You need to be in bed by 10 p.m.
If you're on medication, which," She looked down at her clipboard. "You will be - benzodiazepine - you'll need to be in the dining room five minutes early for breakfast to take that. There will be time for therapy, recreation, study, and psychical activity each day. You aren't permitted to ask any other patients personal questions about their condition. Anything else you want to know, you should find out soon enough - if not, or if you forget anything, you can always come to me, or any other member of staff with a question!" Naturally, thousands of them instantly popped into Logan's head. He confined himself to one.
"When will I see my parents?"
"Everybody has set visiting times once a week - yours are," She paused, checking her clipboard again. "On Sundays at 2 p.m." Logan nodded. A whole week away. He felt a lump rise in his throat. The last thing he wanted right now was to cry in front of her.
"Can I be alone now?" He said quickly, head down.
"Of course you can. I'll come back to check on you at some point later - bye bye now." The nurse said with a smile and a wave, before slipping out of the room. Logan kicked his shoes off, and sat cross-legged on the bed, cringing at its stiffness. He looked around the room, and then closed his eyes, calming himself down. He was still partially in disbelief that this was happening to him. Him. He wasn't insane. He sank down and lay back, hands over his face. He stayed like that for a while, the events of the past few days racing through his mind.
"What are you doing?" A voice pierced through the silence suddenly. Logan scrambled up to address it. A tall boy around his age stood in the doorway, brown hair framing his face. He bore a grin, and was quite obviously laughing at Logan.
"Nothing." Logan said feebly, feeling himself turn red. The boy smirked.
"So, you're my new roommate, huh?" He walked over to the other bed, and draped himself over it.
"Yeah, I guess. I'm Logan." He picked at the skin around his nails as he spoke, one of his many bad habits.
"James." He said. "So why are you in here?"
"I thought we weren't supposed to tell each other that." James rolled his eyes.
"They only say that so they don't get in trouble with the government or whatever. Doctor-patient confidentiality or something." He explained inexpertly.
"Huh. I have pretty bad anxiety. Well, bad enough to be in here. I thought I was fine. Clearly not." Logan said slightly bitterly.
"That sucks." James said artlessly.
"Yeah, it does. What about you?"
"None of your business."
"You made me tell you!" Logan protested.
"No I didn't! I asked and you told me." James said infuriatingly. Logan was all set to get annoyed at him, but for some reason he couldn't seem to. Instead, he found himself smiling, and joining James when he laughed.
"Touché," He shook his head. "How long have you been here?"
"Four months." James said, groaning. "I think I'm better, but they disagree. Which is why I think they're dumb."
"That's kinda harsh."
"Yeah, well it's kinda true."
"Is it really that bad here?" Logan asked, worried now.
"No. It's alright. Some people are cool. Some other people suck, but that's life."
"C'est la vie."
"Okay, that's the second thing you've said in a different language, which means you're either French or a nerd." James said. Logan laughed.
"Nerd." He admitted. As he was about to say more, he was cut off by an abrasive alarm.
"What the hell is that?" He asked, covering his ears.
"Alarm." James said uselessly.
"Okay, I got that. Why is it going off?"
"Group therapy." James clarified. Logan's eyes widened in horror.
"Yeah, it's as bad as it sounds," James said unhelpfully. "Come on, I'll take you there."
"Do we have to go?" Logan braced himself for what he knew what the answer would be.
"Yes."
