Look Alive, Sunshine (Frerard)

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A/N: Most all of these procedures and experiences are what I remember from my time at a mental hospital. I've been twice, but I was like 7 the first time, and 10 the second, so its been awhile. If you thing there's anything I should change do let me know <3 Enjoy

(P.S. this is the first time I've ever written in third person so bear with me it might be repetitive sorry)

The first thing Frank noticed as he walked through the doors of the facility was that it was cold, and he didn't pack any jackets.

Well that's just fucking awesome, isn't it?  He thought to himself. The lady at the desk seemed sweet, but it felt forced.

"Hi darling, what's your name?" She asked.

"Frank Iero." He muttered. She clicked away at her keyboard.

"Mhm, and date of birth?" Frank felt weird answering all these direct questions. His mom or dad always answered questions, they never let him, even if he tried.

"Uh, its October 31st, 2007." He was 17 now.

"Wonderful. Do you know why you're here?" She asked sweetly, as if she didn't see the thick, blood stained bandage around his arm. 

I gotta re-wrap that. He thought to himself. And shouldn't this be a bit more private rather than in a lobby full of strangers?  This whole experience was foreign to him.

"I uh, I tried to kill myself." His sentence ended in a whisper. She seemed taken aback as if that wasn't the default reason for why anyone would be someplace like this.

She let the printer spit out a few pieces of paper, before telling him,

"Okay, you can follow me, and another nurse will take care of you from there." She got up, holding the stack of papers. Frank shivered as they walked down the desolate hallway. All the room doors were open, and every wall was painted a depressing shade that was somewhere between tan and gray. She took him into a separate room that looked like it had never been used, and told him to wait for the next nurse.

He waited for a while At least ten minutes, maybe longer.

Well, it seems like they really care about their patients. He thought.

Finally, a nurse entered holding a clipboard. She handed Frank a hospital gown that would cover almost nothing.

"Change into this please." She said bleakly. He didn't respond but did as she said. When he finished, he opened the door. She came into the bathroom with him, and bent down, looking at his legs, asking where each and every scar and scratch came from.

"And this one?" She asked, as she got up to his thigh. Frank glanced at the thin marks.

"Self harm." He whispered, and she took note of it. She went on like this until she had gone over his entire body.

"And what's this for." She asked gesturing to the bandage on his arm.

"I tried to kill myself." He responded, wondering how many times he'd have to answer that question today. He didn't know how much longer he could handle repeating those words, especially to strange people he didn't know. 

Finally, he was told he could change back into his clothes. They showed him to his room, and his luggage was already there. There were two beds across the room from each other, and a dresser with very little storage for his clothes and all. The bathroom was small, and it had bad lighting. The mirror was plastic, which caused your reflection to be warped. The shower was dirty, and it made Frank wish that he'd brought shower shoes.