The boy woke up, feeling restrained and achy.
He blinked his eyes open began to wiggle his arms to relieve himself of the sore muscle.
A gasp left his mouth as he realized he couldn't.
White cloth held him from any movement, keeping him hostage in the small room.
"Help!" he screamed, kicking his feet against the lone foam mattress he laid on.
The walks were dark, etched with drawings and scribbles and blood.
"Help me please!" he called again.
Suddenly a small nurse came bustling into the room, holding a depressing looking meal on a silver tray.
"You called?" she asked sweetly.
"Where am I?" he cried, looking around.
She sat the tray on the only piece of furniture beside his "bed." A small grey nightstand. Nothing here had colour.
"You don't remember?" she asked, reaching forward to smooth his long blonde hair off his clammy forehead.
Michael shook his head.
"You tried to kill yourself, sweetie," she reminded him in a soft tone.
He nodded. He remembered that, but..
"Where is my girlfriend?" he stared at her as she stepped a little closer to him, standing right in the light.
A loud sob escaped his throat. It was his girlfriend.
"Addie?" he whispered, reaching forward to touch her, but was denied due to the straight jacket.
She cocked her head. "Honey, my name is Lydia. You know that," she said sympathetically, obviously trying to comfort him in his moment of panic.
"Then where is she?" he screamed. "Where are my friends?"
Suddenly the voices appeared in front of him.
"G-Gereon? Oh no." He began to shake.
Gereon smiled evilly crossing his arms. Olivia stood beside him along with the two other men.
"They don't exist, Mikey," Gereon snickered, stroking his hair and trailing his fingers along the white jacket.
"W-what do you mean?" he stuttered. Lydia slowly walked backwards, keeping a distance from him. He was was one of the most dangerous patients at Youthdale Lakeridge. He could even get out of a straight jacket.
She knew he was schizophrenic, but she'd never seen him have a full on conversation with someone in thin air.
"You were so lonely, Michael," Olivia started slowly.
"You've been stuck in this-this asylum your whole life. You've never had a girlfriend or friends, so I made them for you. I wanted you to have a normal life," she half smiled at him, like everything she just said was completely fine.
"It was fun ruining your life," one of the other unidentifiable voices laughed. "You went pretty fucking crazy. Hilarious."
Michael began shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, yelling and screaming and rocking back and forth. His fingers twitched behind the white restraint. It was so familiar, and he knew that within a couple moved he could be free of it.
Lydia was aware of this and was quick to react. She pulled the needle of of the packaging in her uniform. It was filled with a hazel thickness that she knew would calm him down.
She walked towards slowly, trying to look innocent.
"Hey, Michael. Darling, you have to calm down."
"I fucking can't!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. He was almost out of the jacket..."
The nurse moved forward in a crouch over him, pinning him died by pressure point with one hand and sticking the needle in the fat of his arm with the other.
"Pentobarbital," she smirked. "Works every time."
