Fix You [Vic Fuentes]

Chapter 1

Song of the chapter: Therapy by All Time Low.



Chapter name: Therapy




Vic's POV:





I turned over on my side, trying to get comfortable on my crappy $20 mattress that this stupid Mental hospital has blessed me with. It's around 7am, and I haven't slept at all in the past two days. My muscles ache all over, making getting to sleep a very difficult activity, and the skin on my wrists and thighs are sending sharp pains throughout my arms and legs. When will I get out of here? It's been a month. A whole damn month, and I haven't seen my mum, dad or brother once. They don't even make the effort to see me, or even call. They have forgotten about me, and no matter how much I try to accept that, I can't. I know they didn't love me, but they could at least be a tiny bit nice and see how I am.

I knew I had to get up soon so I didn't even bother trying to get back to sleep as it was pointless. I had to be up in time to get my food from the lady who came around to give us breakfast, not because I wanted to eat, only because then she would send someone in to give it to me and watch me eat it. Usually I just flush it down the toilet, which is situated in the small bathroom in the far corner of my tiny room, just so I don't have to eat.
In my room, there is barely anything. All I have is my bathroom, a bed and a desk that is in front of a window that overlooks a small part of the city, and the wall next to my bed has a couple of posters of my favourite bands. -Like Sublime, Sleeping With Sirens and All Time Low.- Which Bridget has told me to take down because they're 'emo' but I couldn't give two shits, so I leave them up anyway.

Everyone here has an assigned therapist, and Bridget happens to be mine. And although I haven't talked to anyone here I am sure everyone hates their therapist just as much as I hate mine. When I say I haven't talked to anyone here, I mean, anyone. I haven't said a word to another human being at all. Not Bridget, or even the lunch lady with the cart. The only person I really talk to is myself, and that's usually only when it am throwing insults at my own reflection.
Which in fact, isn't something new. To be honest, nothing has changed at all since I was at home. I guess the only thing that has changed is the fact my family aren't here, and I haven't got music to help me through my problems.

I heard a small knock at my door, and I grumbled in annoyance as I got up slowly while pulling down the sleeves to the hoodie I was wearing. Opening up the door, I looked up to see the food lady there with my cereal and a bottle of water on a tray out in front of her. Her hair was in a small bun with a net around it, and her blue polka dot dress still looked the same. What is with old people and polka don't dresses? Well, I wouldn't say she's that old, she is around fifty looking.
I looked at the bowel, and scolded at the thought if that going into my stomach, before taking it and the water, and shutting the door in the woman's face. I placed the bottled water on my pillow, and went into the bathroom, poured the milky cereal into the toilet bowel and watched it being flushed down the pipes.

Good. It's where it belongs, not in my stomach. I pushed down the toilet seat, and headed back to my bed, where I sat cross legged with my back against the wall, drinking the cold water and feeling it slip down my throat. My stomach rumbled in response to it having been filled with water, and I remembered it had been a good four days since I ate. That bitch Bridget forced some pizza into me which broke my week fast. I probably put on five pounds with that one piece of pizza. But I wouldn't know how much I put on, because we're not allowed scales just like we're not allowed iPods, music or any type of technological device that can or does produce music. Why isn't it permitted? The world may never know. But I can come to a conclusion that they are huge fuck cakes.

I played with the lid of my now empty water bottle, waiting for Bridget to arrive so she can speak shit to me which will flow in through one ear and out the other, while I sit in silence and completely ignore her. That's how it works, everyday. But I would have given her more of a chance if she didn't take my iPod away from me the moment she saw it on top of my suitcase the first time we met.

Time ticked by and I knew she would be here any minute, which made me feel worse because she usually makes me hate myself even more. The things she says aren't very nice, and she always insults me whether she realises it or not.
I just hope I can get rid of her soon. Very soon.

I heard a loud bang, and looked over to the door to see Bridget standing in the door way with her clipboard in hand with her purse in the other. Another thing that bothers me about her is she never knocks. It's like she has a free pass to everywhere she goes.
She looked the same as she did every day. Golden hair pinned back in curls, make up covering her face, her washed jeans and designer shoes. Although she was extremely attractive, I still hated her guts.

"Hi, Vic." She said to me, with absolutely no emotion, as she walked over and pulled out the chair that was tucked underneath my desk, out in front of my bed where I sat. I was still looking at the lid of my water bottle, and my fingers brushed over the top of it and down the sides.

"I see you're still not talking." I still stayed silent, which I could tell annoyed her because I was so difficult. But I don't want to talk to her and I am pretty sure she doesn't want to talk to me so I see no reason to why she even bothers to stay here and try getting me to talk. Because it won't happen.

"Okay. Fine then, I just wanted to let you know that this is my last day being your therapist. So you'll have someone knew tomorrow. Kay?" My head shot up, and I stared at her wide eyed, and I could have sworn for a moment I almost smiled. Like, actually smiled. But I didn't.

"Oh, so you do have a pair of ears." She stated, giving me a cold stare before I looked down at my water bottle again. Here come the insults. I blocked out her voice, while I thought of all the possible characteristics my new therapist could have.
Where they make or female?
Did they like music?
Will they insult me like Bridget does?
Will I like them?

All these thoughts ran through my head, until I realised that Bridget had left the room and on the chair sat one piece of paper that I guessed would be another therapy schedule or something similar.
To my disadvantage it was just one if the many diet plans that I had been given throughout this whole month, and I haven't gone through with any of them. But I honestly don't care. If starving myself means I'll get thinner, then nothing else matters.

Right?