Folie à Deux

Chapter 1

I know that the dusty clouds of dirt and desert rocks outside my window aren't real. Everyone around me tells me that we live in the mountains. But I still see the bright sun and the earth colored snakes because the things I see are not the truth.

The room is bright white and sterile-looking today, nothing like the ramshackle room with Doctor Death Defying and Show Pony that I saw yesterday. I suppose delusions can change quicker than I thought. The sheets crinkle under my fingers and I suddenly don't want to touch them, so I bolt to my feet. Cold flooring touches touches bare skin and I dig my nails into my thighs to keep from jumping up in shock. I don't want to look crazy, even though I am.

"Gerard?" I hear from the other side of the door. It's Pete, my caretaker. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, Pete. I'm fine," I groan. He is always so hesitant and careful around me in the morning. I understand why, though. With schizophrenia and sleep paralysis, I get frustrated when I first wake up that there's never a time, night or day, when I am safe from my own hallucinations. He is just trying to give me the space we both know I need.

"Do you want to head down to the cafeteria for breakfast, meet with some of the others?"

I have made some friends during my stay at the mental hospital, which we like to call the Asylum because it's more blunt and honest. I have Brendon, Dallon, Tyler, and even Tyler's boyfriend Josh, who visits at least four times a week for hours on end. Sometimes I like to tell myself I'm just a generally angry person and that's why I get a sick feeling when he comes over, but I know I'm jealous. I know I want something like what Tyler has. But I'm too busy with my own problems to deal with someone else's, so I tell myself it's an irrational wish.

I tug at my bright red hair and sigh. "Yeah. I guess."

-

You can see the front desk from where I'm sitting in the cafeteria, and I decide to watch Pete shamelessly flirt with the secretary while I wait for my friends to show up. He leans in a bit, arms crossed in a way that shows all the tattoos he's proudest of, and smiles a big, bright, stupid smile. The guy behind the desk blushes and reaches up to play with his own gingery hair. It's almost painful to watch them go on like this and know they aren't dating. Maybe I'll bug Pete about it later.

"Gerard! How ya doing?" The sound bounces off the walls and travels miles, that's just how alive it is. Brendon himself is just so very alive.

The plastic chair makes a groaning old sound as I turn to look at him. Tugging Dallon along by his wrists with a big ear-to-ear smile on his face, just like every other morning. Brendon has Non-REM Sleep Arousal Disorder which basically means sleepwalking and sleep terror, so he doesn't have a ton of problems in the daytime. But the nights are bad. Sometimes, when Dallon hasn't had an episode in a while, they'll let him go in and calm Brendon down. In the daylight, they're joined at the hip, sometimes quite literally in my schizophrenic filtered mind. Brendon sits with Dallon whenever he is particularly out of it, which is sweet.

"I'm doing okay. My room looked like a hospital instead of a gas station today, so things are getting better." The only reason I know some things are not real is because the people here tell me what's a delusion and what's not, don't lie to me like my family did.

I ran away from them because I knew in the back of my mind that they were toxic. When most teenage runaways finally get far enough, they'll try to stay with a friend or find an apartment. I checked into a psychiatric hospital. I was eighteen, just barely still golden, about to head off to the one second-rate college I was accepted at, so I was old enough to sign the papers and hook it up to my parents' bank account. They know I'm here, I'm sure, but they never visit. Why would they want to take time to visit their crazy, emotional, gay, runaway failure of a kid? I had always scared Michael, anyway.

One of the caretakers comes over and stands beside the table until we've all looked up. I think his name is Joe. "Tyler, Josh is here to see you." Tyler nods slowly, his blank expression fading away and opening up into a smile. Then I see Josh walking towards us over Joe's shoulder. His hair was pink when he visited yesterday, but now it's a cotton candy blue. They're both younger than the rest of us. I was just heading to college when I came here, and I'm the longest-staying resident because of the newness of the facility; I'm nearing four voluntary years. Brendon's parents made him drop out of his sophomore year of college just recently, with Dallon coming about a week later from a different university but same grade. Tyler should be in high school. He'd be a junior if his mom had made any effort before an institution to help him.

Tyler gets up to hug Josh and he seems truly happy for a moment. Real, childish, unadulterated joy plays across his face as Josh kisses him. Ty wouldn't be depressed if they just let him see Josh every day, if they didn't close the doors on the boyfriend's face every night when visiting hours are over. This is not the best place for Tyler like it is for me.

They both sit down at the table and we all make pleasant conversation, talking about how Brendon hasn't had an episode in three nights, Dallon has been feeling like himself for at least a week, and how Josh is going to drum for a band at the county fair. It feels nice to just talk about everything with friends and eat. I just wish what I assume to be salt and pepper shakers didn't look like batteries.

-

The day flies by in a blur of walks through halls and asking Pete whether different things I see are real or not, and soon I am back in my room having a final conversation with Pete.

"So, Gerard. I don't think I'm supposed to tell you this, but I'm going to because I think it's interesting." He looks at me, asking with his eyes whether or not I'm fine with breaking rules. I nod. "New guy coming in tomorrow. He has the same thing you've got."

"Yeah, Pete. More than one person has schizophrenia. Super shocking, I know."

"No, he has schizophrenia and sleep paralysis and on his report, it reads that he says he sees... well."

Now I'm intrigued. "What does he see?"

He pauses before telling, making sure he actually wants to break the rule. "The same things you tell me you see. The shack, the car, the guns. All of it. The same."

It takes me a moment to process this. Someone else sees my world? The dusty air of the Zones, the machines dispensing ray guns, the BLI logo on random little objects everywhere? He sees it? "What's his name?" I ask, hurriedly but quietly. "Do you think I could meet him tomorrow?"

"His name is Frank. His parents were getting worried so they convinced him right out of college and into here. Two years younger than you. If he gets settled fine tomorrow, I'm sure he'd be happy to meet someone who understands him the way you will."

Pete leaves after a few minutes of silence and a final checking up, telling me to try as hard as I can to get a hold of him if my sleep paralysis kicks in. I know I won't be able to. But I also think I won't need to. The pillow feels softer tonight than it usually does, and I don't feel as angry or disappointed when I see a bright yellow mask hanging on the door instead of a hoodie.