I Am Good

Chapter One

The day I got out of that hospital was probably the greatest day of my life. Getting that stupid bloodred wristband snipped from my arm was like getting a huge weight lifted from my chest, freeing my airways and allowing me to truly feel like a person, not a teenager condemned to a mental institution.

But, as my special doctor had to remind me before I patted his nose and skipped out the front doors, I will never be a normal person; I'll always be monitored in case I have another episode.

But, episode shmepisode, my last one had me strapped to a chair in a padded room for weeks. But if the doctors deemed me sane, then so be it, Mags Waters is back amongst living, breathing people, not special doctors and therapists who I swear to this day are robots who specialize in making their 'patients' even more suicidal than they started out as.

But, hey, where's the fun in that? I'm back, baby, and there's no reason why I should be afraid to do this.

Waltzing out the front doors of the asylum after causing my special doctor one last intake of headache pills was more that satisfactory if you ask me. Arriving back in society in the same navy blue jumpsuit was a bit of a downer, though, but who cares? It's just me, and people would probably be a bit more concerned if I was in the typical hunter orange.

Of course, I was only in the parking lot for ten minutes before a swarm of nurses brought me back into the building for 'final tests'. I never finished high school, but I know from the Internet and the nurses' chitchat about their children than finals must suck. And release tests, or tests that the doctors make me take so they can be sure I'm mentally stable, are no exception.

I immediately gave them hell for forcing me back inside the hospital. I demanded my freedom, proclaimed them liars for installing false judgment into my mind, and refused to partake in any of their release exams.

This was when Dr. Meesly told me that I'd be in there for another five years if I didn't cooperate. So I picked up a pen, stopped myself from putting the ink through his hand, and filled out the questions. Then I signed my name, something I literally haven't done in years, and changed out of the jumpsuit. They put me in what they called 'normal' clothes, and then, one nurse grasping each of my arms, led me back out to the parking lot, and placed me in the front seat of a random car.

"Hey!" I shouted, but they'd already closed the door. Struggling to figure out how to open it, I merely pounded on the foggy window while they walked away as if there wasn't an insane girl trapped inside a random car.

And then my mother came out of the hospital.

At least, I thought it was. She was five years older, ten times richer, and a hundred times more hated.

I struggled even more when the recognition finally set in. It was hard -- she had aqua blue hair and matching lashes and nails -- her handbag was just a shade or two darker than that -- and her diamond earrings and black pantsuit with six-inch black stilettos added to that "ten times richer" vibe. The only thing that informed me that this woman walking straight out of Effie Trinket's closet was my mother were her eyes; sea-green and huge, identical to my own. I was leaning on one arm, two inches from smashing in the car window with my foot when she popped open her door and the ding ding ding that cars make distracted me from my escape plan.

"Hello, darling," she said quietly, settling herself into the driver's seat and setting her purse between us. She avoided my gaze as she pushed the keys into the ignition and started the car.

I eyed her, my fingernails on my right hand creating painful cuts in my palm as I clenched my fist together to keep from punching the hideous blue wig off her head. All of my muscles were locked and loaded; if needed, I could strike the woman unconscious and escape into the city without a problem.