These Demons

Chapter Seventeen

**So... My internet broke down today, so Wattpad deleted 5000 words I had written... I had a little mental breakdown and got slightly drunk with lots of red wine I had in my apartment, so if this chapter is a little weird, blame the wine and not me. But I'm trying my best. My mental stability is just not exactly existent when it comes to things not going as planned cause I can't really handle that- even less with alcohol in my system.**

"Listen, Andy," Kellin says as we walk down the hallway. "These are the rules. No sharp objects, insults, temper tantrums or disagreements with the staff. You just crawl up their asses and be the perfect patient who agrees with every shitty thing they make you do, and they'll let you out without causing you any troubles. You get me?"

"What if I'm not the perfect patient?" I want to know, and Kellin chuckles. "I know how things work around here. Just listen to me, okay? Make up some story about your emotions in therapy and pretend you're cooperating with everything. You're a temporary one. The truth doesn't matter, you know? It's all about the way it looks. Create a nice lie, they'll believe it. Then you'll be out of here in no time. You..."

We're being interrupted by a nurse passing by who throws us a suspicious look, and Kellin returns his attention to his tour. "This is the common room," he lets me know once we've reached the corner. "This is where the insane ones spend their time. Everyone is either here, in therapy or their rooms."

Stepping inside, I'm shaking once more because of how scared I am of meeting these people, but the first impression is not nearly as bad as I expected it to be. The walls are painted white, the wooden tables, chairs and the pillows are splattered around without any sense of tidiness, and there is a turned off TV hanging on the wall and several locked cupboards in the back. About thirty people could probably fit in here, but only a handful is present, and they're mostly focused on reading or scribbling on loose pages of paper. It all reminds me of a crappy college room, but not of an asylum.

While I try to get my nervousness under control, Kellin walks over to a guy who's fully concentrated on some science magazine and snags it from him. They seem to be familiar, because the other man's only reaction is an annoyed look. "Seriously?" is all he has to say.

"Who on earth cares about this string theory shit anymore anyways?" Kellin responds shrugging while placing the magazine on a table behind him to keep his friend from getting it back.

"This issue isn't even about..."

"Guess who we have here?" Kellin interrupts me and grabs me by the shoulders.

I flinch, but try not to let him notice how tensed I get when strangers touch me. "This pretty boy is our newbie," he explains.

"And who cares about that?" his friend returns, but Kellin shakes his head. "You should care. He's a 5150." He wiggles his eyebrows, and I'm confused. Why is that such a big deal here?

"Really? What did you do that got you locked up?" The guy's interest suddenly seems to be sparked, but to my great relief, Kellin answers before I have to because I want to avoid talking as much as possible.

"He won't tell," he sighs.

They continue their conversation by making up conspiracy theories about what horrible things I might have possibly done, but I refuse to join this kind of conversation and drift away until I realize that I actually really crave a cigarette because I haven't had one in hours.

"Hey man, I think I'll have a smoke," I inform Kellin, and he perks his brows. "You're a smoker? Is that what you do instead of eating?" Ignoring his comment, I ask him: "How can I get a cigarette?"

"Staff room," he replies. "Want me to come with you?"

"I'm good," I tell him because even though this guy doesn't even make the impression of being crazy, I really don't want to spend any time with him, so I head for the mentioned room in the center of the ward again and knock on the familiar door.

This time, neither Chad, nor Tommy opens up. A woman stands in front of me. "Hey," I mumble, "Can I have a cigarette?" To my great disfavor, she shakes her head.

"Sorry, but we'll have dinner really soon and the non-smokers have repeatedly complained about the smell, so you'll have to wait until after dinner." When she sees my face, she adds: "I'm sorry, but rules are rules." Rules, rules and more rules.

"But why don't you help me set up the dinner tables instead?" I immediately want to decline, but then I remember what Kellin said. "Sure," I hear myself say, my stomach twisting at the thought of dinner.

"Awesome! Mr. Biersack, isn't it?"

"Andy," I plead because I'm tired of people using my last name. "Brittany." I don't take the hand she offers to me. She shrugs and heads for the dining room.

It's very similar to the common room, only that this one additionally has an antiquated kitchen range on the left side of the room with several locked cupboards, a sink and a fridge which is also locked, and the tables and chairs are in some sort of order here.

While she unlocks everything, Brittany gives me orders. "Could you please get one plate for each seat? It's the second one on the right," she tells me pointing to the cabinets.

When I open it, I'm reminded that this is a mental hospital after all, because instead of porcelain, these plates are made of hard plastic. In the meantime, Brittany begins to take the food out of the fridge, but I refuse to look at it because I know it will scare me.

To get out of here, I'll have to behave, but how am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to eat the way they do?

While placing the plates and the additional plastic cups on the tables, I don't speak a word with Brittany, but unlike her who seems to be perfectly fine, my tension keeps rising to a level that I'm sweating coldly again, and when we're done, she speaks the words I'm most afraid of.

"Let's get everyone here for dinner, shall we?"

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Knocking on all of the doors to nicely tell the patients to get their asses to the dining room turns out not to be easier than expected, but things get difficult once everyone is seated and another nurse I haven't seen before hands out a dull butter knife and a fork for everyone while people start to put food on their plates. Each table offers the same variety of edible items normal people consume for a cold dinner, and there are always two nurses eating with the ten or fifteen patients at one table.

Unfortunately, I'm sitting two spots away from one of them.

The only good thing is that I already know Brittany. When I don't move, she asks: "Andy, won't you eat? You know you have to."

I swallow hard because I want to keep still and not do anything, but I know I'm not allowed to if I want to appear nonsuspicious. This is literal hell.

My slightly blue shaky fingers slowly grab a slice of dark bread and place them on my plate.

"You need to put something on top," Brittany notes while placing slices of sausage on her bread. "I don't eat meat," I say truthfully, hoping that will save me, but of course it doesn't.

"We have cheese and peanut butter too," she says pointing to the mentioned things. I quickly calculate their calories and that causes sickness to grow inside of me.

The nurse keeps watching me while she begins to eat like the rest at the table. I notice more eyes lying on me now, but I don't let that disrupt me as I frantically debate in my head what's the lesser evil, but that's hard to determine because all of the options are pure nightmares considering how much fat is in there. Fat that will settle on my hips as soon as I leave this table.

Uncomfortably shifting on my chair, I know I need to make a choice. This doesn't look normal to them. I take a deep breath and finally choose the cheese because it's still better than a dead animal or the huge amount of fat in peanuts.

But as hard as I try, my hand just won't stop trembling when I put a slice of the greasy dairy product on top of my slice of pure carbohydrates. Before I dare to eat, I chug my cup of water to stall and fill my stomach a little.

But as soon as that's down, I have to eat.