Harry POV.
Emotions are a complex thing. It seems as though they control us, their powers often overtaking what we want. I haven't yet found a way to dismiss an emotion once I feel it. It's as if our emotions are the ones that cause our actions instead of us ourselves. And with any situation, I hate the idea of being controlled. I hate the lack of identity I have once I begin to lose my rights, I do have the right to control myself, don't I?
This institution is a bullshit way of pulling out every aspect of individuality any patient here has. Replacing that by a cliche marking, making us look like we're all the same because we're categorized under the same label. I have been here nearly three days and I can slowly feel my personality and true self being taken from me. Here I am not a person, I am not Harry, I am another mental patient who lost his way and ended up in this shit hole.
Sure I am called at times by my name, but when they say my name they don't see me, they're not acknowledging me as an individual; they are acknowledging me as a presence - a presence that they have to contain here. No one here gives a damn about the patients that crowd these halls and that may be why we are kept so tightly in these small, bright contrasting rooms.
If I were asked about the living environment here I would laugh. What living environment? This place, these "rooms"; look as though the building has been run down for nearly fifteen years. I have no idea how Autumn got through five years at this place, it's hell.
Autumn POV.
"Ask the next question!"
"I can't" I complain. Margret had been taken out earlier after she refused to produce anymore responses. Her shocking behaviour however seemed to be mimicked by this patient as well. No one seems to want to comply today and I don't think that's a normal aspect in these sessions.
"Well why not?" Mr. Reno begins to get red faced, his anger proving to be increasing.
"I'm scared." I confess. "No one here seems to give a damn about these questions. I get it, you have it rough, but this is not my job, these patients aren't mine to asses and they're freaking me out!" I jump off the edge of his desk I had been using as a chair. His eyes watch my movements but I do not attempt to leave until he grants me permission.
"Well, you want these patients to listen to you? To answer your questions? You have to scare them, make them afraid of you, maybe hit them a little - show them you want their compliance." Mr. Reno steps up from his chair, his tall height making it impossible for me to intimidate him. His steps are slow as he approaches me.
"Go on, hit her" He points to Maggie who occupies this rooms interrogation chair. Her brown eyes are wild as she silently shakes her head in a demanding and rushed matter. I copy her actions and silently refuse to do as told. I will not go against a fellow inmate for the sake of pleasing a psychiatrist.
"Fine, then maybe I need to step in for a bit" His tone is low and some what shaky. It's different than the normal, scared, sort of shaky.
"Yeah" I agree and give him the sheet of paper that held all the questions he wanted me to ask. He dismisses my hand as I pass him the paper. The lined sheet floats to the floor as he moves around me and behind his desk.
Maggie's eyes had settled to normal again, her frantic gaze replaced by an absent attention. I shuffle towards the wooden chair that Mr. Reno had previously attained, and silently place myself on the hard surface. Once again I find myself pulling the dress back down my legs as the material had crept up once I sat.
I watch Maggie silently, her eyes seeming to stare at a certain spot. She focused on the desk that I had previously sat on, the same space Margaret had focused on earlier. I glance at the wooden desk, wishing to see what both her and Margret find so interesting. When I turn my head I notice something much worse than what Margaret and Maggie had been staring at.
