Purified || Austin Carlile // AU

Purified || One

The human body is a strange thing. Strange, but extremely beautiful.

It's so tough and can be bashed around like there's no tomorrow, but one little slice of a razor blade is enough to have your body in pain, begging for mercy, asking you to love it.

I've never loved my body.

From a child my mother always told me I wasn't what she wanted.

I remember her forcing me to a ballet class at age three. I remember feeling embarassed in my leggings and t-shirt next to all the other little girls in their pink leotards and tights.

I strived for praise from my mother, but it never came. Not even when I reached ninety pounds and got the lead in The Nutcracker one Christmas.

Dad didn't care. He wouldn't talk to me or even acknowledge my existence.

I've heard stories, here at Briarcliff, of girls being raped and beaten by their fathers. When I first came here, I was jealous. I was jealous because my father never raped me.

It's sick and twisted.

But that's just who I am.

°°°°

"Violet, why don't you tell us what happened a few days ago?" Our group therapy leader, Geoff, asked. I knew exactly what he was referring to. The night after I had a breakdown in the cafeteria, I had a breakdown in my room.

I ended up in seclusion because I was trying to find something to hurt myself with.

I'm sick of it here. I've been here for three years and I just want it to end. I may not die happy, but I'd be happy because I was dead.

"I have no clue what you're talking about." I deadpanned, staring him right in the eye. That's the difference between me and most other people here. I don't back down from a challenge, I've been trying and fighting for far too long to quit.

"Violet, I think you do." He said in his deep, soothing, southern drawl. I continued to stare at him, ignoring the six other patients in the room. Most of them weren't paying attention to us, anyway.

Liza, a schizophrenic, was curled up into a tiny little ball in an armchair, her eyes wide with fear and paranoia.

Lee and Gracie, both typically depressed, sat together, quietly conversing. You never see many relationships form in a place like this, but Lee and Gracie had been going strong for about a year now.

Alan, a sociopath, sat next to my only other friend here, Aaron, staring at me with an amused expression. I know he likes it when I piss Geoff off.

Aaron was quiet; anxiety, self harm and depression were all things that plagued this lovely boy.

He got here a month after me, and two after Beth. The three of us were the best of friends. Constance thought it was strange that we had formed such a strong bond, but tragedy brings people together.

In a single seat, across from me, sat the boy from two days ago. Austin.

I hadn't seen him around, not at dinner or lunch or breakfast. I hadn't seen him in group therapy yesterday, either.

He sat with his head down, hands in his lap and shoulders hunched over. He seemed scared. I guess I was when I first got here. We all were.

"Violet, please cooperate." Geoff pleaded.

"Oh, Geoff," I mimicked his accent, making mine a little lighter like a damsel in distress or something. "I can't. I simply can't." This earnt me a snigger from Aaron and a loud chuckle from Alan.