The Birth of a Timelord- A Doctor Who Fanfiction

Through Closed Eyes

Good Morning.
This chapter starts off with the introduction for a new character.
And I feel as if this chapter should have a trigger warning... It takes place in a mental institution, and gets slightly edgy. There's nothing too extreme, but there are some slightly depressing scenes.
Happy reading? Hopefully???
(Also this chapter changes perspective a lot, and there are lots of time jumps.)
-zero
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Andrew's POV

I am not crazy.

The party is relentless. And from my pathetic position I can see through the house's wide windows and watch people make total fools of themselves.

Teenagers shouldn't get drunk. In fact, it's illegal in this country. But that doesn't stop them, and it never stopped me.

Just because I had an "incident" doesn't mean I needed to be locked away. I'm not crazy. I don't need to be kept out of sight: hidden from the world.

I'm alone by the dying bonfire, but the heat that the flame provides does nothing; I'm shivering underneath the cut of the harsh November air. And it doesn't help that I'm wearing nothing but a Viking helmet and jeans.

I'm shivering, pale, pathetic, and alone. But wait... I'm not alone. Because I've got an empty bottle of Jameson's Whiskey and something's right in front of me; silvery lights floating in my vision.

They're breathing.

They're alive.

They're hungry.

I. Am. Not. Crazy.

They've always been there, but now they're following me; Hiding in the dark corners of my room, they reach out to touch me when I sleep. I wake up with burns and bruises. And I'm too scared to tell anyone what I see or let anyone see what they've done to me.

Not. Crazy.

I'm not drunk. These lights aren't a hallucination.

It's so cold, that everything happens in slow motion. The lights are surrounding me, and suddenly I'm not cold. In fact, I'm very, very hot.

The empty bottle I was holding practically exploded, and I my arms and torso were sprayed with large shards of glass.

Not crazy.

Screams ripping through my throat, I fall backwards. Then there's people surrounding me; Drunk adolescents shout at each other and me as I writhe in pain in the frosty grass.

Time feels like it's jumping around, and now there's police and an ambulance. Medics are talking to me, but their words don't reach my ears.

"They'll follow me home," I gasp. "They're going to kill me."

The medics are covered in blood. And my stomach turns as I realise they're covered in my blood.

Crazy.

"Andrew!"

I practically jump as I'm ripped from my thoughts. A nurse, Craig, stares down at me, his face plastered with exasperation and irritation.

"You need to come to the nurses' station to take your medication."

"No I don't," I reply, already fuming. "I'm not crazy. I don't have schizophrenia. And I don't belong in a mental institution."