My Old Friend (Darkiplier X Reader)

One

The white halls echoed hauntingly as I made my way through them, my family had admitted me into the closest asylum just a few days ago. I suffered from night terrors since I was small. They would come and go.

It wasn't so bad here, get up at 7am, eat at 8am, medicine at 9am, classes from 9:30am-11am, lunch 11:30am, classes from 12:30pm-2pm, free time from 2pm-4pm, dinner at 5pm, recreational time from 6pm-7:30pm, medicine at 8pm, bed at 9pm.

It was a basic schedule, anyone could go by it. Most of the residence were nice here, some had worse cases than others.

"(Y/n)!" A small voice echoed from behind me.

As I turned I seen the dark headed girl, her frame was slender but stretched tall. Her name was Celine, I never asked why she was here, it was none of my business.

"Hey, what's up?" My voice shook from the cold of the stone building.

"They've been looking for you, do you know what time it is?" Celine's voice never faltered.

"No, they don't have clocks. They know I walk around during free time," I rolled my eyes, therapy session wasn't my thing.

We done therapy every Tuesday, Thursday, and every other Saturday. Did I say it had been a few days since I had been first admitted here?

Try over a year.

The doctors were a pain in the ass, the nurses were even worse. Stuck up, better than you attitudes. Paranoia was one of my "problems", my therapist told me that I didn't trust anyone and I totally agree.

I made my way through the east wing, Toni the body guard stood doing his job. Guarding the exit to the garden. His large stature irritated me, his brows furrowed at me.

We fought a lot, me and Toni.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, I'm heading that way," I mumbled quietly, throwing my hands up in the air in defeat.

I made my way back through the mazing halls, some inspirational quotes leading the way. My eyes would roll back in my head at some, "don't let them choose your decisions, choose your own path".

Who are they? What's my path?

As I made it to the door of the therapist, my heart started the beat faster. I hated this place. I knocked quietly, letting him know that I was hear. Then opened the door slowly.

"Ah, (y/l/n)" his dark hair framed his face slightly. His chiseled jaw jutted out.

"What? I can't get to the garden, I'd like to paint," my voice was harsh, it was Wednesday. My schedule was off , and matter of fact I was not happy.

"Now, it is Wednesday. And it's usually not the day for your session, but....please, have a seat," he gestured at the leather chair across from him. "I just wanted to see if you were still having those nightmares?"

"No, you know I haven't in almost 3 months. I feel fine," I snapped harshly.

"So, if I was to say that you could go home would you want to?" My heart beat fast in my chest.

"This better no be some sick joke."

"It's not, (y/n)...but you will have to go to anger management three times a week, and see me once a month," he started to write on his little notepad. "Sound like a deal?"

A huge grin spread across my face, "Deal."

"Your family has been notified and they are on their way to pick you up, so you can go to your room and get your stuff together, say your goodbye."

I basically bolted out of the room, not even noticing the quotes on the walls. I waited over a year for this day. I made my way to the far end of the east wing.

My room outlooked the garden, the walls were littered with small paintings. I was lucky enough to have my own room, we paid extra to make sure that I had one alone. Due to my night terrors I was afraid that I would hurt someone, or freak someone out.

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Once my things were packed, I stood at the exit of the building. The fresh air hitting me in the face. It was warm out, the California air hadn't changed.

There was a difference between the front exit and the back garden. My fathers black SUV sat in the parking lot. My brothers large frame in front of it.

"(Y/n)!!!" He yelled happily, running to me.

As he ran up to me, he picked me up and swung me around. Sitting me down, I could see  the disapproval lingering in my fathers eyes as he stood next to the vehicle.

"He hasn't changed a bit has he?" I chuckled dryly.

"You know how he is, no ones perfect in his eyes," my brother picked up my bags, "not even himself."

I followed behind. Not wanting to draw to much attention to myself, I helped through my things in the back of the vehicle and jumped in the back seat.

"(Y/n), you look well. I see they actually fed you," were my fathers first words as he started to drive.

"Yeah, too bad they didn't starve me," sarcasm dripped from my lips.

"Hey, (y/n) I put your art studio back together so now you can paint," my brother changed the subject. "The farmers market is in town next month maybe we can sell a few of your paintings there?" He was always so sweet.

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As we made it to our house everything was different. My father must have renovated the house after his last wife left. He was a business man, one that wasn't easily dealt with.

My brother was older, still lived at home, had a tech degree. Worked full time, but still kept his bubbly personality.

Me. I was so much like my mother. And my father despised it.