Late in Autumn, during his nineteenth lap around the sun, Nick decided yellow wasn't yellow enough and that the sky wasn't far enough away; he also decided life wasn't worth living. Amongst his conclusions and attempted suicide, a whirlwind of chromatic pills, a diagnosis of Obsessive-compulsive Disorder and sandwich boring doctors, he wound up two miles away from home in a nursing home therapy room; twice a week.
Nick turns over to Vicky. Vicky is Nick's next door neighbour, as she had been for the last twelve years of his knuckle-white life. Not only had she been a neighbour, she had been someone he could turn to if he needed someone to help him colour code his black and white wardrobe. They're not the same colour.
"5:30 sharp, please." He leans back into the passenger seat car, the leather flush against his black, ironed shirt.
"Only for the sake of your sanity." She smiled over at the face he had contorted into a blank canvas; ready to be painted with new life, a colourful life.
That was the point of the group therapy.
He opened the door, and shut it. Open. Shut. Open. He stepped out of the car and closed the door; completing one of many rituals. As he walked off, Vicky wound down the black-tinted window revealing her wrinkled face.
"Remember: smile." She showed off her creamy white dentures. Nick had to force a smile for the sake of her sanity.
Walking to the entrance, much to his dismay, the doors were automatic and opened on their own; his fingers twitched. He stepped back and waited nervously for the door to close. He then stepped forward setting off the automatic sensor. Step back. Step forward.
When the door opened again he stepped inside the hospital-like room. He walked straight toward the clerk at the desk; he had to ignore the mole just above her lip and the three uneven hairs that came with it.
"Welcome to Los Angeles Baptist Care, where our nurses put the Angel in Angeles. How can we help you today, sir?"
"I'm here for the four o'clock group therapy session."
Her eyes then took note of the dull look on his face, and she had to lift her smile.
"Ok. I will call in one of our nurses to escort you."
She walked over to the dented microphone in the corner and Nick had to hold back his cry. As she called someone to come collect him, he took note of one poster that hung awkwardly above the head of a young, bald guy.
As he heard doors open, he walked over to the poster, leant over the bald guy and had to readjust it to his liking.
"Sir."
He turned around and saw a man in an all blue nurses uniform. The only thing mildly decorative about him was the sheep-shaped name tag that read 'Darren' in cursive.
"Follow me please."
Nick followed the man back through the automatic doors he had come through and had to physically restrain himself from stepping back inside.
"They're doing an outside session today. Some kid complained that grey walls weren't a nice change from his grey cell."
Cell? Nick became nervous.
"Like a prison cell?" He gulped.
"No. Like a psychiatric cell."
He lead them around a large, green hedge revealing an orchard of many fruit trees. And smack bang in the middle of an olive tree, a lime tree and an orange tree, was ten timber chairs and a lady.
"Am I early?" Nick finds himself saying.
Darren looks at his black watch and nods.
"Patients don't usually arrive until five to four. You have ten minutes, feel free to sit down wherever."
Nick watches as the greying nurse walks off, sighs to himself and walks over to the painfully odd shaped circle of chairs.
//
kind of like a prologue thing idk but chappies will be longer !!!
PLEASE ENJOY AND IF YOU DO LIKE AND COMMENT
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Star Patient // Nick Robinson
FanfictionGroup therapy; or social suicide? Nick was never the person to place himself in any form of deliberate confrontation. How did he wind up in an oddly rounded circle of timber chairs and complaints? He doesn't know. He also doesn't know what he's in f...
