(Centuries)
My name is Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, and I hate the nighttime. I hate saying 'goodnight'. Like, it's the thing you say before going to sleep - and the amount of time before you wake up again is dependent on your age, your body and whether or not you have an illness. You know. Kind of like in a hospital.
When I was eleven, I had appendicitis. It hurt like all hell, like the devil himself was tearing apart my stomach. I remember crying and screaming, then the doctor put on the gas mask and I was okay.
This place thinks it works the same way. If you step out of line, a day or two in Solitary will fix you. Like putting a bandaid on a broken arm.
When my face was on that stupid flashing screen, the nurses lost it. One of them unplugged the TV, one of them pulled Brendon back to his room and Patrick grabbed me. He pulled me back to my room and slammed the door.
Now, as I try to open it, I realise he's locked it from the outside. Bastard. I hit the door so hard it rattles, my knuckles and hand barking in pain and protest. A lighter bang from the other side tells me to shut the hell up because the adults are talking.
I shove my ass back on my bed and snarl. I hate not knowing things. People always assume that I'm not supposed to know stuff, that I don't know anything.
Patrick walks in god knows how long later. He slams a piece of paper on the small slab of wood attached to the wall and I jump. "You good there?" My voice comes out cold and harsh. Curiosity takes over and I pull my eyes from his face to the paper.
"Just read the damn thing." Is his flat response.
I look at him blankly, though the effort it takes is gargantuan. Is this some sort of joke?! Surely he would know-
His exasperated noise echoes as he rubs the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. "Please just cooperate Pete."
"I can't read, Patrick."
"You.. can't read?" Patrick frowns. "Look, you remember the newbies that came in two days ago? Well, they came from Shelby-Dow Hospital, which is still in Chicago but it's.. well, it's different. After what you may or may not have seen on the TV, as well as your record of.. unruly.. behaviour, Nurse Camper and I believe it's best if you're transferred there." He picks up the paper and shoves it in his pocket.
"I don't want to." I say.
He frowns. "Why? What do you have to stay for?" He turns to me. "You refuse to interact with the other patients and you constantly complain about being here. Why do you suddenly want to stay?"
"Because I hate-"
"Forget it. It doesn't matter, you're being transferred tomorrow. I'll be with you for the first week or so to help you settle in, but for now.." He glances around at the desolate room. "Pack up your things."
He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him once again. I lay back on my bed.
Fuck me. This is not a good day.
YOU ARE READING
Seven Nation Army (DISCONTINUED)
FanficPrevious Title: He's My American Beauty. Pete Wentz is a psychopath. He doesn't know right from wrong, good from bad. But he does know he's in love with Patrick, the new kid in the asylum. And he hates it.
