hospital beds:: remington leith au

[chapter one]

"ophelia sweetie i know you're not happy ab-"

"no fucking shit mom, i'm obviously not happy about checking into a fucking asylum!" i say begrudgingly, cutting her off, staring out the car window as i turn the music i'm listening to up to its highest volume. trying to block her out.

"ophelia rose chevrolet, do not speak to me like that! i'm your mother and i'm doing what the doctors think is best for you and right now that means going to the, in your words, 'fucking asylum'. i know you're mad about it but it's for the best" she says to me. like she fucking cares what's best for me. she always pretends as though she's a good parent before things like this. god i hate her.

"i know mom, i just really dont want to do this. most kids my age are off at college, making bad decisions, and enjoying their life at 19. yet here i am, poor ophelia with the fucked up head, checking into a mental institution" i say angrily still staring out the window.

"well, look on the bright side. dr. harrison said that its a lovely facility and it doesn't look like a hospital at all — think of it as a good thing, you may make some friends." my mother says, instilling me with false hope that not even she has in me.

"no mom, you don't get it. no amount of interior design can change the fact that it is still technically a hospital...." i say taking an earbud out "also i don't want nor do i plan on being here long enough to make any friends anyway."

"well dr. harrison says that you will be here for at least a month for the kind of treatment you need, so you may as well make the best of it and attempt to make some friends sweetheart."

i angrily huff, rolling my eyes as i put my earbud back in, going back to ignoring her.

___

"and remember, group therapy is at 2 o'clock in the meeting hall, your attendance is mandatory. if you need anything, be obliged to come find me or any other nurse and we can help you out. any questions?"

"yeah, actually. when the fuck can i get out of this place?"

"when dr. harrison decides you have best improved. is that all?"

i look at the irritating nurse and roll my eyes as a response, which thankfully got her to leave.

_____

i finish unpacking and notice that its 1:45 already, so i may as well go and look around the place before the stupid group therapy session.

as i'm wandering around the halls, i hear the sound of what i can think to describe only as what i imagine someone who has just made their way out from the depths of hell to sound like. angelic in a sort of tortured and dying way. it was intriguing, i can't lie.

i followed the sound of the voice and i have found myself outside a room labelled music room. inside was a tall, slender guy, probably around my age, with inky black spiked hair and equally deep eyes, tattoos breaking up his faintly tan skin across his arms, only barely visible to me through the tinted window i find myself peering through. he's perched himself atop the piano bench, playing the continuation of the song i heard down the hall, singing along as he plays.

"we're going today,
celebrate the trip of the day

and i'm willing to start a fight
oh woah
children in the city don't look so pretty
oh woah
children in the city don't look so pretty

and i know what i got
keep on going till it stops
what you got you know is gold
nothing left we know its nothing more

i want you to see what i've seen
i want you to be where i've been
if you go what i've been through
maybe there's some hope for you

this is how the story ends
death is a party, invite all your friends"

i'm standing there, in complete awe of this man and the sound of his voice. you can tell he is really feeling it, and i assume he has to have written the song. i almost feel weird watching him this way, but i can't look away from it.

"and i've got lost on the way
she calls my name
heaven lies in the holy day
they know my way
nature boys they think the same
they're going today
celebrate the trip of the day
and i'm willing to start a fight

oh woah
and i'm willing to start a fight
oh woah
and i'm willi—"

he stops suddenly and turns to look out the door, causing a split moment in which we make eye contact. he has a little half smirk plastered onto his face and instantly i panic. he looks like he's considering coming over to talk to me. it's then that i decide it must be a great time to go look for the meeting hall, group therapy set to start in just five minutes.

_____

we have been in this stupid group therapy session for a good 45 minutes now, and i haven't been listening. honestly i've just been suffering in silence, wishing i wasn't here. the boy from the music room keeps looking at me and smirking and it's honestly a little irritating, but i don't mind much. he isn't too bad to look at. albeit, i was staring down at my fingernails. who knew your hands could be so interesting when you're bored out of your mind?

i hear the therapist cue the next person to talk and it happens to be music room boy.

"hi, i'm remington, i'm nineteen, i have depression and i want to fly"

"remington, hun, what do you mean by you want to fly?" the therapist says inquisitively.

i'm not only intrigued for his answer, but also interested in who he is, so for the first time all day, i actually start listening.

when i look up, i'm honestly not surprised to see him staring over at me.

"well doc let me make this simple for you — i would like to jump off of a very high building." he says completely and utterly nonchalantly, slight smirk toying at his lips. not the expression you'd expect from someone who just admitted to the fact that he wants to kill himself but if you look close enough at him, you can see the pain behind his eyes. he seems to be one of those people who would tell you a thousand stories with his eyes alone.

"well then, remington, thank you for sharing, but that's enough from you for today. ophelia how about you? you're new, so i'd like for you to tell everyone your name, age, condition, and whatever you'd like about yourself. you don't have to go to into detail if you don't feel comfortable since it's your first day." the doctor says looking at me.

"uh, i'm ophelia rose chevrolet, i'm nineteen, i have borderline personality disorder, and i really don't want to fucking be here." i say unamused.

"ophelia, language" says the therapist.

"hey! you said to say whatever i want and that just so happened to include the word fucking. so with all due respect sir, suck it." i bite back as i roll my eyes.

i look over to see remington staring at me, looking not only amused, but somewhat impressed.

"okay then, looks like group therapy is done for today. you guys may do as you please but do remember that dinner is at 6." utters the now annoyed therapist.

i'm walking out of the meeting hall and towards my room when i hear footsteps behind me. then, out of nowhere, i hear a loud and very distinctive.

"hey chevy!"

turning on my heels to face the ear assailant, i roll my eyes yet again.

_____

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